Page 133

I kiss her again. Harder this time. Less careful. My other hand finds her hip, pulling her against me until there’s no space left to think. No air between the consequences and the want.

And gods—wantis the wrong word for this.

This is compulsion. This isinevitability.

The only thing in this cursed realm more dangerous than Dominion is desire. And she has both now.

Not because she demanded them.

But because I gave them to her.

Willingly.

Elias

The path we’re on was probably charming once. Cobblestone, if you squint. Worn smooth from centuries of ghosts making the same fucking mistakes. Now it’s just slick with drizzle and too many memories that aren’t mine anymore, but still dig in like they are.

We all walk like we’re trying not to look like we’re walking. Caspian’s got that quiet, post-battle ache in his spine. Ambrose isn’t saying shit, which always means his head is chewing through the inside of his own skull. Riven looks like he wants to throw Lucien into a ravine, and honestly? Same.

Orin’s out front, posture perfect, gaze fixed, probably reciting some ancient dead language in his head to keep from setting fire to the entire forest. Which I respect. Sage Daddy’s keeping it together.

And then there’s me. Shuffling through puddles with my hands in my pockets and a headache crawling down the back of my neck, trying not to glance behind me wheresheis.

Because Luna and Lucien are still in the trees. Still talking. Or not. I can’t tell which is worse. The others don’t say anything about it. But we all feel the weight of it dragging behind us like a storm that hasn’t decided who it’s going to drown yet.

I nudge Silas with my elbow. He grunts, barely dodging a slick patch of moss that might’ve dropped his ass directly into a puddle. Missed opportunity.

“Do you ever think we’re in a nightmare sex cult we accidentally started and now we can’t leave?” I mutter, just low enough for him to hear.

Silas glances at me sideways, hair plastered to his forehead, soaked collarbones glinting where his shirt’s open. “Wasn’t accidental. You had a PowerPoint. With transitions.”

I sigh. “Gods, I miss transitions.”

“Same,” he says. Then quieter: “Especially the fade to black.”

For a second, we just walk. The trees lean in closer here, tall and gnarled, the bark pale as bone. Old magic in the roots. Feral magic. The kind that remembers what blood smells like when it’s spilled for love.

Silas finally speaks again, voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “You think they werereal?”

I don’t pretend not to know what he means. The girls. The ones who looked at us like they still remembered the worst things we ever said to them. The ones who touched their wrists like they could still feel the bond we broke. Or buried.

“They were real enough,” I say. “Real enough to make Lucien look like someone shoved a mirror down his throat and made him stare at his soul.”

Silas winces. “That’s graphic.”

I shrug. “It’s Hollow shit. Everything here’s got teeth.”

He falls quiet again. Too quiet. Which is how I know he’s actually thinking.

When Silas finally speaks, his voice has that rare, hollow edge to it—the one he only uses when he’s not performing. When he’s just… real.

“I fucked some of them,” he says. “Like, really fucked them. Not the usual chaos and charm. Theymatteredonce. I don’t even remember some of their names, Elias.”

I glance at him. He’s not looking at me. Just at the ground. His fingers twitch at his sides like they want something to hold, but don’t know what it is.

“Yeah,” I say, because what the fuck else do you say to that?

I remember them too. Not names, not details. Justmoments.The way some of them laughed. The way one of them used to hum while she stitched her wounds shut. The way another said she didn’t believe in fated bonds, but still cried when hers snapped.