Page 95

The laughter tapers.

Luna’s smile falters for just a second—but not in a bad way. Just long enough for something unspoken to pass between us. Something quiet. Heavier. Real.

She shifts on the couch. Reaches for me. “Hey…”

I sit up fast, too fast. Point at Caspian. “You’ll pay for this. You and your slutty magic.”

Caspian blows me a kiss.

Luna shakes her head, eyes still shining. “Best prank ever.”

“I’m sleeping naked forever now,” I grumble. “No more hoodies. No more trust.”

And the hoodie, like it’s been saving the best for last, whispers softly:

“I don’t know how to tie a tie. I’ve been faking it for four centuries.”

Everyone loses it all over again.

And honestly? I kind of deserve it.

Elias

The second that doorbell rings, it’s like the laughter is vacuumed out of the room.

The sound cuts through all of us, and the amusement dies sharp in our throats like someone’s snapped the thread that held the moment together. My stomach drops—not because we’re expecting anyone. No one everringsthe bell. People who come to this house don’t knock. They bleed their way inside, crawl through cracks in the walls, or set the place on fire and wait for us to answer.

Silas stiffens first, hoodie spell forgotten, and slinks toward the window with the kind of suspicion that’s earned, not learned. He peeks between the heavy curtains, eyes squinting. “Well, shit.”

He glances back at me, then at Luna, who’s already standing, her laughter wiped clean, replaced by something sharper.

“It’s Alistair.”

That name lands like a punch to the chest.

The room shifts again, the way it always does when someone mentions him. Like even the walls know better than to breathe too loudly aroundApathy.

Luna’s already halfway to the door before Silas finishes saying his name. No hesitation, no second thought. She doesn’t even look back to check if I’m following—she knows I will. Always do.

I drag a hand down my face and force myself upright, casting one glance at Caspian, who looks more like himself now that he’s smiling again, though there’s a flicker of something fragile still tucked behind his eyes.

Riven stays seated, arms crossed over his chest, watching Luna with that feral protectiveness stitched into every inch of him. He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t need to. He knows I’ll follow.

I catch up with her at the door.

Alistair’s standing there like he walked out of a painting no one wanted to hang. Sharp-edged, ethereal in a way that feels less godly and more hollow—like the void wore a man’s skin and learned how to smile without meaning it.

His posture’s loose, casual, but I know better. He’s not here on accident.

“Alistair,” I greet flatly, leaning against the doorframe like I haven’t spent my entire existence avoiding this exact kind of reunion.

He glances at me, expression unreadable. “Elias.”

But his attention flicks past me immediately, locking onto Luna like she’s the only one in the room worth speaking to. Without a word, he holds out an envelope.

Luna hesitates for half a second before she steps forward and takes it from him, her fingers brushing his just briefly. She reads the name written on the front—hers—and her breath catches.

“It’s from Layla.”