Page 33

“No, no,” Silas presses, sitting up now, animated, the glint in his eye so stupid it’s almost impressive. “Hear me out. We abandon the house. The village. All of it. We find some cave, deep in the woods, off the maps. I’ll grow a beard. Orin can start reading prophecies by the fire. Riven can whittle sticks angrily. You—” He points at me. “You can finally live out your fantasy of being a terrifying, antisocial cryptid.”

I stare at him, unimpressed. “You want us to live like animals.”

“Better than being hunted down by emotionally unstable ex-lovers, Lucien!” Silas throws his hands in the air. “This is survival.”

Riven mutters something under his breath that sounds distinctly like, "I’d rather eat glass."

Orin, to his credit, doesn’t even react. He merely lifts his mug and takes a slow sip, eyes trained on Silas like he’s cataloging every word for a lecture later.

Elias leans forward, voice dry as desert bone. “And what about Luna? You plan to drag her into the woods too? Gonna build her a little shrine out of rocks and frogs?”

Silas shrugs, unbothered. “She’d love it. She’s half-feral already.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “We’re not moving to the woods.”

“But—”

“No.”

Silas slumps back dramatically, like I’ve just crushed his last dream. “Fine. But when the next Binder shows up with a vendetta and a tragic backstory, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I shoot him a look so sharp it could draw blood. “If that happens, we’ll handle it.”

The weight of those words settles heavy in the room, and for a moment, none of them speak.

Because we all know what’s coming.

This was never going to be simple. The moment stretches, sharp and brittle, the way it always does when we’re standing too close to the truth.

I drag my gaze across all of them once more, already planning how I’m going to tell Luna, how I’m going to spin this without making her look at us like we’ve failed her. Because we have.

But of course, Elias ruins the moment.

He clears his throat loudly, slouching lower in his chair like he’s about to drop something profound. “Okay, but are we really gonna sit here and pretend like the real issue isn’t that Silas is a three-pump chump?”

Silas groans so loudly it echoes off the stone walls. “For fuck’s sake.”

Orin closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s aged three hundred years in the last five minutes.

Riven exhales sharply, almost a laugh—but not quite.

I don’t flinch. I stare straight at Elias, deadpan. “This is your contribution?”

Elias shrugs, grinning like the absolute bastard he is. “I’m just saying. If she’s back from the dead, hell-bent on ruining his life, shouldn’t we at least acknowledge that it was probably the worst thirty seconds of her existence?”

Silas makes a wounded noise, tipping his head back against the wall. “It was thirty seconds of panic and bad decisions, Elias. Not a spiritual awakening.”

Elias holds up two fingers, mock solemn. “Three pumps.”

“You weren’t there,” Silas snaps.

“Didn’t have to be,” Elias shoots back. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

The corner of Orin’s mouth twitches, and I don’t miss it. Even he’s fighting a smile now, the old bastard.

I sigh, dragging a hand over my face. “Are we done?”

Elias spreads his arms, all fake innocence. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”