Page 205

It’s unsettling how still the room feels. After all this time, after the blood and ghosts and gods-forsaken nothingness, we finally have a way out. A direction. A door. And it’s not screaming or trying to eat us. That alone feels like a trap.

The others are silent, waiting, staring at the pillar like it might bite. But not me. I feel good. Restless. Alive. Like the kind of chaos that makes stars collapse and cities catch fire is twitching just under my skin, begging me todo something stupid.

And I will. Obviously.

But first—

I fold my hands over my chest like I’m about to give a eulogy, which I am. Sort of. My voice rings out, smooth and a little too loud. “Before we all get sucked through the maybe-portal of doom and possibly disintegrate into magical spaghetti, I think it’s only right someone say a few final words.”

Elias groans somewhere behind me. “Gods. Here we go.”

I keep going. “I’m honored, truly, to be your chosen mouthpiece in this sacred moment of imminent danger and poorly considered decision-making.”

Riven mutters something that sounds likeshut up, but he doesn’t stop me either. Which is consent. Probably.

I pivot on my heel, dramatically sweeping an arm toward the center of the cavern. “To the cursed realm that tried so hard tokill us: your traps were inventive, your ghosts persistent, your scenery consistently grim. I’ll miss your aesthetic but not your attitude. To the Hollow—may you crumble in poetic, on-brand misery.”

I pause for effect, then press my hand to my heart, sighing deeply like this is truly wounding me.

“And to the poor villagers of Whatever-the-Fuck-We-Named-It—those dear, doomed souls who will weep when they discover I have vanished from their lives without one final flex or inappropriate joke—I have left behind an inheritance of thegoldenvariety beneath the floorboards of my room at the Shithouse Inn.” I glance around, pointedly. “First come, first served. And may the most chaotic bastard win.”

There’s a brief, heavy silence.

Then Elias snorts. Caspian lets out an amused exhale. Even Ambrose’s mouth ticks, just slightly, like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Riven looks like he wants to strangle me with one hand, butmildly.

But Luna—gods,Luna—she’s the one who matters.

She’s watching me like she always does. Like she can see right through the layers of absurdity and grinning bullshit. Her lips twitch, and I see it—the thing I live for. That little flicker of something in her eyes that only ever shows up when I make her feel alive.

I wink at her. “You’re welcome.”

And just for her, low through the bond, I add,If this portal eats us, I want you to know I’d haunt you exclusively. Shirtless. Possibly oiled.

She chokes on a laugh. My mission is accomplished.

But the moment settles again—thicker now, heavier with the unspoken knowing that this could be it. The next step could be salvation or something worse. And yet… we’re all still standing here, stilltogether. That’s what matters.

I clap my hands once, letting the echo bounce. “Well then. Who’s ready to gamble everything on a glorified rock?”

And fuck me, if no one else answers, I’ll do it alone.

But from the way they’re looking at me—the way Luna’s hand is still resting on the stone like she belongs there—I know they’ll follow.

Oh shit. Like actual, full-bodied, throat-tightening, heart-skippingshit. I freeze, one hand halfway to scratching behind my ear, the other already lifting my satchel off my shoulder because—gods—Ialmost forgotMr. Bean.

Mr. Fucking Bean.

This entire time, while we’ve been fighting shadows and dragons and moral decay, I’ve had a literal purring murder-muffin curled up like royalty in the bottom of my satchel. Lucien’s kitten.Luna’skitten.

The one I swore—on my very real, very chaotic, extremely breakable life—that I’d keep safe.

I blink down into the bag as I crouch beside the pillar, slowly easing the flap open like I’m expecting to find a wrath demon inside instead of a six-week-old menace with whiskers. And there he is. Fuzzy, golden-eyed, and curled in a patch of warm silk I definitely didn’tpack, but sure, go off, Mr. Bean. Live luxuriously. He yawns. Big. Offended. LikeI’mthe one who’s been an inconvenience.

The group stirs behind me, shuffling, talking quietly, probably assuming I’m doing something ridiculous again—and to be fair, I am. But I also cradle Bean gently in my hands and stand with the kind of reverence normally reserved for gods or extremely well-aged wine.

“Gentlemen,” I say, holding up the kitten like I’m announcing the heir to the realm. “We almost committed an unspeakable crime.”

Riven, predictably, looks like he wants to throw something at me. “Silas, what the hell is—”