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He lifts his hand. Waggles his fingers. Shows me something between them.
It’s… glue?
“What the fuck is that?” I mouth.
“I’mstuck,” he hisses dramatically, peeling his palm off the floor with a wetsquelchthat makes me gag. “The floor’s a literal trap. I think I’ve become one with the wood.”
“Youarewood,” I snap back. “Dead, dry, annoying.”
He holds up both hands in surrender. “Silas, I am asking—begging, as your best friend—to let me up before I lose my soul to the varnish.”
Luna shifts behind me, her breath a sleepy whisper across my bare back. She doesn’t stir, not really. But I feel her amusement flare down the bond like a warm slap to the back of my neck.
“She’s awake,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder.
Barely,her voice nudges into my head, syrupy with sleep and wicked with glee.But keep talking. This is getting good.
I groan and roll away, dragging the blanket with me. Elias takes that as his invitation—no shame, no hesitation, he flops onto the edge of the mattress like he owns it. Which he doesn’t. I do. I claimed it with my body heat and sheer force of will.
“You're disgusting,” I whisper, glaring as he wiggles into the sliver of space. “You smell like spilled ale and desperation.”
“Desperation is the cologne of men with regrets,” he says, settling in like a smug bastard. “You should bottle it.”
Luna snorts softly, her hand finding mine under the blanket without even looking.
And just like that, the chaos settles. For a minute, we breathe in the same rhythm.
Elias snorts beside me, mouth half-buried in the pillow he stole like it owed him a favor. “We make a good Luna sandwich,” he mutters through a yawn, voice heavy with sleep and sin.
I groan. Not because he’s wrong. But because he’s Elias. And now I’m cursed with the mental image of him as the top slice of bread in this deeply unholy metaphor.
“You’re the soggy crust in this situation,” I mumble back.
Luna’s caught between us, curled like she belongs here—which she does, obviously—but she doesn’t open her eyes. Just shakes her head, that small, lazy smile flickering across her lips like she’s too tired to scold us and too amused not to enjoy it.
She shifts slightly, not away, never away—but enough for her leg to tangle with mine under the blanket, her bare foot brushing my calf like she’s claiming her space, like I’m the one invading. Which, to be fair, I probably did. I have a bad habit of stealing warmth and making it weird.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” I say, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how soft she feels against me, “the fact that he’s right or the fact that I’m now craving an actual sandwich.”
Elias hums, already drifting again. “You're always craving something.”
Luna makes a soft sound—half sigh, half threat—and murmurs, “If you two start talking about meat or buns, I swear to the gods…”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, lips twitching, my voice too innocent to be trusted.
“I’m offended,” Elias adds, sleep-muffled. “I’m a gentleman.”
“Gentlemen don’t grope their best friends in the night.”
“That was your thigh.”
“That wasnotmy thigh.”
Luna snorts, finally opening one eye to fix me with a look. It’s sleepy. Wicked. Adoring. “You two are the worst. I should’ve made Orin share the bed.”
And just like that, I’m wounded.
“I gave youeverything,” I say dramatically, hand flying to my chest like I’ve taken a blade to the heart. “My warmth. My body. My incredibly squishable middle section—”