Page 40 of The Sin Binder's Chains

I don’t lie to her. I don’t soften the words.

“The world burns.”

Layla exhales, shaky, uneven, but she doesn’t argue. Because there is no argument to be made. She presses her hands to her temples, eyes shutting briefly, before she sighs, long and exhausted.

“What do I need to do?”

I let the satisfaction curl through me, slow and deep. Because she is perfect for this. For him. And she doesn’t even know it yet. She stops suddenly, turning to me with an expression caught between anger and wariness, suspicion darkening her features.

“Why now?” she demands. “Why is all of this happening now? Why not years ago? Why not before Luna was taken?” Her gaze sharpens, and I can see the quick, calculating mind behind her eyes, the gears turning. “Why did no one come for me before?”

A fair question.

And one I knew would come.

I take my time answering, watching her closely. “Because no one knew.”

Layla scoffs. “That’s convenient.”

I shake my head. “It’s the truth. Sin-Binders are not chosen, Layla. They are born, and their power remains dormant until the right catalyst forces it awake.”

Her brows pull together. “A catalyst?”

I nod. “For Luna, it was Daemon Academy. The bond with us. Being forced into our world.”

Her lips press into a thin, unsettled line. “And what’s mine?”

“Severin,” I say simply.

The name lands like a curse between us.

She stills, visibly recoiling at the weight of it, at what it means.

I continue. “Something changed in the Void. Something woke the Sub-Sins from the depths of their exile, and when Severinmade his first move, it sent ripples through the fabric of our existence.” I gesture to her. “And through you.”

Layla’s throat bobs as she swallows, shifting uncomfortably. “So you’re telling me that if none of this had happened, if Severin had just stayed in his creepy little murder dimension, I would’ve just lived a normal life?”

I tilt my head slightly. “You would have lived a contained life.”

Her brows knit together. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means your power would have remained buried,” I explain. “Dormant. Unawakened. You would have continued living, but always with something inside you that felt... off. Like you were missing something vital. Like a hunger you could never quite satisfy.”

Her arms tighten around herself. Because she recognizes it. The gnawing absence, the quiet, persistent wrongness that has been with her since childhood.

I nod, watching understanding settle in her features, slow and unwilling. “Severin changed that. The moment he surfaced, the moment he began making his way back into this world, your power responded.”

Layla shakes her head, but there’s no conviction behind it now, only a slow-building resignation.

“If this is true,” she murmurs, “if this is fate or whatever, then why do I feel like it’s some kind of sick joke?”

A dark, humorless smile curves my lips.

“Because it is.”

Layla’s expression shifts, not quite fear, but something close to it. She’s realizing how deep this goes. How much of her life, of her future, is being rewritten right in front of her. And she doesn’t have a say in it.

Not really.

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