Page 175 of The Sin Binder's Chains

Orin

The fire crackles with the kind of restraint only we can afford, low flames fed by magic, not wood, burning without scent, without smoke. A practical decision. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves in a place already fraying at the edges.

Luna sits beside her sister, holding Layla’s hand like it tethers her to something that still makes sense. I don’t interrupt. Not yet.

She needs this pause. A breath before the next descent. Even if it’s nothing more than the illusion of rest.

Elias sprawls across a jagged rock like it’s personally offended him, humming something that isn’t quite a tune and definitely isn’t pleasant. Riven sharpens his blades, not because he needs to, but because routine is the only thing he still trusts. Silas watches Luna like he’s counting her heartbeats.

Lucien stands. Always. He’ll burn before he allows himself the indulgence of stillness.

I stay at the fire, seated cross-legged, spine straight, hands folded in my lap. The old way.

Luna glances at me. Sharp. Tired. Curious.

She doesn’t ask. But she wants to.

“You’re worried about her,” I say, my voice low, meant only for her.

Her brows draw together. “She’s my sister.”

“And you think I would question that?”

“No,” she says too quickly. “I just… She’s not like me.”

“No,” I agree, eyes on the flame. “She’s like what you were. Before Daemon. Before us.”

Her breath catches, just a whisper. But it’s enough.

“She’ll be fine,” I continue. “As fine as anyone can be when they’re part of something this ancient. This tangled.”

Luna’s voice thins, stretched tight. “You think she can do it? What I did?”

“That’s the wrong question.” I meet her gaze. “The question is whether Severin will let her.”

Layla stirs, head tipping toward Luna, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Her bond to the Sub-Sins keeps her skimming the surface of sleep. Always listening. Always braced.

“She’s not going in alone,” Luna says. “We’re going to find a way to meet her halfway.”

“She’s walking into a cage dressed like a door. Even if she binds them, ” I glance toward the horizon, the place where reality feels too thin. “There are locks older than anything you’ve touched, Luna. Not everything unravels the way you think it will.”

She bristles. “I don’t want to unravel it. I want to break it.”

There it is again. That hunger. Not wrath, not pride. Something deeper. Something feral in its patience.

Lucien lifts his head slightly, like he feels it too.

I rise slowly, brushing ash from my hands. I move toward her with the kind of deliberate care reserved for unstable relics.

“We don’t always get to choose what we become,” I say softly. “But you’re not becoming something new, Luna. You’re becoming what you’ve always been.”

She stands, her grip on Layla loosening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stop in front of her. Close enough for her to feel the weight of my presence. My knowing.

“It means,” I say carefully, “there are things older than the Hollow. Older than Severin. And they remember you. Even if you don’t remember them.”

Her breath catches.

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