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Not me.

That smile should be mine.

I move forward without thinking. Not charging—no, I’m far too composed for something as impulsive as that. But I glide past Silas with the silent intent of reclaiming what’s mine, stepping over the shadow threshold. Only Silas—chaotic, maddening Silas—sees it as a challenge.

He spins, arm shooting out in front of me like we’re children and this is some imaginary line I’m not allowed to cross without permission.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he says, blocking the doorway like a wall of grinning, unpredictable fire. “No skipping the line, Dalmar. Chivalry's not dead yet. It’s just shirtless and leading the way.”

I stare at him. “Get out of my way.”

Silas leans in like he’s about to whisper a secret, but then pivots dramatically toward Luna instead. “Babe, tell Ambrose to stop trying to steal my thunder. I earned this main character moment.”

Luna bites back a laugh—bitesit, like it’s something decadent—and that makes it worse. She shakes her head, brushing past both of us now, stepping into the doorway likesheowns it, which, of course, she does. The room reacts to her, pulseswith her presence. Even the stone seems to breathe differently around her magic.

“You’re both ridiculous,” she murmurs.

But she doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t take the smile she gave Silas and hand it to me instead.

I step forward again—this time slower. Controlled. Calculated. But Silas side-steps with me like we’re dancing, and grins over his shoulder like he knows what he’s doing. Like this is a move in a game he’s already winning.

“Touch me again, and I’ll make sure that statue you were flirting with earlier finds a way to marry you.”

He just winks.

“Wouldn’t be my worst relationship.”

Behind us, Elias groans. “Can wenotturn this into another show? Just pick an order and go. We’ve got cursed floorboards to step on, or possessed books to argue with. Priorities.”

But I don’t move. Not yet. Because I’m still watching Luna, and I’m thinking about the way her smile folded around someone else. About how she didn’t even glance at me when I opened the door. And I’m wondering—

Why the hell does that bother me this much?

The answer coils in my chest, sharp and venomous. Because I don’t want her to smile at anyone the way she smiles at him. Not unless I’ve taken that smile first. And I will.

I step inside last, but I don’t lose.

I never lose.

She stops at the top of the stairs, hand brushing Caspian’s shoulder like it belongs there. It’s not a tease, not her usual play—it’s soft, gentle. Worse. She lingers just long enough for it to mean something. He doesn’t flinch. Just tips his head like he’s grateful for it. Like he needs it. She gives it anyway.

And then she moves.

Down the steps like she’s floating, like her feet don’t even feel the weight of this place anymore. And when she passes Riven, shewinks. A flick of lashes, that small twist of her lips—his.He catches it, of course. Winks back, just as quiet, just as complicit. And the look they share? It’s some wordless language I’m not invited to understand.

I stand at the top of the stairs and watch it all happen below me like I’m some ghost to my own goddamn story. They have their moments. Their touches. Their little carved-out spaces of belonging.

Me?

I get nothing.

Because I give nothing.

That’s the lie I tell myself to keep the ache from unraveling into something I can’t patch over. But tonight, it doesn’t hold. Tonight it feels like rot. Like every wall I’ve built is a cage she keeps choosing not to step into.

And that should comfort me.

But it doesn’t.