Page 62 of The Sin Binder's Vow

That’s the thing I haven’t said out loud.

If Branwen uses me to kill Luna…

The thought cracks something behind my ribs. Not with sentiment. Not with grief. Withrage.

Because that’s mine.She’smine.

Not in the way the others say it, whispering it into her mouth like a vow or bleeding it into the bond like devotion. Mine because I see the cost of her. Because I knew the second she walked into that fucking courtyard she’d ruin every system I built to keep myself apart. She didn’t kneel. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t obey.

And now she’s inside me. Crawled in beneath the Dominion and made herself permanent. I press the heel of my palm into my chest, trying to root it out, knowing I never will. She’s threaded into my damn bones.

“I won’t let it happen,” I say aloud, though no one’s around to hear me. “I won’t be the weapon that takes her from them.”

Or from me. Because that’s the thing no one’s said either. Not even Orin. Not even Luna.

None of us walks away from this unscathed.

But I’ll be damned before I let her die atmyhands. I’ll kill Branwen first. And if I can’t? I’ll die before I’m used. And I’ll take whatever piece of that bitch I can carve out with me.

Her voice is honeyed rot.

It slides through the cracks in my mind like it belongs there—like I asked for it.Like Iwelcomedit. Which I didn’t. Which Iwould never.

And still.

Still, she’s in.

I don’t hear her out loud. It’s worse than that. Branwen doesn’tspeakso much as sheinfects.She curls her words around the spine of my thoughts, wraps them tight, until they’re not just commands—they’re compulsions. My own Dominion turned in on itself.

Get up.

Two words. Gentle. Measured. Undeniable.

My hand twitches first. Then the other. Then the subtle shift of my spine like I’ve decided, on my own, to rise from the table. But I haven’t. I haven’t decided a damn thing.

The tavern is quiet. Too quiet. The others are gone—scattered across the village or still in their rooms. No one left in this room but the cold dregs of coffee in Orin’s cup and the war drum in my chest.

I grip the edge of the table like it’s the only thing anchoring me to myself. My knuckles go white. My jaw locks.

Come to me, Lucien.

I shake my head.

Not even aloud. Just once. A flicker of defiance. It burns through my bloodstream like acid. It’s not enough. She’s already inside the part of me that’s bound, and that’s the part that answers.

My legs move.

Stiff at first, like I’ve been cursed. Then smoother. Purposeful. LikeI’mthe one who wants to do this. Who wants to leave. Who wants to see her again.

I don’t.

I don’t.

The door swings open too easily, and the cold outside doesn’t bite. That’s how I know this is her. That she’s numbing me, manipulating even the environment to match her grip. I step into the street, the cobblestones slick beneath my boots, the banners overhead catching no wind. The village feels paused. Like it’s waiting.

No one sees me go. No one stops me. That’s the worst part.

And I realize—this is how she’ll win.

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