Lucian Moon's arms tightened across his chest.
His jaw set. His gold eyes went steady, carrying a decision that Fin recognized because Fin had made it himself: the decision to protect the woman he loved regardless of the cost, regardless of the mechanism, regardless of what any goddess or elder or fated tie demanded.
"Cage or kill," Tristan repeated. "Those are the options. Pick the one the histories will forgive."
The room had no response.
Lucian's mouth curved. Just slightly. Just enough for Fin to see.
Atta boy, Tristan, the curve said. Burn the whole fucking thing down.
✦✦✦
The vision compressed again. Hours folded into seconds, days into minutes.
Fin watched through Lucian's experience as the corruption spread. As the dark veins crawled up Tristan's neck, his face, his hands. As the healers worked and failed and worked again with diminishing returns.
Lucian felt every minute of River's vigil through the matebond.
