Page 16

The Fang Tavern always smells like smoke and old magic, like the breath of something half-dead and half-divine. The kind of place that doesn’t belong in one world or the next. It’s tucked in the crooked bend of the Hollow’s market street, half-eaten by ivy and shadow, the windows always sweating condensation from too much heat, too much want, too many sins pressed between its walls.

It suits her.

It suits her too damn well.

I step through the warped door, the one that always catches on its hinges, the hum of spellwork vibrating faintly beneath my feet. The Hollow knows she’s here—it softens when she is, watches her like it’s waiting to swallow her whole. And I get why. I’d do the same if she’d let me.

Luna’s at the corner table by the window, the one she always picks so she can see the door but pretend she doesn’t care who walks through it. Hood up, hands wrapped around a chipped mug like it’s the only thing tethering her to this place. She doesn’t even look up when I cross the floor toward her, but I feel the snap of her awareness when I get close. The bond might be shut down on her end, but mine hums like a goddamn live wire every time I’m within breathing distance of her.

I slide into the chair across from her, deliberate and slow, like she’s a wild animal I’m trying not to spook.

“You gonna glare at me all day, little star?” I ask, voice low, careful.

Her gaze flicks up, cutting and sharp, but it lands on me softer than she probably means it to. “Depends. You here to lecture me too?”

The tavern’s half-empty this time of day, but it doesn’t matter. The weight of her voice hits harder than anything else in this room.

“No,” I murmur, dragging my hand through my hair, leaning back like I’m not wound so tight I might snap. “I’m not Lucien.”

Her jaw tics at his name. She looks away, back to the window, like she can outrun what he said to her days ago, like she hasn’t been carrying it around like a loaded weapon ever since.

“I didn’t come here to drag you home,” I say after a breath. “I came because I hate this. Hate you hiding in here like we lost you.”

Her laugh is bitter, brittle at the edges. “Maybe you did.”

That cuts. More than I want to admit. I lean forward, planting my elbows on the worn table between us, forcing her to look at me.

“We didn’t,” I bite out, careful but firm. “You’re pissed. You’re hurt. I get it. You should be. But you don’t get to rewrite history, Luna. You don’t get to act like we wouldn’t burn this whole fucking realm down to get you back.”

Her fingers tighten around the mug, knuckles pale, but she doesn’t look away.

“I’m not coming back to that house,” she says finally, voice quieter but no less sharp. “Not while he’s there.”

I breathe through the urge to snap something back. To remind her that she and Lucien are the same breed of self-righteous, impossible. Instead, I drag my thumb along the scar on my knuckle and say, “Then don’t. Stay here if that’s what you want. But don’t shut the rest of us out because he can’t pull his head out of his ass.”

Her lips part, her breath catching faintly, and I know I’ve hit something true.

“I didn’t shut you out,” she says, but it’s defensive, hollow.

“You did.” My voice drops lower, not soft, not sweet—just real. “And you’re still doing it.”

She looks away again, swallowing, like she’s trying to keep something buried.

I let the pause stretch long enough to feel her unraveling around the edges, then lean back in my chair, like I’m not watching every movement she makes.

“You’re not as good at this as you think, little star,” I murmur. “You can slam doors in our faces, but you can’t make us stop knocking.”

Her eyes flick back to mine then, sharp, uncertain, something wounded curling under her skin like a bruise. Her fingers curl tighter around the mug in her hands like it’s a lifeline, something solid she can hold when everything else keeps slipping through her fingers.

"You don't understand, ," she says quietly, but it lands sharp, defensive, like she wants me to feel how wrong I am. "I don’t like him. He’s never made me feel welcome. He’s cold, rude, cruel. I don’t want anything to do with him."

I snort, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms across my chest, because it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth. She doesn’t even flinch when I call her on it.

"That’s a damn lie, Luna," I say, voice flat but deliberate. "You wouldn’t be this pissed if you didn’t care."

Her shoulders rise like she’s going to argue, but I don’t let her.

"You’re hurt. You’re pissed. Fine. You should be. But don’t stand there and tell me you don’t give a shit when you’re sitting in this tavern like a kicked dog, licking wounds you let him give you."

Her gaze snaps to mine, furious, wounded, and I see it all—how close she is to cracking, how much she’s trying to hold herself together with sheer willpower.

"He’s been miserable since you left." I let the words hang there, heavy, dragging like chains across the floor. "Won’t say it. Won’t show it. But he’s not the same. None of us are."

She scoffs, shaking her head, but it’s brittle. "You’re just trying to make me feel guilty."

"I don’t need to try," I bite back. "You already do."

Her lips part, but I keep going, because if I don’t, she’ll shut down again.

"He’s scared of you."

That makes her blink, makes her freeze.

"Of me?"

"Of what you make him feel." I lean forward, dropping my voice low, deliberate, like I’m handing her a secret she hasn’t earned yet. "He’s been cold, cruel, a bastard for centuries. And then you come along and ruin everything. You make him hesitate. You make him want."

Her breath catches, but she shakes her head, that brittle shield slamming back into place.

"I’m not giving up," she says quietly. "I’m being realistic, . I don’t want to be somewhere I’m not welcome."

"You think you’re not welcome?" I laugh under my breath, shaking my head like she’s the most stubborn thing I’ve ever seen. "You’re the only thing holding us together, little star. You don’t want to be where you’re not welcome? That house isn’t a home without you in it."

Her throat bobs, and I watch her swallow, her eyes burning even though she won’t let them fall.

"You’re scared too," I say, soft but lethal. "You’re scared that what he said is true. That you’re not enough. That we don’t want you."

Her eyes flick to mine like I’ve struck her, but I don’t stop.

"None of that’s true," I say. "But you running from us, from him, from yourself—that’s what’s going to break you."

I lean back slowly, giving her the space to choose, but my gaze doesn’t leave her.

"Come home, Luna," I murmur.

Luna’s voice cracks at the edges, but she keeps her chin tipped up like that will save her from crumbling. Like she can hold herself together if she keeps the blade sharp between them. "I’m not coming home," she says, quiet but resolute. "I love you. I love all of you. But I’m not putting up with him anymore."

The words shouldn’t sting—they aren’t aimed at me. But they cut, sharper than I expect, because she says it like a final thing. Like she’s drawing a line in the sand and daring me to cross it.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slow like I can smooth out the anger curling low in my gut. "You do realize you’re being just as stubborn as he is, right?" I keep my tone flat, but the frustration bleeding through is razor-fine.

Her eyes flash at me, wildfire and heartbreak. "His apology sucked," she snaps, biting the words like they’re poison on her tongue. "And even if he does feel sorry, it’s not going to change what he said. He didn’t just hurt me, —he told me he wished I was dead."

The fury I’ve been holding back cracks in my chest, because she’s right. There’s no excuse for what Lucien said. No neat, tidy way to make it disappear like it wasn’t carved into her bones.

I drag my chair closer to hers, pinning her with a look she can’t dodge. "I’m not going to defend him," I say, voice low. "I won’t. What he said was cruel. It was wrong. And if you want me to say you’re right to walk away—I will."

Her lips part, her breath hitching like she didn’t expect that.

"But don’t lie to yourself, Luna," I add, leaning forward until there’s barely an inch between us. "You don’t want to stay away. You’re hurting because you want to go back and you’re scared he’ll break you again."

Her throat bobs, her grip tightening on the edge of the table like she’s holding herself in place.

"And he might," I continue, softer now, because I know exactly how fragile she is under all that steel. "Lucien doesn’t know how to love gently. None of us do. But Ambrose already beat the hell out of him for it."

She blinks, startled. "Ambrose…?"

I give a sharp nod. "Knocked him flat on his ass. None of us let him walk away from that. He deserved worse."

Her lips tremble at that, like she’s fighting something—anger or relief or maybe the bone-deep ache that’s been living under her skin since that night.

"I know you’re hurt," I say, softer now, voice like a blade dulled at the edges. "But if you think staying here, away from us, away from me…is going to make that hurt any less, you’re wrong."

I lean back, give her one small mercy of space.

Luna leans back in her chair, crossing her arms like she’s trying to fold herself into something smaller, something untouchable. The tavern hums around us—low voices, the scrape of mugs against wood, the occasional crack of laughter from a card game near the back—but all I hear is her stubborn refusal echoing between us.

"I’m sorry, ," she says, quiet but cutting, each word a blade. "But my answer is still no."

It hits me harder than I expect, even though I knew she’d say it. Knew she'd dig her heels in because it’s safer than letting herself bleed again. I swallow the rise of frustration crawling up my throat and nod once, slow and deliberate, like I can force myself to be calm.

"Will you at least talk to him?" I ask, voice low, careful.

She scoffs like I’ve just asked her to slit her own throat. "If he wanted to talk, , he would’ve come. He hasn’t."

There’s no venom in it—not really. She’s tired. Worn thin and brittle around the edges, and if she thinks I don’t see that, she’s wrong. I lean forward, resting my arms on the table, meeting her eyes without flinching.

"That’s because he’s just as fucking stubborn as you are."

Her mouth twists, a sharp little thing like she wants to argue—but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks away, out the window like maybe the answer she wants is out there, somewhere far enough away she can pretend none of this matters.

"You both want the other to come crawling first," I say, softer now. "But neither of you will. You’re both too damn proud."

She huffs, shakes her head like she can shake me off, but I don’t let her.

"You’re the one who taught me not to give up on people," I remind her, and her eyes flash back to mine, something dangerous and soft cracking behind them. "Don’t fucking give up on him now."

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, chewing her bottom lip like it might keep her from falling apart.

"Even if I talk to him," she finally says, voice thin, "it won’t change what he said."

"No," I agree. "But maybe it’ll change what he does next."

Luna’s smile is brittle, like she’s holding herself together with string and spit. I can see every fracture in her as she speaks, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.

“It’s not going to work out, ,” she says, voice low, guarded. “It never has with any Sin Binder before me. And honestly, it makes sense. You’re all so different. How can one person possibly hold you all?”

I watch her, watch the exhaustion in her eyes that she’s trying to mask with logic. She’s not tired of us—she’s tired of trying to prove she belongs, like she wasn’t carved from the same ruin and magic as the rest of us. I lean back, folding my arms over my chest, letting her words hang for a breath before I shake my head.

“You have five out of seven, Luna,” I say, voice even but edged. “Five. And Orin isn’t exactly subtle about how he looks at you. He’s courting you like a fucking old-world prince, and we both know it’s only a matter of time before that bond clicks into place.”

She opens her mouth, but I cut her off.

“In a year,” I say, meeting her gaze head-on, “you’ve done what no one else has done in centuries. No other Sin Binder’s come close to this. You think that’s coincidence? You think that’s fate messing with us?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, looking away again like the weight of it is too much.

“And Lucien—” I drag his name out like it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Lucien doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t even dislike you. He’s terrified, Luna. He’s always been the one holding the line, keeping the rest of us from tearing apart at the seams. And then you came along, and you made him hesitate.”

I lean forward, voice dropping, softer now but no less sharp.

“He’s not angry because you broke something. He’s angry because you didn’t. And he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it always does. Every other time, every other Sin Binder, they shattered before we could even get close. But you’re still here.”

Her jaw tightens, and I see it—the crack in her resolve, the way her bond to us pulses just under the surface no matter how much she tries to bury it.

“I’m not letting this thing between you and him tear this apart,” I say, quiet but sure. “We’ve all waited eons, Luna. And none of us—me least of all—are going to let you go without a fight.”

Her fingers curl around mine, soft but certain, and when I glance down at her, her eyes are already on me—too clear, too guarded, too determined. She’s already made her decision, and I can feel it humming beneath her skin like something final.

“It’s still no, ,” she says quietly but without a trace of hesitation. “I understand why you want to fix this. I get why you think if I’d just let him in, everything would fall back into place. But this is my life too, and I’ve spent too long feeling like I don’t get to choose. I’m happy with you, with all of you. I just don’t want anything to do with him.”

I know her well enough to hear the line she’s drawing in the dirt, the one she won’t cross no matter how much I want her to. There’s an ache under my ribs, sharp and steady, but I don’t push. I’ve already said what I needed to say. I’ve already tried.

I squeeze her hand once, and then pull back before I do something stupid, like beg.

“Fine,” I mutter, voice rougher than I intend. “But you’re still coming with us in the morning.”

Her lips twitch at that, the barest hint of a smile cracking through her exhausted armor. “To the cathedral?”

“Yeah.” I meet her eyes, holding her there with nothing but the weight of the bond between us. “Portal’s not gonna open itself, and knowing you, you’ll find a way to twist the damn thing inside out.”

She huffs a soft laugh, but there’s warmth in her gaze now, something softer slipping past her walls for a second. “I’ll come,” she says. “For that.”

The conversation’s over—on the surface, at least. I know better than to think this is done. She’s still bleeding under her skin, still quietly unraveling from what Lucien said to her. But she’s letting us have this one thing, and that’ll have to be enough for now.