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I watch her, watch the exhaustion in her eyes that she’s trying to mask with logic. She’s not tired of us—she’s tired of trying to prove she belongs, like she wasn’t carved from the same ruin and magic as the rest of us. I lean back, folding my arms over my chest, letting her words hang for a breath before I shake my head.

“You have five out of seven, Luna,” I say, voice even but edged. “Five. And Orin isn’t exactly subtle about how he looks at you. He’s courting you like a fucking old-world prince, and we both know it’s only a matter of time before that bond clicks into place.”

She opens her mouth, but I cut her off.

“In a year,” I say, meeting her gaze head-on, “you’ve done what no one else has done in centuries. No other Sin Binder’s come close to this. You think that’s coincidence? You think that’s fate messing with us?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, looking away again like the weight of it is too much.

“And Lucien—” I drag his name out like it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Lucien doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t even dislike you. He’s terrified, Luna. He’s always been the one holding the line, keeping the rest of us from tearing apart at the seams. And then you came along, and you made him hesitate.”

I lean forward, voice dropping, softer now but no less sharp.

“He’s not angry because you broke something. He’s angry because you didn’t. And he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it always does. Every other time, every other Sin Binder, they shattered before we could even get close. But you’re still here.”

Her jaw tightens, and I see it—the crack in her resolve, the way her bond to us pulses just under the surface no matter how much she tries to bury it.

“I’m not letting this thing between you and him tear this apart,” I say, quiet but sure. “We’ve all waited eons, Luna. And none of us—me least of all—are going to let you go without a fight.”

Her fingers curl around mine, soft but certain, and when I glance down at her, her eyes are already on me—too clear, too guarded, too determined. She’s already made her decision, and I can feel it humming beneath her skin like something final.

“It’s still no, Riven,” she says quietly but without a trace of hesitation. “I understand why you want to fix this. I get why you think if I’d just let him in, everything would fall back into place. But this is my life too, and I’ve spent too long feeling like I don’t get to choose. I’m happy with you, with all of you. I just don’t want anything to do with him.”

I know her well enough to hear the line she’s drawing in the dirt, the one she won’t cross no matter how much I want her to. There’s an ache under my ribs, sharp and steady, but I don’t push. I’ve already said what I needed to say. I’ve already tried.

I squeeze her hand once, and then pull back before I do something stupid, like beg.

“Fine,” I mutter, voice rougher than I intend. “But you’re still coming with us in the morning.”

Her lips twitch at that, the barest hint of a smile cracking through her exhausted armor. “To the cathedral?”

“Yeah.” I meet her eyes, holding her there with nothing but the weight of the bond between us. “Portal’s not gonna open itself, and knowing you, you’ll find a way to twist the damn thing inside out.”

She huffs a soft laugh, but there’s warmth in her gaze now, something softer slipping past her walls for a second. “I’ll come,” she says. “For that.”

The conversation’s over—on the surface, at least. I know better than to think this is done. She’s still bleeding under her skin, still quietly unraveling from what Lucien said to her. But she’s letting us have this one thing, and that’ll have to be enough for now.

Orin

The road to the cathedral stretches long and crooked beneath us, the earth damp and littered with brittle leaves from trees that have long since surrendered to this cursed realm. The Hollow presses close here, the woods whispering with old magic, thick with rot and memories. I let the others go on ahead, their energy loud and impatient, knowing I wouldn’t get a moment with her if they lingered. This isn’t a conversation meant for an audience.

Luna walks beside me, kicking loose stones as if they’re stand-ins for Lucien’s skull. Her breath comes in sharp, annoyed little bursts every time she mutters under it—about him, about how impossible he is, about how she’s not going to waste another second caring what he thinks. It’s endearing, almost amusing, how easily she pretends she doesn’t care when it’s written in every line of her shoulders.

I say nothing at first. I let her vent, knowing she needs it, knowing she’ll burn herself out long before the cathedral towers loom into view. It gives me time to watch her, to study the sharp defiance of her mouth and the flush of frustration in her cheeks. It makes something tight in my chest unfurl.

When she finally quiets, her steps slowing as the weight of everything she’s holding in settles heavier on her shoulders, I speak.

“You waste a great deal of breath on a man who’s not worth the real estate in your mind,” I murmur, voice low, even.

Her head snaps toward me, scowling, but I don't let her interrupt. “I don’t say that to belittle your anger. You’ve earned it, Luna. But you are burning yourself down to ash trying to prove you don’t care. And I don't think you should let him take that from you.”

She rolls her eyes at me, muttering something under her breath about how she doesn’t need a lecture, but she doesn’t look away. She never looks away from me. That, at least, she gives me.

I wait until the path narrows, until the woods peel back to a clearing kissed by light—just enough space between us and the world for me to pull the small velvet pouch from my coat pocket.

“For what it’s worth,” I say, extending it to her, “I see you, Luna. I’ve seen you since the moment you clawed your way into this nightmare of a realm and dared to hold us accountable. I am not waiting for you to fall apart. I am waiting to see how much more of the world you’re going to set on fire.”

Her brow furrows as she eyes the pouch suspiciously, then glances at me like I might be playing some game. But curiosity gets the better of her—as it always does—and she takes it from me.