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Maybe I want it to swallow me whole.

The branches snag at my clothes, the undergrowth ripping at my ankles, but I don’t stop. My lungs burn. My legs shake. But I keep running because the alternative is worse—because if I stop, I’ll have to face what I already know.

I’ll never be enough. Not for them. Not for this realm. Not for myself. The ground shifts beneath me and I stumble, falling hard against the damp earth. My hands scrape against rough bark, dirt grinding beneath my nails. I press my forehead to the ground, my whole body shaking, a raw, ugly sound tearing from my throat.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself cry. No one is here to see me fall apart. No one to pick me back up. And I think maybe that’s the point.

Orin

The parchment is brittle between my fingers, edges frayed from too many nights of my touch, the ink fading where I’ve traced the same lines over and over like they’ll reveal something I’ve missed. Across from me, Lucien leans back in his chair, one hand curled loosely around a glass of something stronger than wine, something sharp enough to sand down the sharp edges in his jaw. He hasn’t spoken in a while, but I can feel the question vibrating beneath his skin. We’re both thinking the same thing—we always are, even when we pretend we’re not.

“This pillar…” I murmur, tapping the diagram with two fingers. “It wasn’t built to be shut. It’s a conduit. A lock, yes, but also a door.”

Lucien drags his gaze back to me, something tight and bitter behind his eyes. “You think she can open it?”

“I think,” I say carefully, “that we’re wasting time trying to force it when the Hollow’s been bending itself around her since the moment she bled into it.”

He snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “You mean to tell me all the death, the devastation, every fucking Sin Binder that’s died in this graveyard, and the answer is her?”

I lift my eyes to his, slow and deliberate. “It was always going to be her.”

The truth lodges in the space between us like a blade, sharp and final.

I lean back in my chair, dragging a hand over my face. “We go back to the chapel tomorrow,” I say, voice quiet but certain. “All of us. Together. Maybe the Hollow needs more than her blood this time. Maybe it needs every single thread that binds us to her.”

Lucien’s gaze flickers, his mouth pressing into something resigned. “And if we can’t open it?”

My smile is thin. “Then we stay in hell, Lucien. We stay until it eats us.”

Before he can respond, the door creaks open.

Riven’s silhouette fills the frame, his mouth tight, eyes sharp as a blade unsheathed. “Have either of you seen her?”

My chest tightens. Something shifts in the air—wrong, off-kilter.

Lucien straightens. “She’s not with you?”

Riven shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “No. She’s not in her room. Her window’s open.”

A curse slides off Lucien’s tongue, sharp enough to cut.

I rise from my chair, my pulse a thunderous drumbeat in my ears. “When?”

“Not sure,” Riven grits out. “But her bonds—” He stops, throat bobbing. “I can’t feel her.”

Lucien pushes back from the table hard enough to rattle the old wood. “Find Elias. Find Silas.”

I’m already moving before the command finishes leaving his mouth.

Because the Hollow is hungry. And Luna is running. And this place does not forgive the ones who run.

The house is a storm of noise and movement by the time I step back inside. Footsteps pounding. Voices sharp, slicing through the thickening dark. Riven’s already half-wild, stalking through the narrow hallway like he’s hunting something only he can sense. Caspian’s downstairs, tearing through cupboards likeLuna’s hiding in the shadows behind old parchment and rusted knives. Elias and Silas are arguing in the front room, their panic thinly veiled under crude insults and louder shouting.

It’s chaos—the kind we haven’t descended into in weeks.

And it’s all because of her.

Because Luna is gone.