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Waffles4LIFE:“You can’t stop the thirst trap. You can only hope to contain it.”
I drag a hand down my face.
Luna’s snort beside me is poorly stifled, her lips twitching as she leans over to catch another glimpse of the screen. She doesn’t even pretend to hide her amusement anymore. Her voice is syrup-laced and smug. “I think they’re flirting with you.”
“No,” I reply flatly. “They’re harassing me.”
“You sound like someone who hasn’t accepted he’s in a group chat with two narcissists and no off-switch.”
I finally manage to type three words—Don’t test me.But as I go to send it, Elias drops in a photo of himself, shirtless again, holding up a sign that says:"TESTED. FAILED. READY FOR PUNISHMENT."
Luna lets out a choked laugh, burying her face into my shoulder as I stare blankly at the image, weighing the odds of smashing the phone versus hurling myself off the balcony. The phone pings again.
BigMeatEnergy:“Should we make a calendar? Like a Sexy Sin Calendar? Elias wants to be February but I think I’m more of a Leap Year moment. Mysterious. Rare. Absurdly hot.”
“Luna,” I murmur, voice gravel low, “if I give you this device, will you kindly drop it into the Hollow?”
She grins, stealing the phone and typing something with a speed I can’t fathom. I try to snatch it back, but she’s already sent it.
Whatever she wrote makes both men explode with more messages, because the phone starts vibrating violently in her palm like it’s possessed.
She hands it back with a devil’s smile. “I told them you were blushing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Youarenow.”
I consider setting the entire building on fire. Instead, I shove the phone into the cushion beside me and sit back, hands laced behind my head like I’m not seconds from immolating myself.
Her shoulder presses against mine, warm and easy. “They do it because they like you, you know.”
“They’re idiots,” I mutter.
She moves like it’s nothing. Like the gravity in her doesn’t bend everything around her.
The light from the screen catches the curve of her cheek as she leans in, forehead brushing mine like it’s casual. Innocent. Like she doesn’t know what that does to me. I don’t flinch. I don’t move. But every part of me goes silent.
The scent of her—something soft and clean and fucking addictive—slides through my senses as her finger finds the camera button. I don’t think she expects me to look. But I do. Because of course I do.
The shutter clicks. And she pulls back just slightly, still close enough I can feel the heat of her. She glances at the screen, lips quirking into something private. Something only I’m allowed to see. Then, without asking, she taps twice and hands it back to me.
The screen lights up. And there it is.
A picture. Us.
I don’t smile in it—of course I don’t. My expression is distant, unreadable, the same sharp edge I carry into every meeting, every room, every war I’ve waged. But she’s there beside me, head tilted toward mine, lashes low, mouth soft. And she’s smiling.
Like I’m something she wants.
And now this image is my background.
I stare at it too long. My thumb hovers over the screen, not to delete it—though I should—but to try to understand what the fuck she’s done.
Luna doesn’t speak. She just watches me with that knowing look. Like she knew I wouldn’t erase it. Like she knew this would stick.
“You can change it back,” she says eventually, voice quiet, unbothered.
“I know.” My own voice is low, frayed at the edges. I don't move to do it.