Page 40

"Stand your ground," he teases. "Maybe he’ll flex for you."

I glare at him, muttering a curse under my breath, but there’s no point in fleeing now.

Orin stops in front of me, tilting his head slightly, gaze slow and assessing, like he’s reading every ridiculous thought in my head.

"Good morning," he says smoothly, voice like dark silk, as if nothing awkward has ever passed between us. "You’re out early."

I clear my throat, forcing a smile I hope doesn’t look like a grimace. "Morning."

His eyes flick down, just for a second, like he’s making note of the way I’m standing—awkward, guilty, defensive. And when he looks back up, there’s a wicked glint buried beneath all that sage-like calm.

"You mentioned something about average abs."

Silas snorts so hard beside me I think he might die.

I want the ground to swallow me whole.

I move to follow Silas and Elias, desperate to disappear in the commotion, pretend none of this ever happened—but Orin steps smoothly into my path, cutting me off like he’s been planning this exact moment all morning.

"Going somewhere?" His voice is low, deliberate, the faintest tease curling around the edge of it, but there’s steel underneath. That steady, heavy way he speaks like there’s no version of this world where I’m getting past him without answering.

I stop so fast I nearly stumble, my stomach flipping like I’ve just been caught stealing from the gods. Silas and Elias don’t even bother to wait for me, snickering like the traitors they are as they vanish into the crowd, leaving me standing there under the full weight of Orin’s attention.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I was just—"

"Running away?" he supplies gently, brow arching.

"No," I lie, too quickly. "I was… leaving."

His mouth twitches, almost smiling, but not quite. "Interesting, considering you haven’t actually walked away."

Heat creeps up my neck, and I hate how easily he can rattle me now. I drag in a breath, folding my arms even though it does nothing to protect me from how sharp his gaze is when it slides over me.

"Do you always make a habit of blocking women in the middle of a market?" I say, trying for casual. It comes out awkward, brittle.

"Only the ones who call me average."

My face burns.

He watches me with that maddening patience, like he’s studying a puzzle and knows every piece will fall exactly where he wants it. "Is that really what you think of me?" he asks quietly, voice dipping lower, almost soft—but it feels like a challenge.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. "I—"

"Luna." He says my name like it’s something forbidden, something he wants to consume. "You know, it would be far easier if you simply admitted you were looking."

I want to disappear. Crawl under the cobblestones, set myself on fire, anything but stand here and let him unravel me like this.

"I wasn’t—"

"You were," he interrupts gently, unapologetic. "And I rather like that you did."

I blink, heat flooding every inch of me because he’s not teasing to fluster—he’s just honest, steady, infuriatingly sure. Before I can scrape together something clever or cutting, his mouth tips into a smile, sharp and devastating.

"I’ll make sure next time you get a better view."

And then he steps neatly around me, disappearing into the crowd like he hasn’t just lit me up from the inside out.

Caspian