Page 121 of The Sin Binder's Chains

I shake my head and move further away from camp, further away from her, because if I don’t, I’ll do something stupid. Something I can’t take back.

The ground beneath my boots is uneven, jagged with the ruin of the Hollow, but I barely register it. The only thing I feel isthe bond, that damn pull, that gnawing ache in my chest that refuses to die.

I hear her sigh.

A soft, exasperated exhale, like I’m the difficult one. Like she has any idea what it feels like to have someone embedded in your ribs, stitched into your soul, without your fucking consent.

Then she speaks.

"Why are you running from me, Riven?"

I stop walking.

A slow, violent pause, rage blooming hot behind my ribs.

Running?

She thinks I’m fucking running?

I turn.

No, I stomp back toward her, my steps loud, deliberate, full of the kind of aggression that should make her step back.

She watches me approach, head high, arms loose at her sides, like she’s already bracing for my anger, already expecting me to throw it at her.

And that pisses me off even more.

I don’t stop until I’m in her space, until she has to tilt her head back to look at me.

I want to see something in her expression, wariness, unease, anything that tells me she understands what she’s asking of me, what she’s pulling from me every time she refuses to let me be.

I lean in slightly, dropping my voice into something low, dangerous. “I’m not running.”

She arches a brow. “No?”

“No.” My jaw clenches. “I’m getting as far away from you as this fucking bond will let me.”

Her lips press together, her gaze flicking over my face, searching for something I don’t want to give her.

And then, the worst part.

She tilts her head, eyes dark and steady, and says,

"Why?"

Why.

Like she doesn’t know. Like she doesn’t feel it, too.

I exhale sharply, hands curling into fists at my sides. “Don’t start with me, Luna.”

She shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “You started this.”

I scoff. “The fuck I did.”

She sighs again, and I hate the way it settles in my ribs, pressing against something raw, something I can’t ignore.

“Riven,” she says quietly. Not unkind. Not cruel. Just my name, steady and knowing. “You’re fighting something that’s already won.”

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