He caught me by the wrist the second the meeting ended.

“Now,” Caelum said, eyes gleaming, “before you vanish into whatever rooftop, tunnel, or emotionally unsafe place you retreat to when people start calling you “Your Grace’’come with me.”

“I’m not retreating,” I said. “I’m avoiding.”

“Semantics,” he replied, already pulling me down a side corridor lined with flowering vinework and unfinished frescoes. “It’s urgent.”

“You don’t look particularly urgent.”

He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “That’s because I’m excellent at multitasking.”

I followed, more curious than cautious. Caelum had this maddening ability to get under my skin without trying, and lately, without asking. I could always feel him, even when we weren’t in the same room. His bond didn’t crash into me like Kael’s. It seeped in like water until I was floating before I realised I’d stepped off the ground.

He led me into one of the smaller towers that branched off from the Grove’s central hall. This one hadn’t been claimed yet. Bare walls, sunlight slanting in through geometric cutouts in the stone, floor littered with unfinished runes and bits of chalk. The scent of fresh wood and warm citrus filled the air. He must’ve been here before.

Caelum shut the door behind us with a soft click and turned to me, still holding that infuriating half-smile.

“So’” I crossed my arms. “What did you drag me here for? A secret coup? A wardrobe consultation? Did Kael finally agree to wear colour?”

His expression softened, and for a second, he looked almost shy.

“No politics,” he said. “Just this.”

He reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and pulled out” a nectarine?

I stared. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He tossed it toward me, and I caught it on instinct. “Figured you haven’t eaten anything today that wasn’t duty-flavoured.”

“I had tea.”

“That doesn’t count. Sit.”

He gestured toward the windowsill, where a sliver of sunlight painted the stone gold. I sat, still holding the fruit and waiting for the catch.

Caelum leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, watching me with that focus that made my skin warm.

“So,” I said slowly, turning the nectarine in my hand, “was this a ploy for alone time or do you just carry fruit around hoping for the right moment?”

“A Little of both,” he said. “But mostly—I needed to know if you still saw me.”

My brows pulled together. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind you’ve been avoiding since the Vale,” he said, tilting his head. “You’ve been letting the world see you. Even letting Kael in again. But me? You flinch. You pretend you’re too busy, or don’t remember how I used to know what you were thinking before you even said it.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it.

He stepped closer. But he did not loom or demand. He was just there. Present. And somehow still impossible to ignore.

“You and I,” Caelum said, “we were not built quietly. So don’t start tiptoeing now.”

The heat in my chest swelled until it hurt. I knew exactly what he meant, and I also knew I’d been neglecting him. It would explain his newfound obsession with calligraphy and such.

“I remember,” I said, my voice raspier than I liked. “I remember everything.”

“Good.” His fingers brushed mine as he took the nectarine back, broke it clean in half with a twist, and handed one side to me. “Then eat. And maybe stay.”

I hesitated, then bit into the fruit. Juice ran down my wrist. Caelum reached to wipe it with the pad of his thumb.

“You do that on purpose,” I muttered.

“Only when I want to watch you squirm.”

I laughed. Gods, it felt good to laugh. Real and effortless and whole.

We ended up on the floor, backs against the wall, knees brushing, passing fruit between us until nothing was left but sticky hands and that soft hum of magic that always lingered around him. The room felt warmer than before.

“You asked if I still saw you,” I said finally. “The truth is” I never stopped. I just didn’t know how to look at you now. Not after everything changed.”

“Everything didn’t change,” Caelum said. “It just came into focus.”

I looked at him then, like, really looked. The way his eyes crinkled when he smirked. The way his ink-stained fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh when he thought I wasn’t looking. He was all contrast. Grace and danger. Wit and weariness.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I asked, casually.

He blinked, then gave me that slow, crooked grin. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Not a chance.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, then leaned in any way.

The kiss was softer than I expected. Less claiming, more remembering. His fingers curled under my chin, his breath warm against mine, and the bond surged like coming home.

When we pulled apart, I let my forehead rest against his.

“Just you and me,” I whispered.

“And a very good nectarine,” Caelum added.

I snorted. “You ruin everything.”

“I make everything better.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I reached for him, my fingers still sticky from the nectarine, and swiped at the smudge of ink on his cheek. He didn’t flinch, just watched me with those velvet-black eyes like the world could end, and he’d still wait for me to finish.

“You’re different now,” I murmured. “Not as cryptic as before, or hiding behind riddles and temple-talk. At least not with me.”

“Odd that you’d choose now to pull away,” he said, tilting his head, “just when I’m finally coming out of my shell.”

I grinned. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t you?” he asked, catching my hand before I could pull away. He turned it in his palm, then pressed a kiss to the centre like it was something sacred.

His lips were soft, warm. My throat tightened.

“I know why,” he said, quieter now. “It’s harder to see me. Because when you do” you see him.”

I froze.

“Fabian and I were identical,” Caelum continued, eyes still fixed on my hand. “I know what that does to you. I remind you of the Vale.”

His voice was calm, but I felt the crack in it. And I hated that he wasn’t wrong.

“I sometimes wish I could change that,” he added, “just to make it easier for you.”

I let the silence sit between us for a second before I drew in a breath.

“You don’t have to change,” I said softly. “You’re not him. Believe me, you two were different as night and day.”

He looked up then, and I saw the relief, the pain, the ache of always being half of someone else. Even after death.

“Still,” I said, scooting closer until our knees touched, “I get it. It’s not easy having a ghost for a twin.”

“And it’s not easy being in love with someone who looks like your dead mate,” he said plainly.

“True,” I replied, just as plainly. “But I’ve never liked easy.”

He laughed—really laughed—and it made something settle in my chest.

Then, just to ruin the moment as he always did, Caelum added with a smirk, “So you are in love with me?”

I made a dramatic show of standing up and brushing off my hands. “Ugh. And here I thought the moment was profound.”

“Oh, it was,” he said, rising with me. “I just like to keep you from swimming too far in it.”

We were smiling now. Genuinely. And it didn’t feel like a betrayal to be happy.

Caelum glanced toward the open archway. “Kael’s going to want a word once he hears you’ve been holed up with me for this long.”

I gave him a look. “He already knows. Our bond’s not exactly subtle.”

“Then I better kiss you again before he gets here and ruins the mood.”

Caelum was already stepping in, the corner of his mouth tilted like he knew I’d let him. But this time, I beat him to it. I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, right along the curve of his jaw, leaving the barest trace of nectar-sweet juice behind.

He stilled under the touch, eyes flaring like he hadn’t expected me to be bold about it. I drew back just enough to smirk.

“Kael can wait,” I said, tilting my head. “He’s not exactly my only mate.”

Caelum’s brow arched. “No?”

“No,” I said, stepping in closer until there was almost nothing between us but breath. “You’re the other half of me. The part I didn’t know I needed until it wouldn’t shut up in my chest.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand grazing my waist, not quite pulling me in, but not letting me move either. “You say that like it’s a recent discovery.”

“It’s not,” I admitted, letting my fingers trace the collar of his robe, feeling the rise and fall of his breath under the fabric. “It just took me a while to stop being a coward about it.”

His smile curved lazy and soft. “Luna Baudelaire? A coward?”

“Emotionally? Absolutely.”

He chuckled, brushing a thumb against my hip like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re forgiven. Depending on what your apology looks like.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t move away. “It looks like this: you have me for the rest of the day. All of me. No interruptions or running off.”

Caelum’s gaze shifted to my mouth, and for a heartbeat, our bond flared like wildfire.

“I’ll take it,” he said. “And I won’t share.”

“Possessive, are we?”

“Only when it counts.”

He reached up and tucked a loose coil of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers linger a moment too long. Then he leaned in, slower this time, giving me every chance to stop him, and when I didn’t, he kissed me.

His hand cupped my jaw as his lips moved over mine, and the bond hummed through my skin like music. There was no demand in it, just a claiming so quiet and complete it made my knees tremble.

When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.

“You taste like summer fruit,” he murmured. “And mischief.”

“Compliment or warning?”

“Both.”

I grinned. “Come on,” I said, threading my fingers through his. “We’ve got a whole day to waste. Let’s do it irresponsibly.”

His answering laugh was the kind that curled in my belly and made me want more of it. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

“Good,” I said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”