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Because Lucien Virelius is an asshole—but he’s a prideful, guilt-ridden, possessive asshole, and he was never going to let me hit the ground.

The magic tightens around my ribs, cold and bright, yanking me violently out of the freefall. I dangle mid-air like a ragdoll, grinning up at him from thirty feet below, because I know what’s coming next.

And sure enough, Lucien’s voice cuts through the cathedral, low and murderous. “Silas.”

I beam. “Lucien! My savior!”

The magic jerks, slamming me gently but firmly to the floor. I land in a crouch, brushing imaginary dust off my shirt as Lucien storms toward me like he’s going to personally strangle me.

“You fucking idiot,” he snarls.

Behind him, Elias is laughing so hard he’s doubled over.

And from the shadowed alcove at the far end of the cathedral, I catch it—the faintest flicker of movement.

Luna.

Watching. Her hand pressed to her mouth like she can’t decide whether to scream or laugh or murder all three of us.

Perfect.

I straighten, grinning so wide it hurts.

Lucien grabs me by the front of my shirt, shoving me back a step. “What the hell was that?”

I glance pointedly over his shoulder, where Luna’s shadow lingers.

“Hero moment,” I say, voice all sugar and vinegar. “You’re welcome.”

And before he can throttle me, I wink, lean in, and whisper “She’s watching you.”

His hands go slack.

Caspian

The sanctum feels too clean. It stretches wide and gleaming beneath us, marble floors polished to perfection, every inch of stone meticulously restored in Branwen’s image. The stained glass above scatters fractured light across the floor, too bright, too beautiful for what this place truly is—a grave.

We’re all standing in the belly of her ghost, and every step feels like it echoes too loudly.

The pillar looms in the center of the room, rebuilt after the war, pristine and useless. A monument to her obsession. It doesn’t hum with power the way it used to. It just stands there now—ornamental, hollow. A reminder of how much it cost us to tear her apart.

None of us speak for a moment. We’re all looking at the same thing. And none of us want to be the first to say what we’re thinking.

It’s Luna who moves first, her footsteps quiet as she crosses the threshold and stops a few paces away from me. She folds her arms across her chest, her chin tilted just enough to look calm, detached, but I know better. I can feel her magic thrumming faintly where it brushes against mine—the bond still open between us, still warm.

Lucien lingers near the back of the group, rigid and sharp as ever, eyes locked on the pillar like it might bite. He hasn’t lookedat her once. But I can feel the weight of his gaze every time she moves, like he’s watching her without letting himself look.

It’s the same damn thing every day. The fracture between them pressing at the edges of all of us, sharp enough to draw blood.

I hate it.

Orin is the one who breaks the quiet, his voice slow and deliberate, as if he’s already spent hours thinking through the question and only now decided to let us catch up. “The pillar is empty.”

He doesn’t need to say it. We all know it. But hearing him lay the truth bare still lands like a blade across the room.

Elias huffs beside me, shifting his weight like he wants something to punch. “So what? We came all this way just to stare at it?”

“It’s not functional,” Orin clarifies, his gaze cutting to Elias briefly before settling back on the pillar. “Branwen built this one as a mirror. A copy of the real pillars from the old world. But without her magic anchoring it—there’s nothing left.”