Page 166 of The Sin Binder's Vow

Because I won’t say the things clawing at the inside of my throat—but Iwillmake sure she never has to touch the handle herself.

She pauses beside me, her hand brushing mine as she slides in. No thanks. No smug remark. Just a glance.

That look. The one that saysI know.

And that’s what kills me the most.

Shedoes.

We pile in like we’ve done this before, like we haven’t been locked behind ancient wards for centuries. Like we aren’t gods and monsters playing mortal for a night.

Luna setting into the passenger seat—her dress careful, graceful, like it was made to be worshipped in the front of a classic car. I let Elias take the middle in the back, not because I’m feeling generous, but because Iwon’tbe the one accidentally brushing against Ambrose while Silas tries not to kill us.

Ambrose climbs in beside Elias without a word. The leather groans beneath his weight, everything about him too composed, too damn calculating. But his gaze flicks once to Luna, then to the gear shift, then nowhere.

Silas settles in like he owns the car. One hand on the wheel, the other spinning the keys once, twice, before shoving them into the ignition like he’s about to spark a ritual. The engine growls—deep and hungry—but when he taps the gas, the car lurches forward with all the grace of a dying creature and then immediatelystalls.

Everyone jerks.

Silas mutters something that might’ve been a prayer or a curse—or both.

Then he cracks his fingers with a little too much enthusiasm, clears his throat like he’s stepping on stage, and says with perfect, misplaced confidence:

“Just need a minute. It’s like riding a bike.”

Elias snorts, arms already braced across the seat like he’s prepared to be launched through the windshield. “You can’tridea bike.”

“That’s not the point,” Silas says without missing a beat. “It’s a dexterity thing. I’ve got this.”

He turns to Luna, all smile and bravado, like she’s his only audience and this is his magnum opus.

“Tell them, sweetheart. I can do this.”

She gives him a look.

Not disbelieving.

Not annoyed.

Just…resigned.Like this is who he is and she’s long since stopped hoping for survival to come with sanity.

“Silas,” she says dryly, “just get us there without killing anyone. Including yourself.”

He salutes her with two fingers, shifts the car back into gear with a dramatic flourish like he’s taming a beast instead of operating a decades-old machine—and this time, the carmoves.

Not smoothly.

But it moves.

I lean back, watching the trees blur past as we pull away from the only place we’ve ever been allowed to exist freely—and into something unknown.

The Council’s theater. The performance. The trap dressed up in gowns and illusions.

The last time I left Daemon, I was a weapon.

This time, I’m something worse.I’m bonded.And she’s right there in front of me.

The car jerks again. Not just a little hiccup, but a full-bodiedconvulsionlike the machine itself is rejecting Silas’s entire bloodline.

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