Page 106 of The Sin Binder's Vow

“I don’t like to go into any form of battle unprepared,” I say solemnly. “Besides, your last training session gotway too sweaty. I’m just trying to outshine you in the sparkle department.”

Her mouth actually quirks. I feel like I’ve won a trophy made of sunfire. “You think you can outshine me?”

“Oh, IknowI can,” I say, stepping closer. “Want me to prove it? I’ve been practicing my slow-motion hair flips. Very dramatic. Extremely wind-reliant. May require fans and theme music.”

She snorts, which I pretend not to find completely adorable. She’s still flushed from training, eyes gleaming, and for a second, she forgets the world’s burning down around us. That’s the part I’m addicted to. Making her laugh in the middle of hell.

“Okay then,” she says, finally lifting her hand, fingers raised.

I light up.

But then she fakes me out and uses her ‘guns’ to shoot me straight in the chest.

“Bang,” she says, voice low and amused.

I clutch my chest and stumble backward like she’sactuallyhit me. “You wound me, my sweet, sparkling wrath goddess.”

“Better than your cringe guns,” she mutters, turning to grab a towel, but there’s softness in her voice now. A sweetness she doesn’t always let through.

I close the distance. Just enough to feel the heat rolling off her, not enough to touch. “You know I’m completely in love with you, right?”

She turns back, all that faux-seriousness melting. “Yeah, Silas. I know.”

“And you love me too, obviously. Because look at me.”

She smirks, reaches up, and ruffles my hair. “I do.”

Gods.

I’d crawl through the Void again just to hear her say it like that.

I don’t kiss her. Not yet. The moment’s too light, too perfect to ruin with anything heavy. But I touch her wrist, gently, and hold her eyes with mine for a beat longer.

“You and me,” I say. “We make chaos look good.”

Her smile deepens, that rare, real one she only shows when she’s letting the weight slip for just a second. “We do.”

The bond between us pulses—warm, steady,mine—and I swear it hums with approval.

Then I slap her ass and run.

Because I’m still me.

She doesn’t chase me. A pulse zings down the bond, a quiet command wrapped in silk and steel—and I fly backwards through the air like some beautiful idiot in a tragic opera. And Icommit. Because if I’m going down, I’m going down dramatically.

I twist mid-air with flair, shirt lifting just enough to expose my stomach—abs flexed, catching light like divine tragedy, hair artfully disheveled in the way that costs mortals thousands at salons.

I land sprawled in the grass, arms flung out like I’ve been struck by divine wrath. My expression is one of poetic betrayal.A single blade of grass kisses my cheekbone. I leave it there for ambiance.

She walks toward me slowly, a predator in sweat-slick skin and amused disapproval. Her shadow stretches over me, swallowing me whole before she even touches me. She stops just over my body and leans forward until her face is above mine, upside-down, hair spilling toward me like a curtain of ink.

Her voice is the sound of bad decisions whispered in the dark. “Do you want to be strung up in a tree?”

“Depends,” I say solemnly, lifting my head just enough to meet her gaze, “are you planning to leave me there? Or worship me like the forest deity I clearly am?”

She exhales a laugh. It’s sharp. Soft. Dangerous. “You arenota deity.”

“Icouldbe.” I raise one brow. “Give me enough clones, a fog machine, some cultist robes—”

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