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I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I don’t know how to hear this and not reach for her, but I keep still.

She glances at me then, eyes cutting sharp through the night. “You’re not the only one who’s had something stolen.”

The words are simple. Not meant to comfort. Not pity. Just truth. And somehow, that’s worse. That she knows. That she’sbeen there.That this thing I don’t talk about is somethingshe’s survived.

“I didn’t even think it counted,” I whisper, the admission clawing its way out of me. “I wasn’t... I didn’t say yes. But I wasn’t allowed to say no. I wasn’t even me.”

“You wereyouenough,” she says firmly. “You didn’t have to say no. You didn’t get a choice.”

My hands are shaking, clenched in my lap like I can hold myself together if I just keep them tight enough.

Then she says, “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

And it’s not soft or fragile or couched in seduction. It’s not an offer of sex. It’s not even about comfort, not really. It’s about the silence I can’t handle and the ghosts I can’t outrun and the fact that she sees all of that and still wants tostay.

I nod before I can stop myself.

She doesn’t smile, just threads her fingers through mine like she did earlier, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and stands. “Come on, Caspian. Let’s make the nightmares share their space with something else.”

She doesn’t lead me.

She walks beside me.

And I let her.

She cracks some stupid joke about how I better not snore or she’ll put a pillow over my face. I shoot her a look, dry and skeptical, but she just grins like she hasn’t already peeled back too many layers of me tonight. Like the air between us hasn’t been carved out by things we didn’t mean to say.

We walk back in step, her shoulder brushing mine like an accidental rhythm. But nothing about Luna is ever accidental. That’s what makes her dangerous. That’s what makes me weak.

My hand hovers near the door handle to my room, and I hesitate. Not because I don’t want her there—but because I do. Because it’s not about sex tonight, and somehow that makes it worse. I can fuck her. I’ve done it. It’s in the deal, written in sweat and unspoken rules. But wanting her like this—quiet and close and in my space just tobe—that’s what makes me feel skinless.

She kicks my ankle gently. “You forget how doors work?”

I open it. “No. Just forgot how sleeping next to someone without a contractual orgasm clause goes.”

She snorts, ducking under my arm and into the room like she’s lived here a hundred nights before. “Not every visit comes with a climax, Caspian. Shocking, I know.”

I shut the door behind us and lean back against it. “You sure? I can put in a request for mediocre sex and emotional detachment if it makes this less awkward.”

She throws one of my pillows at my face.

I catch it midair but still smirk like she landed a hit. That’s the thing about Luna. She doesn’t try to fix the broken pieces. She just sits beside them like they’re part of the scenery. Her version of help doesn’t come in soft tones and pitying eyes. It comes in sarcasm and casual proximity. A warm body and a barbed tongue that somehow says:you’re not alonewithout needing the words.

I sit on the edge of the bed while she pulls off her hoodie and drops it carelessly on the floor. She moves like she’s not afraid of me. Like she doesn’t think I’m still infected by what Branwen did to me. That illusion is dangerously comforting.

I glance over my shoulder. “You want more than sleep?”

It comes out flat. Mechanical. Not desire, not tease—just obligation. If she wants it, I’ll give it.

Luna doesn’t even pause. She rolls her eyes and climbs into bed. “Jesus, Caspian. No. Not everything’s a seduction.”

I exhale, part relief, part shame. I don’t even know which part’s louder.

She pats the space beside her, then mutters, “You’re overthinking again.”

I slip in next to her, stiff at first. Her hand finds mine under the blanket. No pressure. No pull. Just warm fingers sliding into mine like it’s normal, like it’s nothing.

But it iseverything.