Page 12 of The Sin Binder's Vow

He doesn’t say her name.

He’s too furious for that. Too far gone. But I also know the truth of it—he’s holding it back because he thinks names still have power. That if he says Luna aloud with Branwen inside his bloodstream, it’ll draw the rot closer. Maybe it will.

Orin’s voice comes from behind me, soft but anchored. “It’s too late for that.”

“Iknow,” Lucien snaps, spinning on him like a predator cornered, his Dominion leaking into the space between them like a poison mist. “She’s already inside. Branwen’s got her fucking hooks buried so deep I can hear herwhisperingto me. She’s laughing. She’s telling me howsweetI taste—”

His voice fractures. Not from weakness.

From fury.

He grabs the edge of a shattered pillar and slams his hand into it, the stone cracking beneath his palm like bone under pressure. Shards crumble, fall at his feet, dust swirling around his boots. His other hand curls in his hair, gripping tight like he could claw her out if he just pulled hard enough. “She won’t shut up. She’s in my head,climbingthe walls like a spider—”

“She always whispers first,” I say, voice low, barely more than a growl. “She whispers, then she sings. Then shefeeds.You know how this works.”

Lucien goes still. For a breath. Maybe two.

He’s shaking.

Not visibly. Not to someone who doesn’t know him.

And that’s when I step closer.

Not to challenge him.

“What do we do?” I ask, my voice the first calm note in this chaos, not because I feel calm, but because one of us has to be. “Tell me. What’s the move?”

He exhales hard, like the question drags something sharp through his chest. For a second, I don’t think he’ll answer. His eyes stay fixed on the stone, on the blood on his hands, on everything but me.

Then he mutters, “We stall.”

“Stall?”

“She’s not ready for a confrontation. Not yet.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “She wants to make it personal. Make itslow.If she wanted to own me again, she would’ve dragged me back already.”

“She tried,” I say.

“Shedidn’t succeed.Which means she’s afraid of something.”

Lucien finally looks at me. His eyes are bloodshot, wild, but steadying. And in them, I see something I didn’t expect.

Resolve.

“She thinks I’ll beg,” he says. “She thinks if she takes enough from me, I’ll go crawling.”

“And will you?”

He sneers. “I’d rather be carved open.”

I nod once, because I believe him.

But belief only gets us so far. Because if Branwen is reaching through Lucien now, it means something in this place—the way the Academy’s rebuilding itself, the way the magic is waking—is tied toher.

Lucien drags a hand through his hair, smearing blood across his scalp like it might ground him. He’s breathing harder now, but steadier. Like he’s forcing every inhale through clenched teeth just to keep Branwen’s voice from crawling farther inside.

“Keep the girl from us,” he says, and it’s not a request. “For now. At least until I can think.”

Lucien’s eyes flick up, locking onto mine. They’re wild still, but there’s calculation beneath the mess now. He’s already building something. A plan. A wall. Another fucking lie, maybe. But he’s trying.

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