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Elias yells over his shoulder as Silas sprints into the distance, “CORN MAZE ROYALTY COMING THROUGH!” And then, quieter but still perfectly audible to my cursed ears, he adds, “Tell Luna she looks hot. Like sexy-scarecrow hot. I’m into it.”

I catch Luna staring after them, shaking her head like she can’t decide whether to laugh harder or commit arson. Her gaze flicks to me. “You going to say something snide, or just let them embarrass us both in public?”

“They don’t embarrass me,” I say, dryly. “They concern me.”

“You say that like they’re children.”

“Children don’t usually have access to hand grenades.”

She smirks. “Silas does?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

She grins wider, and fuck, I’m helpless. Entirely. There's a moment where we both stop walking, standing beneath a canopyof string lights hung between rusted lamp posts. The lights buzz faintly above her hair, catching the strands and turning them molten. Her fingers nudge mine again—barely—and I almost lean into it, but I don’t. Not yet.

Not when I know what she’s about to ask.

“You sure you want to do this?”

The corn maze.

The fall festival.

The illusion of normalcy.

I should say no. I should remind her we’re not the type of creatures who blend into this world. We are gods of old sins and darker instincts, clawing through a place made of soft humans and soft rules.

But she’s looking at me like I’m worth dragging into the light.

I give her the only truth I have left.

“I want to go wherever you are.”

She doesn’t respond right away, but I see it in her eyes—the way her breath catches, the smallest, sharpest hitch. Then she tugs my hand, quietly, deliberately, and I follow.

Through the noise of town, the garish laughter, the smell of cinnamon and distant bonfire smoke. Through the edges of this life we’re borrowing. Through the sharp sting of knowing we’ll never really belong here, not fully. But maybe, gods, maybewithher, I could try.

And just as we reach the edge of the festival lot, Caspian sidles up beside us, holding two caramel apples and offering one to Luna without a word. He barely looks at me.

Ambrose appears a breath later, his expression unreadable but his steps in time with ours. And somewhere in the background, Silas is shouting about losing a shoe and Elias is arguing with a scarecrow that isn’t real.

I let myself smile. Just a little.

Because this might be hell, but it’s ours.

There’s something about the quiet before a descent that tastes like divinity. A sacred hush the world holds before it fractures. The path is nothing but crooked stalks and sharp turns ahead, shadows bending strange in the dusk light, but none of us pause. Maybe because we’ve walked worse labyrinths—Branwen’s mind, our own histories, Luna’s unraveling power. Or maybe because this isn’t a descent at all. Maybe it’s an emergence.

I feel her fingers squeeze mine before she drops them entirely, disappearing into the entrance of the maze like she’s daring us to chase her.

Gods.

Shewantsto be hunted.

And there’s no part of me left that can resist.

The others move around me—Silas darting after her like a dog off-leash, already yelling about being the Minotaur. Elias muttering under his breath, elbowing Caspian who just smiles like the sun lives in his mouth now. Riven’s quiet, purposeful. Ambrose flickers like smoke. Orin moves last, silent and sure, a ghost in mortal skin.

I follow.