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If I looked him in the eye and demanded an answer—am I enough? Is what we have real, or just convenient?
Would he give me the truth?
Or worse… would he lie to spare me?
I dig my nails into my palms, hard enough to feel something sharp under the skin. I want the pain. I want the clarity. I want to stopthinkingand justbe—but every part of me is spiraling because this isn’t just about Elias.
It’s aboutallof them.
Riven. Silas. Elias. Even Lucien and Orin in their own impossible ways. I don’t just want them—Ineedthem, and I’m terrified of what that makes me. Terrified that the second theyrealize how much of me is already theirs, they’ll decide it’s not enough. ThatI’mnot enough.
Because how could I be, when I belong to too many and not fully to anyone?
Then Elias turns to me.
"Mind if I steal you?" he asks, already motioning for me to follow.
Silas gives me a look, the kind that saysare you okayandyou better tell me everything laterall at once. Riven doesn’t look at me at all, but the way he steps back, the way his shoulders tense like he’s biting something back.
They drift into the crowd, and the weight of their absence hits me instantly. The noise of the festival—laughter, music, the warm smell of honey and spice—fades as Elias pulls me toward the edge of the square. To a shadowed nook between stalls, draped in half-torn banners and rustling silks.
He stops. Doesn’t touch me. Just stares. There's no joke. No smirk. No ridiculous pun about my hair or some crude innuendo he thinks I haven’t heard before. And that’s almost worse.
“I saw your face,” he says finally. Quiet. Measured. Like he’s testing the ground between us, waiting for it to crack.
I swallow. “Which one? I have a few.”
“Don’t,” he says. A warning. Not sharp—but enough. “I know that look. I’ve worn it.”
I cross my arms, but it’s flimsy defense. “Then you should know better than to corner me about it.”
“I should,” he agrees, then leans against the wall, staring up like the sky might save him. “But here’s the thing, baby—I’m not good at watching you hurt. Even worse at pretending I don’t know why.”
His voice has dropped. There’s no slouch in his posture now, no lazy charm or theatrical laziness. This is Elias stripped of artifice—and it’s disarming. It’s real. It’s almost too much.
“I saw the girl,” I murmur, the confession like gravel in my throat. “And I saw you smile.”
He sighs. Long. Slow. “Luna.”
“I know it was nothing,” I rush, hating myself for sounding like this. “But yousmiled, Elias. You smiled at her and for a moment—just one—I wasn’t sure if I was any different.”
His head snaps down to meet my eyes. That molten silver is scorching now, stripped of mischief. “You think you’re likeher?”
I shrug, feeling stupid and small. “I think I’m not your only choice.”
There’s a pause. Then he moves, fast and deliberate. One step. Two. He’s in front of me, but he doesn’t touch me. He cages me in with presence alone.
“Luna,” he says my name like it ruins him. “You are not my choice. You are the consequence of every fucked-up decision I’ve made in my life finally doing something right.”
My heart lurches.
“I’m notgoodat this,” he continues. “I joke, I flirt, I say the wrong thing nine times out of ten. Hell, I’m probably doing it now. But I never once—not once—have looked at anyone and wished they were you.”
“Then why does it still feel like I’m fighting for your attention?” I whisper.
He exhales, this time sharp, almost angry. “Because I’m a fucking coward. Because I love you and that scares me more than anything.”
My breath catches.