Page 223 of The Sin Binder's Chains

“Branwen,” Luna says, and the name tastes like poison on her tongue.

The stone pulses.

Lucien stiffens. “Then she’s not just watching. She’s waiting.”

I lean against Luna without asking, shoulder to shoulder, letting the quiet between us buzz. Then I grin sideways at her and whisper, “Want me to lick it and see what happens?”

Elias chokes.

Lucien walks away.

I call that a full success.

“Wait,” I say, the word a spark. “I’ve got an idea.”

Lucien halts mid-stride, spine stiffening as he pivots to face me with the slow, reluctant grace of a man who already regrets what’s about to come out of my mouth. I grin wide enough to make it worse, canines flashing, one brow lifted just enough to toe the line between mockery and genius.

Elias immediately groans behind me. “Oh, this is how we die.”

But Lucien’s already stopped, already turned. His jaw tightens. “Silas.”

“Humor me.” I hold up both hands, palms out like I’m about to offer something pure. “Orin touches the creepy ancient pillar and it lights up like it’s welcoming him home. His crest, his magic. That’s one. But what if, hear me out, it needs all of us?”

There’s a beat. Orin tilts his head, eyes narrowing in a way that means he’s considering it, which makes me want to preen like a cat.

“It’s not a half-bad idea,” Orin admits, stroking the curve of his beard like some sagely scholar. “The pillars were carved to anchor us here. To bind. And Branwen designed them. The pillar may be attuned not just to Sin Binder magic, but to the ones originally tethered to her.”

“You mean us,” I say, fingers twitching with restless energy. “The founding rejects.”

Lucien doesn’t speak, but his gaze cuts through me , calculating, cold, as if he’s already predicting the outcome six moves ahead. Which, knowing Lucien, he probably is.

“Even if that’s true,” he says slowly, “we don’t know what kind of response we’re triggering. The pillar could open a doorway, or it could incinerate us.”

“I like those odds,” Elias mutters, slouching closer. “Besides, if we burn alive, at least we don’t have to listen to another one of your speeches.”

“Touch it,” I say, ignoring the way Lucien glares at both of us like we’re termites in his flawless plans. “Let’s all touch the damn stone.”

Orin steps forward first, pressing his palm flat to the pillar with the calm assurance of someone who’s done this before. His crest glows again, a soft violet pulse that spreads across the surface of the stone like veins threading through marble.

I move next, laying my hand over the spiraling rune beside his, and the stone hums deeper. Lower. More primal. I feel ittug in my chest, like the bond, but older. Rougher. A call in a language I shouldn’t understand but do.

Lucien doesn’t move.

“You’re either part of this,” I say without looking at him, “or you’re in the way.”

He exhales through his nose like he’s debating murder versus cooperation, but then he steps forward and lays his palm beside mine.

Elias flutters in with a dramatic flourish, placing his hand on the stone with an exaggerated gasp. “If I die, I want a funeral. Fireworks. Dramatic weeping. And someone has to sing something stupid and tragic, ”

The pillar pulses. Once. Hard enough to push air outward like a heartbeat breaking through stone.

Then it begins to glow, lines carved into its surface lighting up in order, one after the other, like a sequence being activated. I glance at Luna. She hasn’t moved yet.

But her gaze is locked on the pillar, on the marks that are now blazing brighter with each breath. And something is shifting in her too, her magic, wild and barely caged, pulling toward the center of the storm.

The pillar wants her.

But this time, maybe it needs all of us.

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