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The words shouldn’t sting—they aren’t aimed at me. But they cut, sharper than I expect, because she says it like a final thing. Like she’s drawing a line in the sand and daring me to cross it.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slow like I can smooth out the anger curling low in my gut. "You do realize you’re being just as stubborn as he is, right?" I keep my tone flat, but the frustration bleeding through is razor-fine.

Her eyes flash at me, wildfire and heartbreak. "His apology sucked," she snaps, biting the words like they’re poison on her tongue. "And even if he does feel sorry, it’s not going to change what he said. He didn’t just hurt me, Riven—he told me he wished I was dead."

The fury I’ve been holding back cracks in my chest, because she’s right. There’s no excuse for what Lucien said. No neat, tidy way to make it disappear like it wasn’t carved into her bones.

I drag my chair closer to hers, pinning her with a look she can’t dodge. "I’m not going to defend him," I say, voice low. "I won’t. What he said was cruel. It was wrong. And if you want me to say you’re right to walk away—I will."

Her lips part, her breath hitching like she didn’t expect that.

"But don’t lie to yourself, Luna," I add, leaning forward until there’s barely an inch between us. "You don’t want to stay away. You’re hurting because you want to go back and you’re scared he’ll break you again."

Her throat bobs, her grip tightening on the edge of the table like she’s holding herself in place.

"And he might," I continue, softer now, because I know exactly how fragile she is under all that steel. "Lucien doesn’t know how to love gently. None of us do. But Ambrose already beat the hell out of him for it."

She blinks, startled. "Ambrose…?"

I give a sharp nod. "Knocked him flat on his ass. None of us let him walk away from that. He deserved worse."

Her lips tremble at that, like she’s fighting something—anger or relief or maybe the bone-deep ache that’s been living under her skin since that night.

"I know you’re hurt," I say, softer now, voice like a blade dulled at the edges. "But if you think staying here, away from us, away from me…is going to make that hurt any less, you’re wrong."

I lean back, give her one small mercy of space.

Luna leans back in her chair, crossing her arms like she’s trying to fold herself into something smaller, something untouchable. The tavern hums around us—low voices, the scrape of mugs against wood, the occasional crack of laughter from a card game near the back—but all I hear is her stubborn refusal echoing between us.

"I’m sorry, Riven," she says, quiet but cutting, each word a blade. "But my answer is still no."

It hits me harder than I expect, even though I knew she’d say it. Knew she'd dig her heels in because it’s safer than letting herself bleed again. I swallow the rise of frustration crawling upmy throat and nod once, slow and deliberate, like I can force myself to be calm.

"Will you at least talk to him?" I ask, voice low, careful.

She scoffs like I’ve just asked her to slit her own throat. "If he wanted to talk, Riven, he would’ve come. He hasn’t."

There’s no venom in it—not really. She’s tired. Worn thin and brittle around the edges, and if she thinks I don’t see that, she’s wrong. I lean forward, resting my arms on the table, meeting her eyes without flinching.

"That’s because he’s just as fucking stubborn as you are."

Her mouth twists, a sharp little thing like she wants to argue—but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks away, out the window like maybe the answer she wants is out there, somewhere far enough away she can pretend none of this matters.

"You both want the other to come crawling first," I say, softer now. "But neither of you will. You’re both too damn proud."

She huffs, shakes her head like she can shake me off, but I don’t let her.

"You’re the one who taught me not to give up on people," I remind her, and her eyes flash back to mine, something dangerous and soft cracking behind them. "Don’t fucking give up on him now."

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, chewing her bottom lip like it might keep her from falling apart.

"Even if I talk to him," she finally says, voice thin, "it won’t change what he said."

"No," I agree. "But maybe it’ll change what he does next."

Luna’s smile is brittle, like she’s holding herself together with string and spit. I can see every fracture in her as she speaks, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.

“It’s not going to work out, Riven,” she says, voice low, guarded. “It never has with any Sin Binder before me. Andhonestly, it makes sense. You’re all so different. How can one person possibly hold you all?”