Reverie stepped out onto the balcony, needing a moment away from the suffocating decadence of Lust’s party. The cool night air was a relief, but her heart sank as she saw him there, leaning casually against the railing, bathed in moonlight.

“Couldn’t resist following me, could you?” Sloth drawled, not even turning to look at her.

She froze, gripping the doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He finally turned, his amber eyes locking onto hers, slow and deliberate as ever. “Didn’t you?”

Her breath caught. The way he looked at her—calm, knowing, like he still had all the time in the world—made it impossible to breathe. “It’s been centuries, Sloth. Why are you here?”

“I was invited,” he replied, his lips curving into that infuriatingly soft smirk. “Though, I didn’t think I’d see you. Not after...everything.”

Reverie crossed her arms, trying to shield herself from the pull of his presence. “Some of us move on.”

“Do they?” He tilted his head, his gaze never wavering. “You haven’t.”

Her chest tightened, anger sparking beneath her calm exterior. “You don’t know me anymore.”

Sloth straightened, taking a single, slow step closer. “Don’t I?” His voice dropped, softer now, almost a whisper. “You’re here, standing in front of me, and I can still see it. The part of you that wishes I’d stayed.”

Reverie clenched her fists, her voice barely steady. “And the part of you that wishes you’d fought for me? Does that still exist?”

For once, his gaze faltered, and the silence between them was louder than the party behind the glass doors.