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Then it’s gone. Polished away.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” he says. Calm. Chilling. “I’m afraid ofwhat happens if I don’t.”

Luna flinches.

And suddenly I can’t breathe. Because maybe that placeisn’tjust a prison. Maybe it’s a balance. A scale. Maybe Ambrose is the price. And maybe—if he doesn’t pay it—

We all burn.

“I mean—hypothetically—Ambrose can’tdiedie,” Silas says, gesturing in that wild, circular way like he’s hoping the movement alone will summon logic. “Maybe she meant, like, something metaphorical. You know, soul stuff. Symbolic combustion. Emotional sacrifice? Whatever.”

He says it like it’s supposed to make sense. Likeanyof this makes sense.

I drag a hand down my face, fingers scraping against the stubble I haven’t bothered shaving. “What the hell is metaphorical about ‘Ambrose has to die,’ Silas?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s like one of those ‘only the ego must perish’ kind of vibes.”

I blink slowly. “Have youmetAmbrose?”

Silas grins. “Okay, so... like... ego deathtimesa thousand.”

And it hits me—how close we are to laughing. We’re all standing in this ridiculous circle, still feeling the aftershock of magic that stank of desire and regret and fake-flesh lingerie, and we’re seconds from cracking jokes. From pretending it’s not serious.

But itis.Fuck, it is. Because I looked into Ambrose’s eyes and I sawresignation.I don’t think he plans on surviving this. I don’t think heeverdid.

The others keep talking, words bouncing like pinballs around the room, voices overlapping—until I stop hearing them altogether. My gaze shifts to the circle again, the scorched mark still faintly glowing, like it wants more from us.Always more.

That thing saidthis is where Sin Binders go to die.

And when I was in Branwen’s realm, when I was hers—bent, not broken—I only ever sawher.Only ever felther.

But... what if it wasn’t just Branwen?

What if that place... that pillar... isn’t just her domain?

What if there are others? All the Sin Binders before Luna. Buried butnot gone.Waiting. Watching. Rotting in a space between memory and ruin.Theirtether.Theirhell.

My stomach turns.

And Luna—our Luna—she’s tethered now. Tome,to Riven, to Elias and Silas and whatever the fuck Ambrose is holdinghimself back from becoming. She’s stronger than anything I’ve ever touched, but what if even that isn’t enough?

What if we’ve just set her up to fall into a cycle that none of us can stop?

And Ambrose—fuck—Hasn’t spoken since that awful calm answer aboutnot being afraid to die.Because he thinks he has to. Because he thinks we’ll be safe if he does.

And I hate him for it. And I love him more than I want to admit, because that’s what friendship with Ambrose is—unspoken loyalty carved between your ribs like a blade. You’d bleed for him before you’d ever say you would.

I step closer. “What if we find another way?”

Ambrose finally looks at me, and it’sworsethan before. Because his eyes are gentle now. Soft. Like he’s already said goodbye.

“There isn’t always another way, Cass,” he says. “You know that.”

“Bullshit.”

“You of all people should understand sacrifice.”

“You’re not a sacrifice.”