Page 23 of The Sin Binder's Vow

Silas tucks his coat under her head with the kind of care that makes something ancient in me flinch.

A monster made flesh, kneeling before a girl who shouldn't matter this much, trying—failing—to give her comfort in a world that was never meant for it. There’s no jest in him now. No smirk or quip to deflect the severity of what’s happening. Just hands that shake slightly as he lifts her head, his palms cradling the back of her skull like she’s something sacred. Breakable.

He places her back down gently. As if the stones might bruise her. As if he knows they would, if given half the chance. His eyes stay fixed on her face, watching the flickers beneath her lashes. Not fear. Not lust. Something worse.

Hope.

And it nearly unravels me.

Because I remember what Silas used to be. What heis.The grinning serpent in the rafters. The trickster who never stayed still long enough to be pinned down. He was chaos for the sake of survival. Every joke a shield. Every prank a way to push theworld away before it hurt him again. But Luna pulled him down from that heightless spiral, wrapped her hands in his hair and looked him in the eye like he was someone worth staying for.

And now he kneels.

And I watch.

The stones beneath us, those cursed bones of a school that never wanted to die, they seem to still around us. Listening. Breathing. The architecture here isn’t dead—it’s watching her. Itknowswho she is. It knew before we did. That’s what unsettles me most. The world itself is bending around her shape, and I don’t think she’s aware she’s the one doing the bending.

“She’s still not waking,” Silas mutters from behind me, trying for flippant but not quite making it. His voice cracks halfway through, and when I glance back at him, he’s pacing. One hand rakes through his hair, the other clutches his jacket like it’s armor. “Maybe if I whispered something inappropriate, her subconscious would rise up and slap me.”

“Don’t,” Elias says softly, not looking away from her. “Just… don’t.”

Slias stops. Blinks like he wasn’t expecting to be answered seriously.

And then nods once, silent. Because evenhefeels it now. The wrongness of it all. The beauty. The break.

Luna, asleep in the center of ruins that remember her better than we do. The Sins, kneeling, pacing, watching like the devout. And me—Orin Vale—still standing on the edge of it all, knowing that the moment she opens her eyes, something old will look through them.

She shifts.

It’s the smallest thing—barely a flicker of motion as her head turns slightly toward the sound of Silas’ voice, her lashes twitching like something’s trying to pull her back into herself. But it’s enough.

Relief cracks through me before I can stop it.

I exhale.

And with it, the illusion I could stay another moment.

Lucien and I exchange a glance. He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move. But I know what’s expected. What’snecessary.We’ve lingered too long, and if her voice finds us while she’s waking, Branwen will feel it. She’ll seize the thread that ties us to her like a hook in the marrow, and she’ll pull.

Harder than before.

She’s already restless.

Already clawing at the bond buried deep in the hollows of my ribs, whispering promises laced in rot and hunger. She wants to hear Luna speak. Wants to know why the Academy stirs. Why the Sins have circled a girl like she’s a prophet returned to her ruined temple.

I rise, slow and deliberate, brushing dirt from my knees like it matters. It doesn’t.

Nothing in me wants to walk away. But I do. Because staying is worse. Because if she speaks my name, and Branwen hears it echo down the line—She’ll bury it in blood.

Lucien doesn’t follow.

I pause, turning just enough to see him still rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on Luna like he’s measuring her breaths. There’s something tight in his jaw. Not anger. Not pain.Conflict.And that’s dangerous. Lucien doesn’t hesitate. He acts, calculates, commands. But now he stands there like he’s forgotten how to leave, like some part of him iswaitingfor her to wake.

“Lucien,” I murmur, voice low but edged. “Now.”

His eyes flick to mine—blue, furious, lost.

Then back to her.

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