Page 101 of The Sin Binders Ascent

The roots above us creak as something heavy shifts in the trees outside. But in here, in this damp hollow of rot and weird intimacy, it’s still. Almost peaceful. Too peaceful. And I hate that I’m starting to feel safe.

Theo

She won’t look at me. Not even a glance. Her face turned toward the roots like they’re something more comforting than my face hovering above hers. I study the slope of her cheek, the edge of her jaw clenched tight like she’s chewing on words she won’t say. Her breath’s uneven, not ragged from running anymore, but… pulled in. Like she’s holding herself back from saying something that might split her open.

I know what it means.

I’ve seen enough people pull away from me. I usually like it. Gives me space to be exactly who I am, which is a bastard most days and worse on the good ones. But with her, the distance isn’t relief. It’s pressure in the middle of my chest that I don’t know how to get rid of. It wasn’t there before. Or if it was, I didn’t notice it until she stopped looking at me like I was just another problem to solve.

Now I’m not even that. And I don’t know what the hell changed.

She’s still beautiful. Still dirty and bruised and exhausted, her hair stuck to her forehead and her mouth drawn into that frown that usually means she’s about to say something clever and mean. There’s blood on her shoulder, dried at the edge of a cut I couldn’t fix, and freckles dusting the bridge of her nose like they were placed there on purpose.

And I can’t stop looking.

I shouldn’t care. Idon’tcare. Not really. I’ve never been the type to give a damn about someone else’s bruises unless I put them there myself. And even then, only if I was in a mood. But this… it’s different. She’s hurt, and I don’t want to see it. Not because it makes her weaker. But because it makes somethingwrongin me twist and grind like it’s trying to fix itself and failing.

I shift my weight slightly, giving her more space to breathe, but not enough to leave. I don’t want to leave. That’s the part I don’t understand. I should. Ishouldwant to pull back and smirk, and throw some line about how I’ve gotten what I need from her and can move on. But instead I’m just lying here, listening to the way she won’t say anything, and wondering why it fucking stings.

“You hate me again, don’t you?”

She still doesn’t look at me.

And yeah. That confirms it.

My jaw ticks, and I drop my gaze to the space between us. A patch of moss is growing where her hip touches the dirt, dark green and soft and stubborn, like it shouldn’t be alive in a place like this, and yet somehow is. I watch it like it might explain something. It doesn’t.

My fingers twitch against the ground, then lift. I almost touch her face again. Almost. I don’t.

Instead, I say, “I don’t get it. You’re not even mine, and I still don’t want you hurting.”

The words taste wrong in my mouth. Too honest. Too bare. Not clever. Not seductive. Just… there.

She shifts, the movement barely noticeable except that I’m so close I feel the pull of her muscles tighten beneath me. And it bothers me more than I want to admit that she still won’t look at me. That I did something wrong without even knowing what itwas. Maybe it’s not aboutmeat all, and that’s the real reason it hurts.

She belongs to them. I know that. She’s bound to seven gods who’ve been wrapped around her for decades. Tied up in love and loyalty and whatever complicated mess they’ve made together.

I’m the outlier. The mistake they tried to erase. The one she should’ve kept locked away. So why does it feel like I’m the one being betrayed?

I grit my teeth. Not at her. At myself. Because this isn’t how I’m built. I take. I don’t ache. I push and pull and unravel people until they beg for things they didn’t even know they wanted. That’s what I do. That’s what Iam.

Here she is, bleeding and bruised and wrapped in every reason I should walk away. And all I want to do is stay, and I don’t know why.

I drag my fingers through my hair, let them linger at the nape of my neck where the sweat’s gone cold. It’s stupid, this need to fill the space, toexplainmyself, but the way she’s lying there, body rigid and eyes fixed anywhere but me, makes the air thick in my throat.

So I say the one thing I know won’t come out soft.

“I’m still an asshole, you know.”

No reaction.

I huff a breath and press on. “Still full of myself. Still too damn smug for anyone’s good. I mean, come on. You’ve known me for how long now? You think a few nice words and one mildly heroic squirrel toss means I’ve changed?”

She shifts just slightly, her mouth pressing into a tighter line.

“I’m still me,” I go on. “The guy you wanted to throw off a cliff. Multiple times. Probably still do.”

A beat.

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