Page 143 of The Sin Binders Ascent

“This has to be a trap,” I say, grabbing another piece anyway.

“Probably,” she replies, licking juice from her wrist. “But I’m eating it.”

We sit like that for a while, surrounded by impossible quiet, beneath a ceiling that disappears into black, at a table too large for any living host. We eat until the ache dulls. Until the sharp edge of survival softens. Until for one moment, we almost feel like people again.

And maybe that’s the trap. Not the food. Not the comfort.

Thereminderof what it feels like to be human. To want something and actually have it.

Because that means Brashir’s ready.

He’s lured us in, fed us, let us feel full again.

Luna

The food settles in my stomach like warmth, like comfort, like sin. Heavy and rich and real. I’m full in a way I didn’t realize I was starving for. Full in the body, not just the gut. My limbs go soft with it. My mind quiets, but not in peace, in guilt.

The feast stretches down the table, absurd and glorious. Golden-skinned birds, bowls of glistening ruby fruit that glows faintly in the dim light, slabs of meat glazed in spice and dark honey. There’s cheese, too, cheese, of all things, and bread that crunches at the crust and melts at the center. Theo found a cluster of grapes bigger than his fists and ate them with his eyes closed, like they were sacred.

He’s leaned back now in one of the giant chairs, feet kicked up onto the seat beside him like he’s lounging on a throne that doesn’t belong to him but might as well. He’s got a goblet in one hand, no, not a goblet, achalicethe size of a cauldron, forged from some dull black metal that catches the light like wet stone. He drinks from it with both hands, and I lose it.

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. It echoes up toward the vaulted ceiling and rolls back down, like the castle’s amused too.

Theo grins over the rim of the glass, lips stained dark from the wine.

“You think this is funny?” he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. “I’m hydrated and luxurious.”

“Your whole face disappears when you drink from that thing.”

He lifts it again in mock elegance and takes another swig, tipping it dramatically. His voice drops into a deep, pompous tone. “Ah yes. A fine vintage of cursed grape and probable hallucination.”

I shake my head, still laughing. “Gods, you’re such an idiot.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’ll have you know, I’m the classiest idiot you’ve ever slept with.”

That freezes me. Not the words. Theeaseof them.

His smile falters. Just a flicker. Just enough that I know he feels it too.

The echo of what we did last night threads itself through my chest like a blade pulled slowly through a wound. I can still feel the imprint of him inside me. The ache. The craving. And gods help me, theneedfor it again.

But underneath that, guilt coils tight.

Thirty years. Thirty years withthem.My men. MySins.Each one wrapped into me, etched into my bones, into my identity. Ambrose’s steady patience. Lucien’s sharp mind. Silas’s wild devotion. Elias’s sarcasm and tenderness, even when he pretends he doesn’t feel anything at all. Orin, with his ancient eyes in that young, impossibly perfect body. Caspian’s cold logic and quiet love. Riven, gods, Riven, with his gray eyes and fury he only ever softened for me.

And now… Theo.

Theo, who wasn’t supposed to happen.

Theo, whoburnsthrough me.

I look away, suddenly ashamed of the smile still clinging to my mouth. Ashamed of how easy it is to laugh with him. To want him. To crave the way he touches me like he wasmeantto, like the gods dropped me in his lap and dared him to destroy me.

He sets the chalice down and leans forward, resting his forearms on the massive table, watching me with that look I hate, that look thatsees.

“You’re thinking about them,” he says, not accusing. Not bitter. Just true.

I nod, barely.

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