Page 120 of The Sin Binder's Vow

“I don’t.”

Her fingers twitch in my grip, but I release her before she can make it look like she escaped. Before she can weaponize restraint into vulnerability.

“Get out,” I say, turning my back on her like she never mattered. “Before I show you exactly how well I learned to forget you.”

She says my name like it means something. Soft. Knowing. As if she still holds the version of me who once gave a damn.

“Ambrose.”

I should keep walking. Should let the door creak and close and lock between us. But I stop.

The rain has turned to mist outside, seeping through the cracks in the warped doorway, curling around us like it wants to listen in.

She moves toward me again, slower this time. Wary, like I’m some wounded animal that might bite.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “For what happened. I was—”

“Upset?” I cut in, turning to face her. “Don’t insult both of us with that excuse.”

Keira’s mouth flattens, but she keeps her tone syrupy. “You don’t understand what I was dealing with—”

“Oh, I understoodexactlywhat you were dealing with,” I snap, stepping toward her now. “Your own insatiable need to be important. To be the one theyallneeded.”

Her expression flickers. I’ve always known where her wounds are buried.

“I want to start over,” she says. “This doesn’t have to be war between us.”

That makes me laugh. Quiet, humorless, razor-edged.

“It’s always been war with you, Keira. You just prefer your weapons to smile first.”

I move toward the door, but she follows.

Outside, the courtyard is overrun with creeping ivy and wet stone, the twisted branches of the Hollow curling in like claws. The world here doesn’t feel neutral—it watches. Waits.

Keira is right behind me, and I can feel her breath at my neck. That used to mean something. Now it’s just a warning.

“I wasn’t ready to lose you,” she says. “And you made it easy. You didn’t fight for me.”

I spin back, fast.

“I don’t fight for things that already chose someone else.”

She scoffs, folding her arms. “So now you’re jealous?”

“I don’t get jealous. I geteven.”

Her lips part to say something else, but I don’t give her the chance. I step past her and into the cold, my coat catching the wind like it wants to pull me away from her orbit for good.

But she follows again, just a pace behind, as always.

“You don’t have to keep hating me,” she says.

“And you don’t have to keep pretending I ever loved you.”

The words land hard, and I almost regret them.

We walk into the fog-bleeding edge of the garden, bickering like something ancient and rotted clawing its way out of the grave.

---