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I let Silas spiral.

Honestly, what else am I going to do? Wrestle the eyeliner from his hand? Physically restrain him from asking something like“Does Ambrose wax?”Because if anyone would waste a question on that, it’s Silas.

So I lean against the archway, arms crossed, pretending to examine a crack in the stone. In reality, I’m doing my best tonotlook at the lingerie-drenched fantasy version of Luna standing in front of us like she just stepped out of one of my old, unhinged dreams.

She’s still standing there, unbothered. Every inch of her designed to tempt. Designed to burn. The sway of her hips. The tilt of her lips. The knowing, sultry weight of her gaze.

It’s nother, and I know that. But fuck—it’s stillher. And it takes everything I have not to stare outright. It’s like trying to ignore a shooting star streaking across a black sky—you don’tmeanto follow it, but you do. You track the glow even as it fades.

The real Luna shifts beside me, arms tight across her chest, glaring at Silas like she’s two seconds from strangling him with her bare hands. Her discomfort is visceral. I feel it echo through the bond like a ripple of heat—not jealousy, not quite—but something too tangled to name.

I drop my gaze, force my focus on Silas, who is pacing now like he’s cracked some world-ending equation. His mouth moves, silent, as he mutters options to himself, glancing at the fake Luna, then the wall, then the circle on the floor, then back again.

And I know that look.

Thatfuck-I’ve-made-a-mess-and-now-I-need-to-make-it-worse-to-fix-itlook.

“Silas,” I say quietly, and he snaps his head up like a dog hearing its name in a thunderstorm. “Don’t waste the questions.”

He blinks at me.

I nod toward real Luna. “We need to know about the pillar. How it works. What it’sfor. And how the hell we get Orin and Lucien back.”

Silas rubs a hand over his face, dragging it down like gravity suddenly doubled. “Right. Right. Yes. Important things. Serious things. Not dick size rankings.”

Luna groans. Elias mutters something that sounds like"Just ask already before she disappears in a puff of hotness."

And the fantasy-Luna just smiles.

“Ask your first question,” she says, and her voiceechoesacross the stones.

Silas stands straighter, dramatically clearing his throat, his shirt still somehow unbuttoned like he’s the fucking protagonist in a bad romance novel. He looks at her with the seriousness of someone about to sign a demonic contract and says—

“I want to know how to unlock the pillar’s true function.”

The copy-Luna blinks once. Then she moves—slowly, sensually, every inch of her a deliberate temptation as she steps forward, until she’s nearly nose to nose with him.

She leans in. “That knowledge comes with a price.”

Silas frowns. “What kind of price?”

“Only one question per answer,” she reminds him with a smile. “You’ve used your first.”

The silence that falls is thick. Real Luna’s jaw clenches. I feel her reaching for patience like it’s a sword on a too-high shelf.

Silas hesitates, a rare flicker of anxiety moving through him like static.

And I sigh, low and bitter. Because if he fucks this up—if we don’t learn what we need—Iwillthrow him through the next warded door myself.

He’s not grinning now. He’s pacing like a caged thing, casting frantic glances between the wall, the real Luna—tense and stiff behind him—and her sultry, summoned echo still waiting within the glowing lines. The fantasy version stands barefoot, her posture designed to wreck us, hips cocked, voice like silk spun from secrets.

She’s beautiful. Of course she is. Even if I’m cracked and wrong and haunted, I’m still a man, and I still want.Still crave.I tell myself not to stare. I do it anyway. Because this isn’t just a trick. This isn’t a joke. This isn’tjustSilas being Silas. This is a circle old enough to make time hesitate. And it’s offering answers.

Silas steps forward again, his voice a rasp. “What’s the pillar for?”

The fantasy-Luna doesn’t blink. Doesn’t tease. Her answer is ice sliding into the gaps of our foundations.

“It’s where Sin Binders go to die.”