Page 7 of The Sin Binder's Vow

I see her ahead of us—her figure half-lit in the strange half-light this place produces. Not sunlight. Something else. Something old and sentient. The Academy breathes her in like a familiar scent, and doors open. Floors soften. Walls lean, almost reverent.

She doesn’t see the way I faltered when the bond surged. The way I had to steady myself against the trunk of a gnarled tree that wasn’t there seconds ago. Doesn’t see the way my fingers tremble before I curl them into fists. Because Irefusedher.

And now I get to rot.

Riven walks untouched. Not even a flicker of discomfort. And why would he? He’s hers. Claimed. Bound in a way that erased Branwen’s reach. I scoff under my breath. Not bitter. Not exactly. But I feel the rot pushing up through my ribs again and think: maybe I should’ve let her do the same to me.

But I didn’t.

And now, as the academy reforms itself around her, I feel Branwen’s fingers stroking the underside of my ribs like a violin bow, soft and lingering. Like a lover I once spurned, reminding me she never needed permission to take.

I breathe through the static in my veins and fall into step behind the group, not close enough to be noticed, but not far enough to be forgotten. Dominion crackles at my fingertips, barely leashed, but it does nothing here. The magic in this place isn’t mine.

It’s hers.

Hers.

“How bad is it?” Silas asks, low and quick, falling into step beside me like he hasn’t just emerged from whatever nonsense he was doing two minutes ago. His tone is flippant—always is—but there’s something under it. Something sharp. He’s paying attention, even if he doesn’t want me to know it.

I don’t answer right away. Mostly because I can’t. My throat’s tight, the bond still coiled like a blade beneath the surface, and I’m too fucking proud to show how much effort it takes to keep Branwen’s reach at bay. I focus instead on the path in front of us. The stone is too clean. Toonew. It curves unnaturally, like the academy is reshaping itself around our presence, sculpted from a memory no one alive should still have access to.

Silas doesn’t fill the silence. He never does when it matters. That’s the thing about him—he plays the fool, but he’s always watching. Always waiting for someone else to crack first.

Finally, I murmur, “It’s not nothing.”

He lets out a low whistle. “And here I thought you’d finally learned how to lie to yourself.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. Not a smile. Just habit. I don’t have the energy to slap him down. Not right now. Not when my entire ribcage feels like it’s humming with a melody Branwen left in my bones centuries ago.

“I closed it off,” I say. “She can’t pull me through.”

Silas snorts. “No, she can’t. But she’s still humming a little love song in your chest, isn’t she?”

I glance at him, and for once, his grin falters. Briefly. His green eyes narrow, flicking across my face like he’s searching for signs of a deeper fracture.

“I’m not Caspian,” I say, voice low and cold. “I don’t bend. And I don’t get bound unless I choose it.”

Silas raises both hands in mock surrender, but there’s nothing funny about the way he looks at me. “Hey, I believe you. I mean, yeah, she’s whispering through centuries of cursed flesh like a psychotic ex with no concept of boundaries, but you’ve got the whole ruthless dictator aesthetic going for you. If anyone can resist getting magically railed by the undead queen of sex and soul rot, it’s you.”

“Do youwantsomething?” I ask, finally giving him a full look.

He grins. “No. I just wanted to see if your jaw would crack from all the clenching.”

I look away, focus on the cathedral ruins ahead of us. The old hall—the heart of Daemon Academy when it was still something sacred—is pulling itself upright from the ash like it remembers what it was and doesn’t know it’s dead. Spires stretch into a sky that shouldn’t exist. The air tastes of ash and perfume, like Branwen kissed every stone before it turned to ruin.

Luna is already halfway up the steps. And the building parts for her.

Silas follows my gaze and whistles again, lower this time. “She’s getting stronger.”

“She’s changing everything,” I reply. “Even this.”

“Do you think she could fix you?” Silas asks, not looking at me.

I grind my teeth.

“She’s not a solution.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “But she’s an option. Which is more than Branwen ever gave us.”

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