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Silas turns slowly, blinking like he’s just been shaken awake.

The circle flickers, dies.

And Ambrose? He just watches it disappear like it confirmed something he’s been waiting to hear. Something heknewwas coming. Something he’s already decided to accept.

The silence doesn’t just break—it shatters.

And everyone rushes to fill the void left behind byherwords. The fantasy. The not-Luna. The echo of some magic older than all of us, fading back into whatever realm it was pulled from, like it never existed in the first place. Except we all heard her.We all heard her.

“It’s where Sin Binders go to die.”

“Ambrose has to die.”

Now everyone’s talking at once, overlapping voices like weapons drawn too fast—sharp, loud, anxious. Silas is pacing in agitated little circles near the smudged remnants of the binding circle, eyeliner still clutched in one hand like a failed talisman. He’s talking to no one and everyone, something about notmeaningto pull a truth demon, and maybe he thought it wouldbe a cat. “A sexy ghost cat,” he mutters. “Would’ve been easier on morale.”

Elias throws his head back with a dry, “We’re gonna die. We’re all gonna die. I knew it the moment I said yes to this fucked-up field trip,” but it’s not real panic in his voice. He’s always like this—sarcastic, smug—but now his fingers are twitching like he wants to slow the world down andstaythere, stuck in the safety of his own seconds.

And Riven—Riven is standing too still. The kind of still that makes your blood run wrong. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, the bond between him and Luna humming too loud across my own. I feel the echo of it, the echo ofher,and it only makes my gut tighten harder.

But Ambrose—He just stands there. Perfect posture, unreadable face. The light from the circle still flickers faintly across his jaw as if refusing to let him fade with it. Like even the magic knows it’s just painted its crosshairs on him.

I watch him.

And I don’tknowwhat I want from him.

Maybe some kind of reaction. Shock. Denial. Even a fucking smirk and a dry, “Well, I always knew I’d go out beautifully.”

But he doesn’t give meanything.Which makes it worse. Because heshould.He should look at me and say “this is bullshit” and tell Luna not to worry and tellmewe’ll find another way.

Instead, he just... absorbs it. Accepts it like a verdict he saw coming from miles away. Like a man who’s been carrying the gallows in his pocket for years, just waiting for someone to notice.

And it breaks me a little.

Because I love him.

Because I hate him.

Because he’smine, even if not the way Luna is, and the idea of this place taking him—thisplace, this world built on bones and secrets—makes something in my chest crack.

“Fuck this,” I say, louder than I meant to.

All heads turn toward me.

I run a hand through my hair, hating how shaky it is. “We’re just gonna believe that thing? That copy of Luna—that walking wet dream of magical regret—and justacceptit?” I laugh, harsh and brittle. “It’sSilas’sfantasy. Not exactly a paragon of truth and subtlety.”

Silas scowls. “Hey. That was a veryrefinedfantasy.”

Luna doesn’t speak. She’s still as a statue, eyes on the floor, one hand curled into a tight fist against her thigh.

And I can’t stand it. Not on her. Not when she’s supposed to burn, notdim.

I turn to Ambrose.

“Say something,” I demand. “Please.”

He lifts his gaze to mine, and for one second—I see it.

The fracture. The despair. The fear. The weight of something he never intended to put down.