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Gods,she knows.
And she shifts again—just a little sharper this time.
Just to watch me burn.
Luna
I’ve never liked being the center of attention. There was a day—years ago now, but still burned into my brain—when I fell asleep in class and got called on. I hadn’t heard the question. Didn’t even know what subject we were in. And the second I opened my mouth, I said something so wrong, so off-base, the entire room erupted. Laughter. Not the kind that invites you in. The kind thatexilesyou. I ran. I didn’t look back.
This is worse.
This isso much worse.
The moment we step through the theater’s gilded entrance, every single eye finds us. Not gradually. Not with the lazy curiosity of a crowd waiting for the show to begin.
No.
This is surgical. Like the roomknewwe were coming and decided to bare its teeth.
Four men in black.
They’re flawless—of course they are. Ambrose with his blade-cut cheekbones and thousand-yard stare, Riven radiating danger and disdain like it's cologne, Silas in his tailored chaos, and Elias somehow looking both like he crashed the afterparty and owns the building. All dressed in black like they coordinated and didn’t bother telling me.
And then there’s me.
In this stupid dress that suddenly feels far too elegant, like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. I look down and it fits—too well. Sleek. Powerful. But all I can think is how obvious it is that I don’t belong next to them. I’m not ancient. I’m not regal. I’m not composed.
I’m justvisible.
And then, like some unspoken signal goes off—of course—it happens. They fan out. Two on each side. Ambrose and Silas take the front, casual but lethal. Riven and Elias at my other side, a silent wall of power and protection. They don’t touch me. The space they leave is deliberate. Like I’ve been boxed in. Displayed.
I hate it.
Because I know what this looks like. It looks like I’m the centerpiece. Like I’m the reason they’re all here. Like I’m beingescorted.Or worse—possessed.
And the roomsees.
They know who I am. What I am. Sin binder. Council’s disruption. The one girl all four of them orbit like she's a star that might implode if they get too close. Or worse—if they don’t.
I keep my head down.
My steps careful.
I can feel their power beside me like a current humming against my skin, but none of them say a word. Even Silas doesn’t make a joke. That’s how I know it’s bad. He’s never this quiet unless he’s plotting something or trying not to combust.
And me?
I don’t own this moment.
I survive it.
I walk because I have no other option.
Because all I want to do is disappear.
But instead—I walk straight into the mouth of the storm.
We’re halfway through the aisle—me pretending I’m invisible while flanked by literal embodiments of sin—when he steps into our path.