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I glance at her again. Her expression’s unreadable, but I see it—the way her fingers flex like she wants to reach for me and isn’t sure I deserve it yet.

“And yeah,” I say, smirking again because I can’t help myself, “I love you. It’s gross. I should probably be exorcised. But I do. I love you like I invented the damn word. So don’t go thinking for a second that any of those ghosts back there ever had a piece of me like this.”

I lean in, dropping my voice to something meant just for her.

“You’re the only one who ever made me want to stay.”

And this time, I don’t crack a joke. Because this time, I mean ittoo muchto make it easier. I don’t look at her right away after I say it.

I can’t.

Because if she’s about to laugh, or saythank you but not like that,or hit me with that soul-eating silence she’s so good at, I don’t want to know yet. I just want to pretend I landed the plane without setting the whole forest on fire.

But then I hear it.

Soft. Too soft.

“Thank you.”

Not sarcastic. Not automatic. Just full of this slow, devastating honesty that slices through me in a way no weapon ever has. I blink, finally turning toward her, and she’s already looking at me.

And then—she says it back.

“I love you, Elias.”

And yeah. It’s not the first time. We’ve said it before—in bed, in battle, in moments between madness where it felt like the onlysane thing left. But this one hits different. This one’s not born from heat or adrenaline or some bond-induced spiral.

This is herchoosingme. Again. After everything. She steps a little closer, boots squelching in the muck like even the forest is eavesdropping on us.

Her voice is smaller now, but somehow heavier. “Can I have a hug?”

It’s so normal, so heartbreakingly human, it almost knocks me sideways.

A hug.

I nod—just once—and open my arms like I’m not about to die in them. She walks into me without hesitation, pressing her face against my chest, and I wrap around her like she’s the only warmth left in this gods-damned Hollow.

And maybe she is.

My chin rests lightly on top of her head. I breathe her in—rain and something sweet and electric and entirelyLuna.Her arms loop around my waist like she was always meant to live there, like I’m more than the reckless, sarcastic disaster she got stuck with.

And I know I should let the moment stay clean. Pure. Gentle.

But I’m Elias Dain.

Which means I can’t have anything nice without ruining it.

So I murmur, low and gravel-dry into her hair, “If this turns into a dry hump, it’s not my fault. You’re the one pressed up against me like you want to make terrible decisions.”

She laughs—real and sharp, half a groan, half amusement—and pulls back just enough to smack my chest with the flat of her palm. I pretend it hurts. I lean into it. She knows I’m grinning before she even looks up.

“You ruin everything,” she mutters.

“You say that like it’s new,” I shoot back, flashing my best grin, the one that usually ends with her throwing something at me orstraddling me. Honestly, it’s a toss-up I enjoy both ways. Her fingers don’t leave my shirt. And my hands definitely don’t stop tracing slow circles on her lower back.

It’s just a hug. But it’s not. It’s a moment. A reset. A fuck-you to every ghost that tried to pull us apart in that village.

And if my thigh is currently nudging between hers?