Page 56 of The Sin Binder's Destiny

I should ask. I should demand to know what this is, if it means anything, if I mean anything to him. But not here. Not in front of Silas and Elias, who are currently building a shrine to chaos ten feet away.

So I say nothing. I just sit there, pretending I don’t notice the way Ambrose’s hand drifts closer to mine on the wooden plank, like he’s not sure if he’s about to reach for me.

And when Silas groans dramatically about needing help, I finally glance at Ambrose and murmur, "You’re staying tonight, aren’t you?"

He meets my gaze then, finally, and the weight of it punches through me.

"Yes," he says, voice like smoke curling low in his throat. "I always do now."

The thing I want to ask claws at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down, tuck it away.

A spark flickers in the corner of my vision, soft and pulsing like a heartbeat made of light.

I don’t notice it at first, too caught in the treacherous rhythm of Ambrose beside me, the quiet weight of his presence. But then it darts toward him—glimmering gold, feather-light—and hovers near his jaw like it’s trying to kiss him.

A single lightning bug.

Only it’s not like the ones back in our world. No, everything here in the Hollow is touched, corrupted, or sharpened into something more. This one glows brighter, threads of silver weaving through its body, tiny veins of starlight that pulse in time with the distant hum beneath this cursed place.

I suck in a sharp breath before I can stop myself, my gaze snagging on the fragile, impossible thing hovering by his face. Ambrose doesn’t flinch. He just watches it, watches me, like he’s already three steps ahead of whatever foolish thing I might do.

And then, before I can even think to move, his fingers lift—long, precise—and he catches it.

He shouldn’t be able to. It should have slipped away, wild and untouchable. But Ambrose cups it in his palm like he’s holding a secret, and when he shifts, he turns that impossible light toward me.

He holds it out, offering it like an apology he’d never speak aloud.

The glow softens against the lines of his palm, casting delicate shadows across his sharp cheekbones, the harsh slash of his mouth. He looks otherworldly like this—like something ancient and dangerous and too beautiful to stare at for too long.

The lightning bug flares again, but slower now, synced to the rhythm of my breath.

“For you,” Ambrose murmurs, and it sounds less like a gift and more like a confession.

My throat tightens, my chest twisting in a way I can’t untangle. My fingers brush his as I take it—just a graze, but it’s enough. His pulse flutters against mine, fast and steady beneath the cool detachment he’s always worn like armor.

The little thing perches in my hand, wings barely moving, like it knows it’s safe here.

"Ambrose," I breathe, not knowing what I’m about to say, not knowing what this soft, sharp ache in my chest means—but he already knows.

His gaze drops to my fingers curled gently around the light, and the corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smile. Something quieter. More dangerous.

"You shouldn’t hold things like that," he says, voice smooth and low. "They’ll make you want things you shouldn’t."

And gods help me, I want everything. Before I can answer, the lightning bug flickers out—not dead, but fading into nothing, like it was never really here at all.

Ambrose’s eyes stay on mine, though, like he’s still holding something in his hands.

The moment softens too much—like the Hollow itself knows it, curling quiet around me and Ambrose, making the world hush, like it wants me to drown in the weight of him, the impossible thing he just handed me.

But then—of course—it’s Silas.

"Luna. Look at me," Silas’s voice cuts through the quiet, muffled, suspiciously smug.

I drag my gaze away from Ambrose, already bracing.

And there he is. Standing at the edge of the half-built treehouse like an idiot, grinning wide enough to split his face open, two lightning bugs stuck to his damn teeth. Their glow flickers between his lips like he’s trying to convince me he’s holy.

My lips part before I can stop them, but not because I’m impressed. No, it’s horror. Pure, unfiltered horror.

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