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I take one last breath, trying to temper the burn inside me. “You want to save something? Save yourself. Stay the hell away from me. Because the next time Branwen calls, I won’t have time to fight her off.”
I turn away.
And for a moment—I swear to every god who’s ever damned me—I feel her reach out for me.
But she doesn’t stop me.
Luna
They’re trying to distract me.
Silas is on his third joke about how he once seduced a basilisk in the Vale of Teeth—which, frankly, Ihopeis a lie—and Elias is leaned dramatically across the table, doing an impression of Orin brooding. It's bad. So bad it’s somehow brilliant.
And I’m laughing. I hate that I’m laughing.
Because they’re not just teasing. They’re trying to anchor me. Trying to keep my mind off Lucien storming off like a storm bottled in a man’s body. Trying to keep mepresent, so I don’t spiral into trying to solve a future none of us are ready for.
I give them an A for effort.
A for absolutely-fucking-hopeless.
Silas nudges my knee with his. “If you’re not going to drink that,” he says, pointing to the tankard in front of me with a tilt of his head, “I will. Waste is a crime. A mortal sin, if you will.”
“You’re a mortal sin,” I mutter.
He beams. “Flattery. Keep it coming, Binder.”
But it isn’t until Elias rises to his feet and stretches—like a cat that knows it’s being watched—that the heat behind my ribs stirs into something sharper.
“Wine?” he offers lazily, eyes meeting mine for a beat too long. His voice lowers just enough that I feel it, not hear it.The good kind. The kind that stains your tongue purple and your thighs pink.
He smirks, and ambles off into the crush of festival-goers with his usual brand of too-slow saunter that somehow still makes people get out of his way.
And I try to go back to the chaos Silas is spinning about soulbound carrots or whatever nonsense he’s now pretending is sacred Hollow lore.
But then I see her.
At first, it’s just a flicker of color—silver and silk and the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to be earned. She leans in close to Elias at the vendor’s stall, one hand brushing his arm. Her smile is rehearsed, her gaze direct, and I can see the way her hips angle toward him.
It shouldn’t bother me. Itshouldn’t.
But the blood in my veins coils. Tightens.
Elias, for his part, is playing it cool. He tilts his head, says something I can’t hear. But he doesn’t step back. Doesn’t shrug her off.
And I feel it.
A shift in the bond.
Nothing loud. Nothing overt. Just... a hesitation. The kind that makes a whisper sound like a scream.
Silas must feel it too, because he goes quiet mid-sentence. I glance at him, and for once, his smile is gone.
“She’s going to regret that,” he says softly, and for a moment, he doesn’t sound like the clown. He sounds like the chaos underneath.
“I’m not—” I start, but the lie won’t finish.
Iamjealous. Iamfurious. And I shouldn’t be. I know Elias loves me. I know what we are. What we’ve done. What wemean. But that doesn’t quiet the part of me that wants to walk across that square and see if my magic can singe silk and skin.