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And even though I don’t shout—won’t—I understand it. I understand him. Because this girl… this stubborn, maddening, terrifying girl… she made me softer without asking permission. And I hate that.

But not enough to stop looking. Not enough to stop chasing. Not enough to stop feeling like I’ll rip apart the entire Hollow if it means I can find her.

And I can’t stop thinking—if she doesn’t want to be found, it’s because we failed her first.

“Come on, little star,” I murmur under my breath, scanning the wild beyond the Spiral. “Let us catch you.” Because I’m done pretending I’m not hunting her for myself, too.

Elias

Silas whirls around like a man possessed, his eyes wild, his mouth moving faster than his head. “Orin!” he shouts, his voice slicing through the trees like a whip, sharp and frantic.

Orin—stoic, sage, unbothered Orin—lifts a brow, slowing just slightly as Silas practically barrels toward him.

“We need bait,” Silas continues, breathless, disheveled, manic in a way that only Silas can be. “And you, old man, you’re it.”

I groan from behind them, pinching the bridge of my nose because I know what’s about to come out of his mouth and it’s going to be catastrophic.

Silas grins like he’s cracked the fucking code. “Take your shirt off.”

Orin halts, utterly unamused. “Excuse me?”

Silas waves his arms like it’s the most obvious, reasonable request in existence. “Your abs, Orin. The girl’s got a thing for them. You show up half-naked, glistening in the Hollow’s moonlight like a fucking forbidden snack, and she’ll come crawling out of whatever cave she’s hiding in.”

Orin just stares at him. Cold. Blank. The kind of stare that could end wars, could crush kingdoms, and Silas doesn’t even flinch.

“She’s not a raccoon, Silas,” Orin deadpans. “You can’t lure her out with shiny things.”

Silas nods seriously. “You say that, but have you tried?”

I can't help it—I laugh. Sharp, bitter, because we’re losing her, and this is how Silas handles it: ridiculous, reckless, but gods, if he isn’t trying. If he isn’t fighting like hell in the only way he knows how.

“She’s not gonna sniff out Orin’s abs like a trail of breadcrumbs,” I mutter, but my chest aches in a way I can’t name because I wish—fuck, I wish—it was that simple.

Orin scowls, his hands crossing over his chest like he’s physically warding Silas off. “We’re wasting time.”

“She’s not answering the bond,” Silas snaps, voice cracking under the weight of it. “And every second she’s out here alone, she thinks we hate her. She thinks we don’t want her.”

His voice catches, and my smile dies in my throat.

Because that’s it. That’s what’s killing him.

It’s what’s killing all of us.

And I hate him for saying it out loud because now I can’t unhear it, can’t unsee the look on her face when she thinks none of us will come.

“We’ll find her,” I say, softer, quieter, like it’s a fucking promise I have no right to make.

Silas shakes his head once, then turns back to Orin, undeterred. “You’re still taking the shirt off.”

Orin huffs, mutters something that sounds suspiciously likeidiots,but finally pulls the damn thing over his head.

Silas claps like he’s summoned the gods themselves. “See? Now we’re serious.”

The others catch up—Riven, Caspian, Lucien brooding and silent like a storm about to crack—and they all slow, eyeing Orin like the world’s shifted.

“Why is he half-naked?” Riven asks flatly.

“To trap Luna,” Silas answers without missing a beat.