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“I don’t think I know how to be courted like this,” she admits quietly.

“I’m not expecting you to,” I say. “I’ll show you.”

And gods help me, I will.

The song shifts around us—something slower now, less raucous than the rest of the tavern noise. I don’t let go of her hand, not even when the tavern begins to blur around the edges, the weight of the room dissolving until it’s only her.

“So,” she says, voice soft but threaded with that sharpness she always carries, “what happens next, Professor Vale? Do Iget quizzed on proper courtship etiquette? Am I supposed to curtsy?”

I lift a brow at that, the corner of my mouth pulling upward. “You’re welcome to curtsy if you’d like,” I murmur. “But I already know you’d fail any etiquette test. Spectacularly.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes like she’s trying not to laugh. “That’s rude.”

“It’s accurate.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but her smile tugs higher. “And what exactly do you expect from me in all of this? Should I swoon? Bat my lashes? Throw myself at your feet?”

I hold her gaze deliberately, letting the pause stretch until she shifts beneath it, playful on the outside but restless underneath.

“No,” I say quietly. “I expect nothing but what you’re already doing.”

Her brows pull together slightly. “Which is?”

“Letting me see you,” I answer, voice low and certain. “The real you. Not the version you weaponize. Not the girl who survived the Hollow. Not the Sin Binder they’ve all carved themselves around. Just you.”

Her breath catches faintly, and I feel it—how much she wants to dodge that, make it a joke. She doesn’t.

Instead, she swallows and murmurs, “That sounds terrifying.”

“It should be,” I reply. “I have no interest in anything that doesn’t terrify me.”

She laughs at that, shaking her head, eyes dropping to the floor between us like she’s trying to hide how much she’s smiling now.

I dip my head slightly, voice quieter when I speak again. “You’re not used to someone seeing you without reaching for you.”

Her gaze flicks back up to mine, sharp and curious.

“I’m not in a hurry,” I continue, fingers brushing hers deliberately now. “You don’t need to perform for me, Luna. You don’t need to win me.”

Her eyes soften, mouth parting, and her voice drops a little. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“About you?” I murmur. “Always.”

The heat blooms in her cheeks again, and gods, I would burn the world to see that look on her face every day.

She bites the inside of her cheek, then leans forward conspiratorially. “So, if you’re so sure, tell me something else.”

I arch a brow. “What would you like to know?”

Her eyes flick toward my mouth and back up, playful again now, sharper at the edges. “What’s the worst thing you’ve thought about me since you started this whole… formal courting thing?”

My smile sharpens, and I don’t hesitate. “That I should have done this sooner.”

Her breath stutters, and before she can recover, I lean in, voice pitched so low only she can hear.

“The second worst,” I murmur, “is that I want to kiss you every time you look at me like you’re trying to figure out how dangerous I am.”

Her lips part again, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat.