Page 28

It isn’t just guilt.
It’s prophecy.
Because Lust was never meant to be split in two. And if I can’t be hers—fully, fiercely, without Branwen’s stain—I’m nothing but a weapon waiting to be used again.
He tells me to stop feeling sorry for myself.
And maybe under any other circumstance, I’d let it go. Maybe I’d swallow it down like everything else, let his voice roll over me like cold water, numbing the burn.
But not now.
Not when I’m still crawling out of Branwen’s bed, her touch seared into my skin like acid that won’t fade. Not when my own hands feel like strangers—traitors. Not when my mouth still tastes like the lie I was forced to feed her.
I shove myself upright so fast my vision whites out. The weight of Ambrose’s stare is steady, impassive. It only makes me angrier.
“You have no fucking idea what it’s like outside this room,” I spit, every word razored by something raw and festering. “You stand there like some holy specter, like you’re above all of it—but you haven’t been touched by her. Not like I have.”
He doesn’t blink. Which infuriates me more.
“You don’t get it,” I grind out. “You didn’t feel her crawl inside your skin, into your fucking head. Didn’t feel her make you want something thatrevoltsyou. I didn’t just fuck her—Iwantedto. For a second. Just one. And that’s all it takes, Ambrose. Onesecond, and suddenly I’m not sure where I end and where she begins.”
He moves then. Just a breath forward. Not threatening. Not comforting. Just enough to make me feel cornered.
“I know exactly what Branwen is,” he says quietly. His voice is a blade sheathed in silk. “I know what she makes of us. What sheundoesin us. But if you think you’re the only one she’s ever twisted, then you’re even more self-centered than I thought.”
I flinch, because Iam.
But I’m also destroyed.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I whisper, and it’s the worst kind of truth. “And it still doesn’t matter. You think Luna will care that I was a puppet? That I didn’twantit? That I told Branwen to stop? She’ll still look at me and see the sin. And she’ll be right.”
Ambrose studies me like he’s deciding whether or not to push. He doesn’t. Which somehow feels worse.
“Then don’t let it be for nothing,” he says finally. “Don’t drown in shame and call it penance.”
I laugh, low and empty.
“Iamshame,” I say. “I’m Lust. Shame is the currency I deal in.”
And even as I say it, I know what’s happening. This is what Branwen wanted. For me to turn on myself. To rot from the inside out. To break before Luna ever gets the chance to look me in the eye again.
But she doesn’t get that.
Not yet.
I drag myself to my feet, every joint screaming. Ambrose watches me but says nothing. We’re past comfort. Past forgiveness.
But maybe not past survival.
And if Luna ever does find me—
If she calls me back—
I want to be somethingotherthan this.
Something more than Branwen’s last laugh.
Silas