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Lucien exhales through his nose, almost a scoff. “Then we make sure she doesn’t know where we’ve gone. When we leave, we leave nothing behind. No trail to follow.”
I stare at him. Not because I’m surprised—but because it hurts that he’s right. That this—this betrayal disguised as protection—is our best chance to buy her more time.
“You’re asking me to lie to her.”
“I’m asking you to give her a future,” he says. “Even if it means she hates us for it.”
I look away, out toward the woods where shadows move like memories through twisted trunks. The Hollow has quieted. Too quiet. Which means it’s watching. Listening. Waiting for us to make the wrong move.
“She’ll see through it,” I say, not a warning but a truth. “Luna is many things, but she’s not a fool. And if you disappear without a word, she’ll follow. She’ll tear down the gates of Branwen’s keep with her bare hands if she has to.”
Lucien’s mouth tightens. “Then let’s hope she doesn’t get the chance.”
He turns and walks toward the camp again, toward the firelight where the others are laughing—gods help us,laughing—and I stay behind. Just for a breath. Just long enough to let the silence ask the questions I don’t want answers to.
Because if we do this…
If we leave her behind…
It won’t be the enemy that breaks her.
It’ll beus.
She goes quiet the moment she sees us, the way prey does when it senses a predator too close. Except Luna has never been prey. She’s a storm in human skin, and storms don’t shrink—they gather.
Riven straightens first. He always does when Luna stiffens, like her discomfort wires itself directly into his spine. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low, suspicious. Always ready for war, especially when it’s with us.
Lucien doesn't miss a beat. “Nothing,” he says smoothly, sitting across from her like a king at council, like a man who hasn’t just made the first move in a betrayal he’ll never be able to take back. “Just scouting ahead. We’ve got a longer walk tomorrow. I wanted to make sure the path’s still viable.”
It’s a half-truth, which makes it worse than a lie.
I take my seat beside him, feeling Luna’s gaze slice into me like a blade I’ve known before. She doesn’t speak, but the silence around her sharpens, tightening like a noose. I say nothing. I do not contradict Lucien. That’s not my role. Not yet.
And because of that—because I do not speak—I feel something inside her shutter closed.
The others return, loud and thoughtless. Elias drops beside her, knocking his shoulder into hers like they haven’t nearly gotten us exiled twice in one day. Silas stumbles over his own feet, spins once for no reason, and lands with his head in Luna’s lap. She doesn’t push him off. She just stares at the fire like she’s trying to remember which world she belongs to.
She’s more sober now than she was an hour ago. Or maybe just more aware. The Hollow has a way of sharpening truths when you’re not ready to hold them.
Lucien begins talking again—plans, contingencies, threats and possible exits—but it washes over her. Over me. Because I know what she’s really hearing. The silence. The lack of questions.The quiet confirmation that whatever’s being hidden… it’s being done by the two men who are supposed to know better.
I can’t explain to her that sometimes protection and betrayal wear the same face. That Lucien isn’t the villain here—he’s just a man losing faith in the possibility of salvation. And me? I’m the fool who thinks maybe, if I stay quiet long enough, I’ll get the chance to save her myself.
I look down at my hands, fingers calloused and steady. The ancient script that coils up my wrists pulses once beneath the skin like it’s listening. Like it remembers the last Sin Binder who tried.
She burned.
Luna doesn’t know that part of the story.
And gods help me, I will make sure she never has to.
Lucien’s voice doesn’t waver, but his fingers curl into fists in his lap. A small betrayal of the calm he wears like armor. He’s cornered. Every move he makes from here on out is defensive, reactionary. And he knows it.
None of us like being backed into a wall. But Lucien? He was born in a fortress. It’s where he learned how to draw blood.
He doesn’t look at me, but he knows. He knows she’s whispering again.
Branwen’s voice curls in like smoke, slow and syrupy, threading through the old bond she left rotting between us.It won’t be like before, Orin. You of all people should know I learn from my mistakes. And I made so many with you, didn’t I?