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“It’s her voice,” he mutters, low and sharp. “Branwen doesn’t like it. The sound of it... fuck, it rattles something in her. She twists when the girl speaks.”
There’s something like satisfaction in that. Something old and vindictive. Lucien might be losing his grip, but he’s not going quietly.
“I need to think,” he says again, pacing now, his boots crunching against the loose stone. The old courtyard bends with every word he says—like the Academy is listening. “I need to figure out how we get Caspian and Ambrose back. How we get the fuck out of here before Branwen digs too deep. But I can’t do that with the girl near me.”
I watch him for a moment longer, letting the words settle, letting the silence stretch—not to test him, but to see how close he is to snapping again. And then I speak.
“Do you want me to tell her what’s going on?”
Lucien’s steps falter. He exhales through his nose, sharp and exhausted.
“No,” he says. “But you’re going to have to.”
He turns, finally facing me fully, shoulders squared but weighted like he’s carrying a war he can’t win. “Because if you don’t... she’s going to try something stupid. She’s going to come back over here, reach for me,say my name—and she can’t.”
“She thinks she can save us,” I say.
He laughs, bitter and hollow. “Shecan’t. Tell her that. Make her believe it.”
“She won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he snaps, then drags another breath in, slower this time. “Keep her quiet, Riven. Around me. Around Orin. Her voicehurtssomething in Branwen. And that means it’s useful. But not yet.”
I nod once.
No argument.
And the truth is—I don’t want Luna anywhere near him like this either. Not because I think she’d falter. Not because she’d be afraid. Because she wouldn’t. And that’s what terrifies me.
I move toward her.
Each step feels like I’m walking into a storm with no shelter, like the air between us crackles with something ancient and unrelenting, something I’ve spent too many nights trying to silence. Luna doesn’t move. She doesn’t look away. Arms crossed, posture locked, but there’s no defiance in her stance—just that quiet, heavy weight of concern she’s never learned how to hide.
Worry’s written all over her.
Not just in her face, but in the way she’s holding herself still. Too still. Like if she shifts even slightly, everything might fall apart. It’s the way she used to look at me before the bond sealed. Before I let her see just how bad it was inside me.
And fuck me, it’s worse now.
Silas leans lazily against the column to her left, spinning a coin between his fingers like he’s seconds from offering to flip it for who gets to speak first. His grin is crooked, eyes too sharp. He knows what’s coming, but of course he’s not going to help me say it. Elias stands to her right, arms folded, mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a smirk. Defensive. Uncomfortable. Like he knows damn well this isn’t a conversation any of us want to have, and he’d rather joke than feel it.
I stop in front of her.
She tilts her chin up to meet my eyes, and it takes everything in me not to flinch. Not because I’m afraid. Because Iknowthe moment I open my mouth, I’m going to break something.
Not in her.
Inme.
“Lucien’s not okay,” I say, voice rough. “He’s holding it together, but barely. Branwen’s inside his head now. Whispering. Pulling. Trying to take him back.”
Luna’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t ask why I’m telling her this instead of Lucien.
I glance at Elias and Silas, then back at her. “He doesn’t want you near him. Not right now. Not until we figure out how to sever her reach.”
“She wants you,” Elias mutters. “Thehot girl voicething apparently sets off some ancient dead queen reflex. You know, shrieking and clawing and vomiting affection.”
Silas barks a laugh. “She gets possessive. Jealous ex-girlfriend behavior. Very ghost-of-sex-pasts.”