Page 260 of The Sin Binder's Destiny

“You think you’re not already in the trap?”

The Void hums between us. My skin prickles.

“I don’t trust you,” I whisper.

“That’s a start,” he replies. “But I’m not asking for your trust. I’m offering you a key.”

I lean forward, forehead against the wood, voice low. “And what does your key unlock?”

A beat. Then:

“Whatever you’re brave enough to open.”

I open the door. And there he is. The very embodiment of arrogance—standing like he owns not just this mansion but the concept of thresholds themselves. One hand in the pocket of a tailored midnight suit, the other resting against the archway like it belongs to his body only when it’s performing for someone else. Every part of him is too precise, too curated—his charm sculpted, rehearsed, poisonous. The scent of expensive magic clings to him like the first sin ever committed: forbidden, intoxicating, addictive.

His eyes find me instantly. Deep-set, gold-flecked and glittering with a kind of intelligence that never asks—it assumes. They don’t just look at you. Theymeasureyou, cut you open, rearrange what you thought you were and dare you to look better in pieces.

He has the kind of face that belongs on a coin or a wanted poster—sharp jawline, mouth perpetually smirking at something unspoken, cheekbones carved like weapons. His skin is the color of sun-warmed bronze, golden and deliberate, like he hadn’t been trapped in the Void at all but had been kissed by stars while we all rotted in the dark.

His hair is cropped short and slicked back like he doesn’t know the word “disheveled.” His clothes—always immaculate—are woven with quiet glamours: shadows stitched into the seams, the faintest shimmer where the collar meets his throat, like every thread whispers lies.

But none of that is the problem.

The problem is the way hesmilesat me.

Like I’ve already said yes.

“You took your time, Layla” he says, voice velvet-laced ruin.

“You threatened my sister,” I shoot back.

His grin sharpens.

“And here I thought we were starting fresh.”

“Fresh would require forgetting,” I say. “And I don’t forget, Severin.”

The way he says my name isn’t fair. He stretches the vowel, coats it in something too smooth to be clean. I feel it settle between my ribs, coiling low and unwanted.

He takes a step forward.

“You’re paler than when you arrived,” he says, voice low and casual, but his gaze drags over me like it’s taking inventory. “The Void is already inside you. Does it whisper yet? Has it kissed your blood awake?”

I want to slap him.

I want to drag him inside and ask what exactly he means bykissed.

“I’ve been inside worse places,” I say instead, voice flat.

His smile falters for the briefest beat. Then returns, wider, sharper.

“Gods,” he breathes. “You really are more fun up close.”

“You didn’t bring me here for fun.”

“No,” he says. “But you’re making me reconsider the purpose of your stay.”

The space between us buzzes. Not with charm. Not with desire, even. Something more dangerous. Recognition, maybe. Hunger wearing the wrong face.

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