Page 143 of The Sin Binder's Destiny

But gods—they land like a blade.

He’s said it before. Once. Maybe twice. Quiet declarations in the spaces between chaos. In passing. In moments that felt too safe to be real. But this time… this time he says itafter.

After I kissed him first. After I chased him. After I flung every ounce of cool composure to the wind and told him I had a crushon him like a teenager scribbling names into the margins of a spellbook.

He doesn’t kiss me harder. He doesn’t press his body into mine like the others might. He just holds me there, his lips brushing mine as he breathes those words into the space I cracked wide open.

I believe him.

I feel it in the way his fingers spread over the back of my neck, not possessive, butanchoring.The way his other hand never moves from my hip. The way his body stays steady, quiet, deliberate—like he’s been waiting for me to catch up.

“I love you,” he repeats, softer now. “Even though you said my abs werejust okay.”

That makes me laugh. Which is dangerous.

Because the second I do, it catches in my throat—tight and awful and humiliating—and I feel tears press behind my eyes like traitors. I try to turn away, but he doesn’t let me. Not roughly. Just enough.

Just enough to make me stay.

“I was trying not to seemtoothirsty,” I murmur, eyes half-lidded, mouth brushing his again like I need one more taste to keep breathing. “It was a lie, obviously. Your abs are… they’re ridiculous.”

Orin smiles against my skin.

“I know.”

Gods, he’s infuriating. And beautiful. And mine.

That thought makes my chest clench because it’s real now. Not theoretical. Not buried under magic or war or the fucked-up chaos we keep crawling through. This isn’t about a bond or a past or a prophecy.

It’s justhim.

Andme.

And the way he keeps looking at me like I’m the answer to a hunger he spent centuries pretending didn’t exist.

I bury my face against his shoulder, hiding the heat on my cheeks, the tightness in my throat, the absolute mortification of realizing I just ugly-crushed myself into an ancient immortal’s arms and hestillloves me for it.

His lips brush the curve of my jaw.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmurs. “I already know.”

My heart skips. Then stumbles.

But I don’t pull away.

I stay.

Because maybe I don’t have the words yet.

Butthis—this closeness, this breath, this quiet surrender in his arms—is a start.

Ambrose

Riven reshapes the ground like it’s a living thing that remembers him. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look up, just presses his palms into the earth and pulls. Stone rises in a slow arc behind him, curling into a cradle of jagged walls around the spring. Shelter. Not permanent. Just enough to block the rain and wind, to make this temporary place feel like we haven’t been hunted for weeks.

Steam coils up from the hot spring, heavy and slow, carrying the scent of minerals and smoke from the fire Silas started the old way—no magic, just spark and flint and a long string of curses. Elias told him to give up halfway through. He didn’t. He never does. That’s his problem.

The water glows faintly with residual heat magic, probably Orin’s touch, though he says nothing about it. He hasn’t said much since he and Luna came back, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth soft at the corners. She hasn’t looked at anyone for longer than a blink since. And I’m not sure whether I hate Orin more for getting there first… or forearningit.

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