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“Life.” I whisper.

“Yes.” They say in unison.

“And the four roles?”

Ezra looks at the altar. “They shared the offering.”

“How?”

His eyes find mine. And there it is. Heat and fear.

Oh, I know.

My body knows before he says it.

The Revel.

Touch. Pleasure. Excess. Human energy freely given.

I swallow. “The original Communion was sexual.”

Ezra's jaw tightens. “Yes.”

Rhett mutters, “Finally, a tradition I can support.”

“Rhett.” I scold.

“What? We've had a rough evening.”

Despite myself, I laugh. One breath. Then it's gone. Because the implication remains.

I look at all three of the men I've wanted all fucking night. Two I've already chosen separately. One I've wanted so badly, that his refusal started feeling like its own form of torture. And suddenly the Harvest makes sense. Not sex as ownership. Not sex as conception.

Energy. Connection. Choice.

A Communion.

The four roles feeding the land together. The founders turned it into something monstrous because sharing power wasn't enough. They wanted to own it.

I look at Ezra. “If we complete the original Communion instead of theirs...”

Malakai inhales. “We change the offering.”

Rhett's smile disappears. “Feed it without giving it Sage.”

Ezra shakes his head. “We don't know that.”

“No,” I say. “We don't.” I look at the Harvest. “But it does.”

The creature has gone perfectly still.

Bingo.

“You don't want us to do it.”

The mouths open.

BRIDE BELONGS BELOW.