Page 123

I hate her because she’s the ghost that’ll linger in Luna’s head after this.
“You okay?” I murmur.
Luna nods. Lies.
So I reach over, tug her hood down gently to shield her face and lean close, my mouth just at her ear.
“Just so we’re clear,” I say quietly, “if you ever pull some ancient heartbreak out of your back pocket and parade him around looking like a Calvin Klein curse, I’m throwing him off the roof.”
She exhales through a laugh. “That’s fair.”
“Damn right it is.”
Silas watches us, dramatically wounded. “You two flirting without me again? Wow. Disrespectful.”
“You were busy misreading Keira’s lips.”
“Iwas—she just saidI am the villain in this story and I’ll ruin everything you love.”
“…Okay, that might actually be accurate.”
We all go quiet again.
Ambrose says something sharp now. His face is blank, but I catch the flicker of hate under it. Not fury. Hate. A colder, older thing. Keira flinches—but only slightly. She’s practiced. This is their dance. Wounds hidden in every step.
I lean back, bump her shoulder with mine, and sigh dramatically.
“This is why I’m emotionally unavailable. No one ever cries over me in the rain. Where’s my tragic ex?”
“You don’t have one.”
“I should get one.”
“I don’t think you’re capable of sustaining a relationship long enough to earn one.”
“That’s mean.”
She grins at me again. Genuine this time.
And that? That’s all I need.
Let Ambrose tear himself apart with his past. Let Keira play whatever long con she’s staging. As long as Luna keeps looking atmelike that, I don’t care what collapses around us.
Let it all burn.
Holy shit.
Keira lunges like a starving thing and wraps herself around Ambrose like she’s starving for rot. Like she never left. Like nine months of silence never happened. Her lips crash into his with the desperation of someone trying to rewrite time, rewrite consequences.
And Ambrose—he doesn't flinch.
He just lets her.
My stomach flips, sour and sharp. Not because I give a damn about Ambrose—he’s a walking vault of secrets I’m not interested in prying open—but because Luna’s standing right beside me.
The bond between us tugs like it’s testing for fracture lines. Her magic slides under my skin like it’s searching for the part of me that can make sense of this, soothe it, solve it. But I can’t. Because Luna isn’t rage or envy or sorrow.
She’s the storm thatcontainsthose things. Barely.