Page 55

Elias peeks at me from beneath his lashes, something unreadable flickering there. "You fishing, sweetheart?"

"Maybe," I murmur, forcing a shrug, but my pulse is loud in my throat. "I mean, clearly you have a type. Lunatics. And I’m here now, so…"

"Don’t do that," Ambrose cuts in, his voice a blade dragging over silk. "You’re nothing like them."

"Because I’m better at hiding how crazy I am?" I offer, trying to play it off, but something ugly gnaws at my ribs.

Silas groans, flopping onto his back like I’ve wounded him. "Luna, no. You’re not crazy."

"You’re worse," Elias drawls, a smirk ghosting over his lips.

I arch a brow, pulse ticking faster. "Worse?"

"Yeah," Elias says, sitting up now, the sharpness stripped from his grin. "Because you don’t want to own us. You just… do."

Ambrose meets my gaze then, cool and direct. "They wanted to carve their names into us. You? You’ve carved yourself into us without even trying."

Silas nods, something almost serious in his eyes, for once. "They all wanted to make us theirs. You never asked. You just showed up and became ours."

Heat climbs up my throat, sharp and unexpected. "That sounds a lot like a compliment."

"It is," Elias mutters, voice too soft, too honest. "You’re not like them, Luna. You’re not the storm that destroys everything. You’re the one thing we’re all willing to drown in."

Silas rolls onto his stomach, chin propped in his hand, grin crooked now. "Also, you’re hotter than all of them combined. And you don’t make creepy dolls out of our hair."

"Yet," I deadpan, but my throat is tight.

Ambrose’s mouth curves, almost a smile. "You’re not crazy, Luna. You’re inevitable."

And there’s nothing casual about the way he says it.

Ambrose’s stare feels like a blade slicing through the quiet.

Silas and Elias are arguing over whether or not they can rig the half-built tree fort with trip wires to “keep out unhinged exes,” and for once, Ambrose isn’t cutting them down with one of his cold remarks. He’s just here, near enough that the heat of him seeps beneath my skin, silent enough to make me hyperaware.

And it’s not like this is new—he’s always been a shadow I couldn’t outrun. What’s new is… this.

The way he’s been lately. Less sharp edges, more quiet proximity. He doesn’t leave after anymore. Doesn’t vanish like a bad habit he can’t wait to forget. He stays. Sleeps. Breathes beside me like it doesn’t cost him anything.

It’s unsettling.

Because for all the wicked, tangled ways I love Silas and Elias and Riven… Ambrose has always felt like a negotiation I couldn’t win. Now he feels like something I’ve already lost.

Silas makes some crude joke about rigging a rope trap with bear urine—Elias cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard—and I feel Ambrose shift beside me, the edge of his thigh grazing mine. A deliberate touch that lingers longer than it should.

My stomach flips.

I swallow and force myself to keep my voice light. "You’re not going to suggest bear urine too, are you?"

Ambrose doesn’t look at me, but the corner of his mouth twitches. "No," he murmurs, voice low, velvet and razor-sharp. "I have better weapons."

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s still staring straight ahead, but there’s something different about the line of his jaw, the way his fingers curl loose against his knee. Like he’s relaxed. Almost… playful.

Which makes it worse.

Because I don’t understand what this is. What we are. I know what the bond between us feels like when we’re tangled up in sheets, when he’s got me on my back, when the cold calculation in his gaze melts into something scorching. But this version of him—softened, present, not running?

That’s what’s confusing. What terrifies me more than the sharp edges ever did.