Page 84 of The Sin Binder's Vow

I wish I were. For once, I wish I didn’t know how this ends before the game finishes playing.

“No,” I say. “Lucien made a choice. Orin followed. And Caspian…” I pause, because that name still burns. “He stayed behind.”

Luna steps back like I struck her. The magic around her hums, waking, responding to her grief like it wants to make something bleed for her.

Riven says nothing. He’s watching me. Waiting for me to finish delivering the blow I’ve been dragging out.

“They left for her,” I say. “They went willingly. To Branwen.”

The silence after is not quiet. It howls in the rafters, in the cracks of the stone, in the ruins of everything we were.

Then, softly—so quietly it almost doesn’t reach me—Luna says, “No.”

It’s not a protest.

It’s a promise.

I watch as something folds inside her. Not breaks—never breaks. She doesn't shatter, she crystallizes. Sharper. More dangerous.

Good.

Because we’re going to need her cruel. We’re going to need her strong.

And if the others think walking into Branwen’s lair buys us peace—then they’ve forgotten what she’s capable of.

Silas barrels into me like a drunken puppy that never learned about personal space or mortal boundaries. His arms wrap tight around my ribs with an over-exaggerated groan of affection, and I let out the kind of sigh that should be reserved for battlefield resignations.

“Ambrosio,” he croons in my ear, squeezing harder. “Gods, you smell like crypt dust and brooding. I missed you, man.”

I stare down at the top of his head. “Let go of me or I’ll stab you with something dull and infect it.”

“You missed me too,” he says, completely unfazed, clinging tighter. “I’m like fungus—you just learn to live with me. Like emotional athlete’s foot.”

Elias saunters into view, arms crossed, silver eyes narrowed. “Don’t let him touch you too long,” he says, deadpan. “He starts purring.”

“Only if you stroke behind my ears,” Silas winks, not at me—at Luna, who stands behind Elias, arms folded over her chest, her expression unreadable.

My jaw clenches. She shouldn’t be here. None of them should be. The way the Hollow dumped us back here, like chewed bones into familiar rot, isn’t a gift. It’s a warning. But Silas’s arms are still around me, and until I get my bearings, I let him pretend we’re all whole.

“I’m going to count to three,” I say, voice low.

He releases me on two.

I roll my shoulders and glance at the others—Riven, brooding like wrath personified; Elias, sarcastic armor firmly in place; Luna, watching me like she’s still waiting for the pieces to fall in a different pattern.

She speaks first. “You’re thinner.”

It’s not a question.

“Branwen’s hospitality didn’t include nourishment.”

Her eyes narrow. “And Caspian?”

I don’t answer. Her expression crumples for half a second before she catches it and forces herself still. Controlled. Like me.

I step closer, because I want her to flinch. She doesn’t.

“Do you know what your little rebellion cost?” I ask her, soft and venom-laced.

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