Page 7

And I can’t blame him.

She’s standing like a goddess in battlefield shadow, eyes locked to where we dance on the edges of violence, and he’s reaching for her without saying it. With every flip. Every wink. Every exaggerated flourish of those damned daggers. He’s begging her to look. Not with pity. Withlight. With that little smile she gives when she sees him being the version of himself no one else knows how to love.

He’s trying to prove he’s stillhim—under the madness, beneath the mimicry, buried in the envy that eats away at his magic like rot. He wants her to laugh. Or blush. Or yell at him tofocus, even if it’s through clenched teeth. Because that would mean sheseeshim. Still.

I take a slow breath, resetting my stance, whip coiled in my hand, heat pulsing at my fingertips. Icouldstrike now. I know which clone is real. He hums differently, off-key and wild. The others echo, but the one at the center sings. I could land a hit. End this part. Break the spell.

But I don’t.

Instead, I speak. Quiet, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You’ve still got it.”

His grin flickers. Not falters. Justshifts. Something behind his eyes goes soft.

For a moment, none of the others move. All six freeze mid-breath, like he wasn’t expecting that. Like no one’s told him in a long time.

“I know,” he says after a beat, smirk lazy. “I mean, it’s agift. Being this amazing. You should be honored I’m showing off in your general direction.”

I roll my eyes.

But I’m still smiling. Gods. He’ll be the death of me. And I won’t even mind.

The crack of the whip is automatic. Muscle memory, not intent. It wraps clean around Silas’s wrists, both arms drawn wide before he can blink, beforeIcan blink. He doesn’t try to dodge—because he doesn’t need to. He just grins, head tilted, wrists bound and body loose like it’s all just a game he’s decided to win by not playing.

“You always were into dramatic entrances,” he drawls, the words too light, too flippant, but I hear the strain beneath them. His voice is tighter than usual. Guarded. Watching me.

He should be the one fighting. That’s how this used to work. Silas causes chaos, and I clean it up. That was the rhythm, thestructure. But now? Now he’s still the storm, still the wildcard with too much power surging in veins that were never meant to hold it—but he’s also her shield. Her wall. He’s planted himself between Luna and the rest of us like his body alone could hold back fate.

And I’m the one trying to take him down.

Branwen’s command slithers in the hollow between my ribs, laced into the marrow of my bones like it belongs there. I hateit. Iloathethe way she makes me move, the way she pulls my power like it’s hers to wield, forcing my hands to lift, my magic to rise. She wants a show, and I’m her perfect instrument. Lust and spectacle. Pleasure weaponized. Pain disguised as seduction.

I didn’t come here to hurt Silas. I didn’t come here to hurt any of them.

But I can’tnotmove.

My fingers twitch. The whip strains, magic curling down the leather like venom.

And still—Silas grins.

“I missed you, you know,” he says, as if I didn’t just try to restrain him, as if we’re standing at the edge of the sea instead of the edge of war. “You’re gone five minutes and I’ve already claimed your room. Hope that’s cool.”

I blink once. “You what?”

“I sleep there now. Kinda wrecked your desk. Also, I think your mirror’s cursed? It started talking. Might’ve been me, though. Hard to say. Another thing, I may have spilled some kind of glowing sludge on your books. Unclear if it’s blood or not.”

He’s saying all of this like I didn’t just try to bind him. Like this fight isn’t real. LikeI’mnot the one who might actually go too far. Like the weight of my power isn’t currently coiled between us like a serpent waiting to strike.

It should annoy me.

It should push me past this sick knot of hesitation Branwen’s strung through me like a leash.

But all it does is make my chest ache.

Because I remember that version of him. The boy who slept upside down on a library bench. Who once set a professor’s shoes on fire and then tried to blame it on a magical squirrel.

And now he’s standing between me and Luna, arms wide, power leaking off him like he doesn’t care if it kills him, and he’s still trying to makemefeel better.