Page 177 of The Sin Binder's Chains

I watch her, the sharp edge of her silhouette blurred by shadow, hair tied back in a knot that’s already started to loosen. She looks tired. But not weak. Luna never looks weak.

I don’t answer right away. I shift, unfolding from where I’ve been seated cross-legged beneath a ridge of crumbling stone.The Hollow doesn’t offer much in the way of comfort. But I don’t need comfort.

She does.

So I rise.

“The pull,” I say slowly, “isn’t a decision. It’s instinct. Deeper than magic, older than language.”

She exhales like she already hates the answer.

“You’re not answering the question.”

“I am,” I say, stepping closer. Close enough that I can see the storm behind her eyes. “You’re just not ready to hear it.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Try me.”

So I do.

“The Sub-Sins were created with an imbalance in their bones. Born from fragments of the original sins, cast off like splinters too volatile to contain. They weren’t meant to exist on their own, not really. That’s why the Binder exists. Not to trap them. Not to hurt them. But to anchor them.”

She studies me. Not with suspicion. With need.

“So Layla…”

“She is their balance,” I say. “Not a captor. A center.”

Her jaw tightens, just slightly. “And they’ll just… feel it?”

“They already do.”

I reach out before I can stop myself. A single finger, brushing the edge of her wrist. Her skin is too warm, like she’s been holding onto fire.

“He can’t hurt her,” I say, voice lower now, weight behind it. “Severin might want to. Might believe he can. But it would be like turning a blade against his spine. The Sub-Sins will be drawn to Layla whether they want to be or not. That’s the nature of what they are. Their purpose is to be held. To be kept. By her.”

“And if she doesn’t want to hold them?” she asks.

“She won’t have a choice.”

Luna exhales, but it’s not relief. It’s a quiet kind of fury, tempered by exhaustion. “That sounds familiar.”

I don’t argue. Because it is. It’s the same thread that coils through her, through us. The binding isn’t desire. It’s gravity. And she’s still learning which way it pulls.

“She’s not like me,” she says, voice rough. “She’s not ready.”

“No one is ready to bind something hungry,” I murmur. “Especially not monsters who want to belong to her.”

Luna’s throat bobs. She looks down, then back up, her voice tighter now. “You make it sound like it’s beautiful. That thing. The pull.”

“It is,” I say. “And it’s ruin.”

For a moment, the wind shifts. Not real wind. The Hollow doesn’t breathe. But the ruins around us creak. The world remembers things here. It listens.

Luna crosses her arms. “If she fails? ”

“She won’t.”

I don’t say it to comfort her. I say it because I’ve seen what happens when a Binder doesn’t finish what she was made to do. I’ve seen what becomes of the world when power isn’t held in check by something soft.

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