Page 199 of The Sin Binder's Vow

And she doesn’t make me.

“It was Silas,” I admit, shifting on the stone bench beside her like it’s an act of surrender. “Said I was ‘socially obsolete.’ That I couldn’t keep ignoring progress forever. Then he shoved it into my hand like it was a gift and not a weaponized headache.”

She laughs, drawing one leg up beneath her, facing me like this is nothing—like this is just a normal conversation and not the unraveling of my carefully cultivated superiority. “You let Silas give you technology. That was your first mistake.”

I watch her mouth as she says it. I always do. It’s the way she speaks—low and knowing, like every word might be a test. Might be the one that makes me crack.

“You’re human,” I mutter, trying not to sound like I’m accusing her of it. “You’re supposed to be good at this kind of thing.”

She tilts her head. “That’s racist.”

I blink at her.

She grins. “Species-ist. Whatever. Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I came out of the womb texting and downloading apps.”

“Apps?”

She snorts. “Exactly.”

I watch her reach for the phone—myphone—and swipe across the screen like it’s nothing, fingers moving with infuriating ease. The screen comes to life in her hand. Traitor.

“I hate that thing,” I mutter, not caring that it sounds childish. “It doesn’t listen to me.”

“Maybe you’re not charming enough.”

I turn toward her, slow. “I could make the bricks beneath your feet whisper your name for eternity.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t look away. “I know. But can you make a group chat?”

I stare.

She cackles. Actually cackles, like she’s enjoying this.

“What’s a group chat,” I say flatly.

Her eyes gleam. “It’s like summoning a demon, but worse. Everyone you’ve ever regretted talking to in one place, texting at all hours, sending memes and chaos.”

“And you do this voluntarily.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “Only with people I don’t want to kill.”

I study her. The way she leans into the humor, but never hides behind it. The way she makes it easy to sit next to her, like I’m not a man made of sharp edges and decay. Like she isn’t the kind of girl who could bring an empire to its knees with a look.

“I’d rather speak in person,” I murmur.

“I know,” she says, quieter now. “That’s why I answered you when you knocked.”

And there it is. The thing she does—softens a moment with just enough weight to make it feel like confession. Like truth. She never demands answers, never drags the darkness out of me. She just makes room for it. For me.

My gaze drops to her hand again, resting casually on her thigh. So easy to touch. So easy to forget the risk. I don’t reach for her. But I don’t move away either.

The phone chirps again—an obnoxious little trill that sounds far too pleased with itself for something so small and smug. I glare at it like it personally offended me, because it has. Repeatedly. And now it's doing it again, lighting up in Luna’s palm like she’s its chosen one.

She glances at the screen and her brows lift. “You’ve got messages.”

“I don’t speak technology,” I say flatly, and her smile is almost pitying.

“You touch souls and command firestorms with a word, but this…” she waggles the phone, “is too much for you?”

---