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Ambrose and Keira keep circling each other, like wolves pretending they’re civilized.
She may not be bonded to Ambrose, but shefeelshim. The way we all do. The way this world warps around each of us, pulling, stretching, breaking.
Silas exhales dramatically. “This is better than any of the Hollow’s hallucination loops.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
He grins. “Admit it. Youlovea little gossip.”
I ignore him and look back at Ambrose—at how his shoulders are tight, jaw locked, mouth moving with words we can’t hear, but feel the weight of anyway.
Something’s coming.
And this? This little prelude of betrayal and unfinished conversations?
This is just the fucking overture.
“I can lip read,” Silas says proudly beside me.
He can’t.
Not even a little.
The last time he tried, we ended up thinking Caspian was planning an orgy in the chapel. Turned out he was just reciting one of his creepy incantations over the altar stones. Still, made for an awkward three hours of waiting behind the organ with a bottle of whiskey and anticipation.
Now, Silas squints toward Ambrose and Keira, his expression a tragic mix of self-satisfaction and utter delusion. “She just saidI still want you… orI have a horse. The lighting’s weird.”
“She said neither of those things.”
“You don’t know.”
“I know you’re legally blind in your left eye and your right one just vibes.”
Luna huffs a laugh between us, but it’s distracted. Her gaze hasn’t moved from Ambrose. She’s trying to decipher something, and I don’t like how quiet she’s gotten. I don’t like how still. Still means thoughts. Thoughts mean feelings. Feelings mean she’s not looking atme.
I nudge her arm with my elbow.
She blinks at me.
“Want me to take her out?” I ask, nodding toward Keira. “I’ll make it look like an accident. Slip on the wet stone. Broken neck. Tragic, really.”
Luna’s mouth twitches. “You’d be the most obvious suspect.”
“Only if they find the body.”
“She’s Council.”
“Even better. We can blame it on protocol. I’ll write a whole speech about it. Something poetic.We regret to inform you that your treachery has expired. Please exit via the nearest pit.”
Silas leans in. “I’ll bring the shovel.”
“Oh, no, no,” I whisper. “You bury things like a raccoon on a caffeine binge. It’s not dignified.”
Luna’s smile deepens, but her shoulders are still tight. We all feel it. And watching him spiral toward old disaster is like watching your ex dive back into the arms of the trauma that built him.
Keira steps in closer, voice too low to hear, but her posture is pure poison—back arched, head tilted, lips parted like she’s delivering a monologue written for someone she already intends to betray.
I hate her. Not for what she did to Ambrose.