Page 36

It’s unsettling how still the room feels. After all this time, after the blood and ghosts and gods-forsaken nothingness, we finally have a way out. A direction. A door. And it’s not screaming or trying to eat us. That alone feels like a trap.

The others are silent, waiting, staring at the pillar like it might bite. But not me. I feel good. Restless. Alive. Like the kind of chaos that makes stars collapse and cities catch fire is twitching just under my skin, begging me to do something stupid.

And I will. Obviously.

But first—

I fold my hands over my chest like I’m about to give a eulogy, which I am. Sort of. My voice rings out, smooth and a little too loud. “Before we all get sucked through the maybe-portal of doom and possibly disintegrate into magical spaghetti, I think it’s only right someone say a few final words.”

Elias groans somewhere behind me. “Gods. Here we go.”

I keep going. “I’m honored, truly, to be your chosen mouthpiece in this sacred moment of imminent danger and poorly considered decision-making.”

Riven mutters something that sounds like shut up, but he doesn’t stop me either. Which is consent. Probably.

I pivot on my heel, dramatically sweeping an arm toward the center of the cavern. “To the cursed realm that tried so hard to kill us: your traps were inventive, your ghosts persistent, your scenery consistently grim. I’ll miss your aesthetic but not your attitude. To the Hollow—may you crumble in poetic, on-brand misery.”

I pause for effect, then press my hand to my heart, sighing deeply like this is truly wounding me.

“And to the poor villagers of Whatever-the-Fuck-We-Named-It—those dear, doomed souls who will weep when they discover I have vanished from their lives without one final flex or inappropriate joke—I have left behind an inheritance of the golden variety beneath the floorboards of my room at the Shithouse Inn.” I glance around, pointedly. “First come, first served. And may the most chaotic bastard win.”

There’s a brief, heavy silence.

Then Elias snorts. Caspian lets out an amused exhale. Even Ambrose’s mouth ticks, just slightly, like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Riven looks like he wants to strangle me with one hand, but mildly.

But Luna—gods, Luna—she’s the one who matters.

She’s watching me like she always does. Like she can see right through the layers of absurdity and grinning bullshit. Her lips twitch, and I see it—the thing I live for. That little flicker of something in her eyes that only ever shows up when I make her feel alive.

I wink at her. “You’re welcome.”

And just for her, low through the bond, I add, If this portal eats us, I want you to know I’d haunt you exclusively. Shirtless. Possibly oiled.

She chokes on a laugh. My mission is accomplished.

But the moment settles again—thicker now, heavier with the unspoken knowing that this could be it. The next step could be salvation or something worse. And yet… we’re all still standing here, still together. That’s what matters.

I clap my hands once, letting the echo bounce. “Well then. Who’s ready to gamble everything on a glorified rock?”

And fuck me, if no one else answers, I’ll do it alone.

But from the way they’re looking at me—the way Luna’s hand is still resting on the stone like she belongs there—I know they’ll follow.

Oh shit. Like actual, full-bodied, throat-tightening, heart-skipping shit. I freeze, one hand halfway to scratching behind my ear, the other already lifting my satchel off my shoulder because—gods—I almost forgot Mr. Bean.

Mr. Fucking Bean.

This entire time, while we’ve been fighting shadows and dragons and moral decay, I’ve had a literal purring murder-muffin curled up like royalty in the bottom of my satchel. Lucien’s kitten. Luna’s kitten.

The one I swore—on my very real, very chaotic, extremely breakable life—that I’d keep safe.

I blink down into the bag as I crouch beside the pillar, slowly easing the flap open like I’m expecting to find a wrath demon inside instead of a six-week-old menace with whiskers. And there he is. Fuzzy, golden-eyed, and curled in a patch of warm silk I definitely didn’t pack, but sure, go off, Mr. Bean. Live luxuriously. He yawns. Big. Offended. Like I’m the one who’s been an inconvenience.

The group stirs behind me, shuffling, talking quietly, probably assuming I’m doing something ridiculous again—and to be fair, I am. But I also cradle Bean gently in my hands and stand with the kind of reverence normally reserved for gods or extremely well-aged wine.

“Gentlemen,” I say, holding up the kitten like I’m announcing the heir to the realm. “We almost committed an unspeakable crime.”

Riven, predictably, looks like he wants to throw something at me. “, what the hell is—”

“This,” I cut in, dramatically, “is Mr. Bean. The kitten. The key to Luna’s soul. The only creature in this entire godsdamned world that Lucien has willingly gifted and hasn’t tried to strangle.”

Elias perks up like I just conjured a double espresso. “You’ve had that thing the whole time?”

I nod solemnly, stroking Bean between the ears. “He’s a champion of naps. An agent of small, fluffy chaos. And he has survived more than half the bastards in this room.”

The little fucker mews, claws kneading into my shirt, and I swear to every divine being who’s ever hated me, I see Luna’s face soften when she looks over. Just slightly. Just enough.

She steps forward, arms crossed but eyes warm, her voice a purr laced with amusement. “You actually kept him.”

I grin. Push the bond open just enough so she feels it—how proud I am of myself. “Kept him? Protected him. He’s been the VIP passenger on this hell-cruise.”

Bean decides, very rudely, to leap out of my arms and onto Luna’s shoulder like I didn’t just deliver a heartfelt monologue. He curls against her neck like he owns her—like he always has—and she lets him, her fingers drifting up to scratch beneath his chin.

Lucien, naturally, says nothing. But he looks. And the smallest fucking smile—not smug, not cold, but real—tugs at his mouth. I step back, slipping my hands into my pockets, heart thudding harder than I expected. The room still hums with magic. The pillar waits. But something in the air is… lighter now. Not safe. Not soft.

Just real.

We’re ready.

Even Mr. Bean.

It starts as a high-pitched screech, like a soul tearing itself out of the throat of something far too invested in my existence. My name—gods help me—my actual name echoes through the chamber in a banshee’s lilt. Drawn-out, furious, unmistakably personal.

“ssss.”

And I know, before I even turn, that I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake somewhere in my history. Again. I pivot slowly, praying to every deity that’s ever ignored me that maybe—maybe—that was someone else’s name. is common, right? Sort of?

It is not.

Because there she is. Storming through the far entrance like she’s late to a bloodbath and someone’s already used her favorite knife. Hair like fire that’s mostly wrath. Eyes like she wants to carve my initials into something I value. Armor that looks like it was forged from spite and poor decisions.

Calla.

I think.

It’s been…gods, centuries? Plural? I may or may not have slept with her. May or may not have promised her a kingdom. And I may or may not have accidentally ghosted her by dying—which, to be fair, is a hard thing to avoid sometimes when you're me.

She’s still shrieking my name, each syllable like a curse. There’s a whole squadron of our exes spilling in behind her now—Sin Binders, half-dead and glowing like vengeance come home to roost. And they all look very interested in one thing: me.

Elias, beside me, takes one look and wheezes out a laugh. “Didn’t you fake your death to get out of that one?”

I nod slowly, eyes still locked on Calla’s murder-glare. “I faked three.”

“She brought friends,” Caspian mutters, already reaching for a weapon he doesn't even need to look seductive.

“I told you,” I hiss between my teeth, pressing closer to Luna like she might shield me with the sheer force of her cleavage, “this place is crawling with regrets.”

Calla’s closing in now, and her voice is pure venom. “You left me in a crypt in Nemedh, ! You said you’d be right back!”

“I was! It’s not my fault the tavern had a sale on whiskey and also a war broke out.”

Riven draws his sword. “We’re going.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.” I nod furiously, backing toward the pillar with my satchel in one hand and Luna’s wrist in the other. “This is officially fuck around and find out territory, and I have very much fucked around already.”

Behind us, the pillar begins to pulse faster, sensing the incoming chaos like it wants to open just to save me from my decisions. That’s sweet. Hope it likes clingy exes.

“Bean!” I call as I scramble. “Protect Luna with your tiny kitten life!”

The cat, perched on her shoulder like some judgmental demon, just stares at me like even he’s disappointed.

Fair.

Calla raises her blade, glowing and hissing in the air like it’s trying to remember my internal anatomy.

Lucien’s already there, jaw tight, hand out. Caspian presses his palm flat against the arc of the pillar’s rune. Riven draws Luna close, her body flush to his like he won’t risk even a thread of space between them. Elias lets out a long, suffering sigh like he’s about to be asked to stand up too fast after a nap.

And I?

I grip Luna’s wrist and let the grin break across my face—sharp, wild, too pleased for the circumstances.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I murmur, voice low and hot against her ear. “If we die in the space between realms, I promise to haunt you with all the same kinks.”

She rolls her eyes.

But she’s smiling.

We press our palms to the portal together. Magic latches onto us like it’s desperate. The room groans as the stone wall begins to fracture, seams glowing gold, pulling apart with the weight of escape, of everything we’ve clawed our way through. Behind us, Calla screams again, and it’s feral this time—wordless, furious, too late.

Light erupts. The ground vanishes. And I’m falling—we’re falling—through the crack between this world and the next.

The in-between smells like guilt and rotten roses. Like burnt magic and the ghost of old sex. Like everything you didn’t want to remember coming back as scent. It clings to my throat as we fall—drags against my skin like oil-slicked silk, sweet and sour and thick with too many flavors. Dim light streaks past us, slow and endless, like time is breaking into pieces, stretching every second across the arc of this descent.

And yeah, okay, I might be a little distracted.

I lift my arm. Sniff once. Sniff twice.

It’s not great.

Definitely not ideal for dimension-hopping first impressions.

Just to be thorough, I twist my body mid-fall and lean toward Luna, who's gripping my hand like she wants to snap all the bones in it but also maybe never let go. She's radiant, windswept, mouth parted in breathless disbelief like some goddess falling from grace, and what do I do?

I sniff her armpit.

In my defense, it’s purely scientific.

Her eyes widen. Her head whips toward me. And then—smack. Her hand slaps across my chest, right over my heart, like she wants to restart it with violence. Which is honestly on-brand.

“What the actual fuck, ?” she half-yells, hair whipping across her face like wild threads of storm.

“I had to be sure it wasn’t you,” I call back, grinning like the goddamn menace I am. “It smells like murder and wet socks in here, and you were my prime suspect.”

Elias groans somewhere behind us. “Why do you always ruin serious moments?”

“Because if I don’t, I’ll implode,” I shout. “Emotionally. Spiritually. Possibly orgasmically. No one wants to see what that looks like.”

“Depends who you ask,” Caspian mutters dryly.

“Don’t encourage him,” Riven growls.

“Too late,” I shoot back.

The world around us begins to shift. Color distorts, thickens, flattens. Gravity starts to reassert itself, pulling at my gut, at the edges of our magic. We’re close to the other side—wherever the hell that side is. The runes from the pillar still burn faintly on our skin, the magic tethering us together like an invisible rope drawn tight. We’re not letting go. Not even if the next realm hates us on arrival.

I lean back into Luna’s side, smirking, voice dropping low as our bodies align again mid-fall. “Hey,” I murmur, lips near her ear. “If we die in the landing, just know—your armpit smells divine. Like apocalypse and peach blossom.”

She elbows me in the ribs.

God, I love her.

The portal stretches like molasses around us, a slow-motion descent through layers of broken magic and disobedient gravity. Time’s fucked in here—melting at the edges, dragging every second out like it wants to watch us squirm. I’ve already sniffed armpits. Already been slapped. Already declared this the worst-smelling corridor of interdimensional travel I’ve ever been sucked through.

And now, I’m bored.

Naturally, I decide to entertain myself. I shift my grip on Luna, which is risky in a physics-defying space like this—but I’ve never been risk-averse. I twist our bodies mid-descent, fluid and deliberate, until I’ve got her angled just right. Her legs tangling with mine. Her back pressing flush to my chest. And yes, her ass... settling right over a very clear indicator that I’m enjoying this new arrangement.

“,” she says warningly, voice like gravel and honey, but I pretend not to hear her over the windless roar around us.

“I’m just being practical,” I murmur, mouth right beside her ear as I lock my arms around her waist. “It’ll cushion your fall.”

She snorts—soft and sharp—and I feel it, that familiar warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her existing. But I don’t give her time to call me out on it. That would be far too sentimental for a guy currently using interdimensional plummeting as an excuse to grind against his soulmate.

“I’d rather be the one to break my back than have yours even bruised,” I add, quieter this time. Less joke, more truth. And gods help me, she hears it.

I feel her breath still. Just for a second. Like she’s caught between biting back a smile and telling me to fuck off for making this about something real.

She settles against me anyway. And fuck, if that doesn’t make this feel like the first time all over again. My hand drifts over the curve of her hip, not possessive, not even teasing—just there, grounding us both while everything else warps around us. I could float in this moment forever. The way her body fits into mine. The way she doesn’t push me away. The way I get to have her, even just like this, while the world around us forgets what shape it’s supposed to be.

“I swear, if we land and I’ve got a concussion from your dick imprinting on my tailbone,” she mutters, dry and biting, “I’m letting Riven punch you.”

“Worth it,” I whisper.

And I mean it. Every second like this? Always worth the bruises.

We don’t land so much as get rejected.

The portal coughs us out like we’ve offended its digestive system, a violent, magical upchuck that spits us straight onto the cracked, overgrown stone of the Academy’s eastern courtyard—our courtyard. The one they used to call the Execution Field, back before we decided to use it for picnics and very illegal midnight sparring matches. It still stinks faintly of old power and blood. So yeah—home.

I hit the ground first. Hard. With Luna still clutched to me like the world’s most irreplaceable carry-on, and her elbow immediately driving into my ribs as she scrambles upright.

“Next time,” she growls, brushing dirt off her thighs, “I’m landing on you on purpose.”

I groan beneath her. “That was on purpose. I have a spinal fracture and a boner. Which one do you want me to complain about first?”

She glares at me, then snorts. And that snort? That’s the sound I’ve missed. That soft little hitch in her throat that tells me she’s still here, still real, still mine. Gods, the Hollow tried to twist her, rip her in half, but she came through it like she always does—glorious, pissed off, radiant in the aftermath.

Around us, the others crash down in a scatter of limbs and curses. Elias lands in a lazy sprawl like he’s drunk on air, hands behind his head like he planned it. Riven comes down in a crouch, already scanning for threats. Caspian’s still clutching that damn whip like it’s a lifeline. Lucien hits the ground with all the grace of a vengeful god—and immediately stands like the fall offended him. And Orin? That fucker doesn't even hit the ground. He steps out of the portal like gravity never meant anything to him, his boots barely whispering as they touch down.

“Dramatic,” I mutter, watching him dust off his coat like he’s emerging from an afternoon nap, not a plane of eternal fuckery.

My gaze slides back to the academy, to the crumbling spires and ghost-lit windows. It's quieter than I remember. More... still. Like even this place forgot how loud we used to be. The vines that devoured the east wing during the Branwen incident are still pulsing faintly. That’s probably a problem. One we’ll deal with tomorrow.

Luna stands in the middle of us, hair tangled, dirt smudged across her jaw, power still humming along her skin like the Hollow didn’t quite let go. She looks at the academy like she half-expects it to vanish. Like this—this moment of return—might just be a trick of the Hollow’s dying breath.

I step up behind her, close but not touching, because if I put my hands on her right now, I won’t stop. And there are still too many wounds open between us—between all of us—that need time, not tongue.

“Home sweet hellhole,” I murmur.

She turns her head slightly, meets my eyes.

“Yeah,” she says. “But it’s ours.”

And gods, I love her for saying that. Because it is. This cursed place, this graveyard of power and pain, it belongs to us. It’s where we were ruined and reborn. And maybe—just maybe—it’s where we start again.

Somewhere behind us, Elias groans. “I’m too pretty for interdimensional trauma. Somebody carry me.”

“You’re walking,” Luna and I say at the same time.

He whines. Caspian smirks. Riven rolls his eyes. I glance toward the looming academy doors, shadows curling in the frame, magic thick in the walls, and I grin.

Let the world get ready.

The Sins are home.