Page 189 of The Sin Binder's Chains

Lucien chokes on a laugh.

Luna doesn’t smile. But something eases around her shoulders.

Orin rises from his seated position, moving toward us like he already heard every word. Which he probably did. “She’s not Luna,” he says, soft and certain. “She won’t bind the same way.”

“I know,” Luna murmurs.

“Do you?” he asks.

She looks at him then, really looks, and I swear something passes between them that makes the bond in my chest ache.

I step closer. Not thinking. Just moving.

She glances at me. “You okay?”

It’s stupid. She’s the one who should be asking that of herself. But she always does this, pulls focus from her bleeding to check our pulse.

I scoff. “I’m not the one sending my sister off with a den of cursed bastards and a walking complex named Severin.”

Lucien mutters, “Says the man who used to have a Severin poster above his bed.”

“Fuck off,” I snarl, and Luna finally laughs.

Gods help me, I feel it everywhere. That sound. That fucking laugh. It curls under my ribs like fire and frost all at once. Too rare. Too much.

Slias crashes into the moment with perfect idiocy, bare-chested, grinning, and holding a half-melted bar of chocolate.

“Did I miss something important, or was this the group trauma debrief?”

Luna gives him a look. Dry. Slightly amused. Mostly exhausted.

Slias grins wider. “Because I can offer support in the form of terrible jokes, shoulder rubs, or wildly inappropriate compliments that will make you uncomfortable for at least forty-five minutes.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “You always make me uncomfortable.”

He presses a hand to his chest. “Then I’m doing my job.”

Orin sighs. “One day, your mouth will be your end.”

Silas shrugs. “One day, I’ll die doing what I love: flirting with dangerous women and pretending it’s a coping mechanism.”

Lucien mutters, “It’s not pretending.”

But Luna’s smiling now. It’s tired. It's cracked. But it’s real.

And I hate that I’m not the reason for it.

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