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Caspian, for his part, looks positively delighted with himself. His smile is all teeth, sharp and smug, and he leans back against the armrest like a man who’s just watched the first act of a masterpiece and knows act two is going to be even worse. “Can’t. Spell’s got to run its course. A few days, maybe a week. Depends on how juicy your secrets are, Silas.”

I blink. “Wait—whatspell?”

Caspian grins wider. “Your hoodie.”

I look down.

The hoodie. The one I’ve worn since yesterday. The same hoodie I slept in. The one I thought smelled like betrayal but figured it was just Elias’s shampoo rubbing off on me.Thathoodie.

“You spelled my hoodie?” I hiss, twisting to grab the hem, but it’s already too late. My voice chimes again—cheerfully, traitorously.

“I once used a summoning circle to ask for dating advice.”

Luna lets out another howl of laughter, sliding halfway off the couch again.

Caspian shrugs, utterly unapologetic. “You created a sex clone of Luna. This is retribution.”

“That clone was beautiful,” I mutter, defensive on instinct, then immediately realize my mistake.

“I’m right here, Silas,” Luna says between giggles. “You don’t have to compliment my magical copy.”

“She was alsolessjudgey,” I add. “And she didn’t put spells on my clothes!”

“That’s because she didn’t havemagic,you dumbass,” Elias deadpans, tossing a pillow at me. “And now we know the truth about your nipples.”

“And taxes,” Luna adds, still laughing. “Don’t forget about that one.”

I collapse dramatically onto the rug in front of the coffee table. “I’m going to die. My legacy is going to be ‘the god who tried to flirt with a mirror and doesn’t understand federal infrastructure.’”

The hoodie chimes in again. “I once tried to convince a tree to marry me. In my defense, I thought it was a nymph.”

“Was it?” Caspian asks, amused.

“It was an elm tree. Named Greg.”

More laughter. Raucous, vicious, full-bellied betrayal. And Luna’s gasping now, clinging to the edge of the couch, her face practically glowing from how hard she’s laughing. It’s not fair. No one should be allowed to look that good while watching me be publicly executed by enchanted apparel.

I roll over and glare at Caspian, jabbing a finger at him. “You know this is going to come back to haunt you, right?”

“Oh, Icounton it,” he purrs. “I’m broken, not stupid.”

The hoodie speaks again, sweet and smug: “I once tried to write Luna a love poem but it turned into a limerick about her thighs.”

There’s a beat.

Elias lets out a wheeze so high-pitched I’m surprised glass doesn’t shatter. Caspian slams his fist on the couch cushion like it personally offended him. And Luna—Luna is just shaking her head, lips pressed together, one hand over her chest like she’s trying to keep her heart from bursting.

“I hate everything,” I mutter into the rug. “I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t,” Luna says through her laughter. “You love me.”

“Inamed a nipple after you,” I shout from the floor. “OF COURSE I LOVE YOU.”

More laughter.

The hoodie adds softly, “I’d let her murder me. That’s not even a metaphor.”

I go still.