Page 59 of The Sin Binder's Vow

My hands curl into fists. And still—he doesn’t stop.

“She’s going to die,” I grind out, jaw tight. “Like the others. Like every Binder before her.”

“And yet here you are,” Orin murmurs. “Still choosing her. Even if you won’t say it. Even if you can’t.”

He lets the silence stretch then. Lets it settle. Like he’s giving me room to break quietly. And then, as he turns to go, he says the one thing that undoes me:

“So love her anyway.”

He leaves me with that. No parting glance. No sympathy. Just the truth I’ve spent centuries avoiding. Because Idolove her. And I already know I’ll burn the world when she dies.

Lucien

They think I’m buying time. And they’re right—but not for the reasons they assume.

Riven believes I’m stalling to study the terrain, waiting for Branwen to reveal her next move. Silas keeps nudging for distractions—more ale, another song, something to numb the undercurrent. And Luna… gods, Luna watches me like she knows. Like she already sees the storm I’m trying to hold back. But even she hasn’t guessed the truth of it.

I’ve played the scenario through every possible permutation. A thousand ways to shift the outcome. Adjust the players. Delay the loss. But the math doesn’t change. The Hollow was never meant to be balanced. And Branwen’s not after balance. She wants power—ownership. Not just of this place. Of us.

I glance atheracross the village square, her laughter too bright for a place like this, too sharp for a world that’s bent on fracturing her. She’s laughing at something Silas just said, and Elias is doing that awkward grin he wears when he can’t decide whether to be smug or possessive. And Riven—Riven just watches her with that permanent scowl, but he’s closer than usual, which says more than he realizes.

They’re all caught in her orbit now. So am I.

And that’s the problem. She doesn’t submit. Not to me. And I—godsdammit—I can’t make myself want her to. Even when Ishould. Even when everything in me says she’s the variable I can’t predict. The threat I can’t contain. The ache I can’t control.

That’s why the equation always ends the same way. Orin and I have to go. Voluntarily. Quietly. We let her take us—me, Orin, maybe Caspian if I can convince him. We give Branwen what she wants. Her trophies. Her leverage. Her distraction. Because if we can keep her busy enough—if she thinks she’s already won—maybe she won’t notice what Luna’s becoming until it’s too late.

Maybe Luna will survive.

Or maybe she won’t. But I’m done pretending survival is part of the outcome for all of us.

“Lucien.”

Orin’s voice slices through my thoughts, low and level as ever. He doesn’t need to say more. I look up, meet his gaze across the tavern table we’ve claimed for our so-called strategy session. He knows. Of course he knows. He’s known longer than I have.

“You’re not hiding it as well as you think,” he adds, taking a sip of whatever he insists is coffee in this gods-damned village. “Luna’s going to notice.”

“She already has.” I rake a hand through my hair, letting the pretense fall away for a breath. “But she doesn’t know what she’s seeing yet.”

Orin sets the mug down with a soft clink. “She will.”

I nod, once. Final. “Then we better move quickly.”

Outside, the banners flap lazily in the wind, strung up for a festival that doesn’t feel real. The villagers are starting to appear again, like they’ve been summoned—not by bells or schedule, but by something older. Something deeper. Magic thick in the seams of this place, hiding in smiles and glances and the way no one asks questions when strangers wander through with blood on their boots.

And still… the people are smiling. Children dart between the stalls. There’s a smell in the air—sweet, spiced, familiar in a way that makes the hairs on my neck rise.

Branwen’s already watching.

Planning.

Hollowing out her space in our story.

I can’t stop her.

But I can buy Luna time.

Orin hasn’t said it out loud. He doesn’t need to.

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