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The knock I give her door isn’t light—it’s deliberate. Sharp, three times, like I’m keeping myself from clawing through the wood. I could’ve just opened it; there isn’t a door in this house that could stop me. But this isn’t that. This is me asking.

Because I know the second I cross this line, I won’t come back the same.

When the door creaks open, she’s there, small and curious and utterly dangerous to me in a way she’ll never understand. Her hair’s a mess, and she looks at me like I’m the one who’s about to make trouble. She has no idea.

“Caspian?” Her voice is soft, the kind she uses when she knows something’s wrong but can’t name it yet.

I lean against the frame, swallowing down the ache building under my ribs. My throat’s dry, my skin feels too tight, and everything inside me is humming, vibrating with the weight of what I’ve let fester.

“I need your help,” I tell her, voice rougher than I intend. I drag a hand through my hair, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “It’s… not something I can ask anyone else.”

She frowns, stepping back to let me in without question, like I haven’t spent months trying to pretend everything was fine. Like she doesn’t already know I’m a goddamn mess. “What’s wrong?”

I step inside, pacing the length of her room once because I can’t stand still, the power under my skin too sharp, too loud. It’s been clawing at me for weeks now, and I’ve been holding it in like a cracked bottle, hoping I wouldn’t shatter.

“I’m leaking,” I say flatly, turning to face her. “You know how it works. We’re not supposed to hold our power for too long without using it.”

She nods slowly, still not understanding, and I hate how much I want her to. How much I want her to see the way I’ve been drowning in it.

“I can’t use mine,” I add, quieter now. “Not since Branwen. Every time I even try to… it turns my stomach. Makes me sick.”

I see the realization flicker across her face, but she still doesn’t quite get it.

“My power isn’t like the others’,” I murmur, dragging my fingers over the back of my neck. “I don’t build things, or throw punches, or craft stupid coins like Silas. I am Lust, Luna. It’s what I am.”

Her throat works as she swallows, eyes narrowing slightly. “So what do you need from me?”

My smile is faint and sharp, almost cruel, because there’s no easy way to say it. No delicate, polite, safe way.

“I need you to take it.”

She blinks, her lips parting, confusion blooming across her face.

“All of it,” I go on. “Every bit I’ve kept bottled up for months. I need somewhere to put it, or it’s going to rip me apart.”

Her gaze flicks nervously over me now, but I don’t move toward her. I keep my distance, voice measured, deliberate.

“I won’t touch you,” I add. “Not unless you ask me to. But you’re the vessel, Luna. You’re the only one who can take it.”

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t speak, so I keep going, laying it out for her piece by piece, brutal in my honesty.

“You’re going to feel everything I’ve been holding back,” I murmur, my voice scraping low. “Every ounce of want, every bit of arousal I’ve forced into the dark, every raw, desperate thing I’ve kept from you. It’s going to hit you all at once.”

Her lips part like she’s going to argue, to tell me this is too much, too intimate, too dangerous—but she doesn’t.

Instead, she just says, “How bad is it?”

I meet her eyes, and I don’t lie. “You’ll come so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

Her breath hitches.

I shrug, pretending like I’m unaffected when everything inside me is on fire. “You can say no. I’ll figure something else out.”

Her throat works around a swallow as she looks up at me from her bed, her knees tucked, her hands fidgeting in her lap like she’s trying to figure out if she should be nervous or intrigued.

“What do you need me to do?” she asks, voice softer now, rasped at the edges.

My mouth curves at the question, because she has no idea how dangerous that question is—not because of what I’ll do, but because of what she’ll feel. Because the moment I start, I won’t stop until there’s nothing left inside me but ash.