Page 109 of The Sin Binders Ascent

“This place is not punishment,” Brashir says. “It is proof. What she does here, what you do together, will determine if her existence continues. The Seven are unmade. You are not. She may keepyou.”

Then he turns. No further decree. No invitation to reply. The conversation is over, because to Brashir, it was never a conversation. It was an announcement. Doctrine. And now it is the law.

The beast follows without sound. The air folds around them. The ground does not resist.

Luna doesn’t look at me. Not even in passing. Her arms remain limp at her sides, her jaw tight, breath shallow, face angled toward the red horizon like it holds something worth enduring.

But her stillness is not surrender. Not yet. She’s trying to breathe in a world that just told her it’s her coffin. And I know, Iknow, she won’t survive long like this. Not because she’s weak. Because grief in this placefeeds.

And gods help me, I’m not ready to watch her die. Not like this. Not quiet. Not empty. Not without trying to become the sin she doesn’t want, but can’t survive without.

The cuffs fall without warning. No flash. No spark. Just a quietclick, and the chain slips to the dirt like something discarded. The metal doesn't vanish. It doesn't glow or disintegrate into divine vapor. It just lies there, scuffed and scratched and utterly useless now, as if it were never more than jewelry masquerading as fate.

I rub my wrist. The skin underneath is red, marked, raw in a way that feels... permanent. Not from pain. From weight. Thirty-six hours chained to someone like her isn’t something your bones forget, no matter how briefly the cuffs held. The ache’s still there. The burn of proximity. The ghost of everything we didn’t say and worst things we did.

She doesn't move. Doesn't even blink at the cuffs on the ground like they weren’t the only thing holding us in orbit.

Then her voice comes. Flat. Cold.

“Shut up.”

I haven’t said anything yet. My hand is still at my wrist. But she says it like I already started talking, like I’ve already started trying to fix something she has no intention of letting me touch.

I drop my arm.

She turns slowly, and I can see it now. Not just the fury. Not just the wreckage Brashir left stamped across her ribs. It's deeper than that. Nothing is trembling in her hands. No panic in her shoulders. She’s already decided.

“I’m not staying here.” Her words come out low, not sharp, but deliberate. “I don’t care what that thing said. I don’t care if every god in every realm wants my head mounted over some holy altar. I’m not staying in this rot pit. And you…” she points at me, finally looking, just for a second, “you’re not cuffed to me anymore. So go.”

She turns before I can answer. Like the conversation’s already over. Like the decision’s already made.

She takes two steps before I move. I don’t reach for her. I’m not that stupid. But I speak. Quiet. Clear. Right behind her.

“No.”

She stops.

“You’re not going to leave me out here without magic,” I say. “Not when this place is still crawling with things that want to eat your bones.”

I can see the line of her spine through her shirt, the way her hands curl slightly at her sides like she’s deciding if I’m even worth hitting. Her hair’s stuck to her neck with sweat and blood and whatever the hell Brashir’s power did to the air, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to reach out. Just to touch. Just to see if she’s still burning under there.

She turns back slowly. Her mouth is tight. Her jaw set.

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

I nod once. “Didn’t say I was one.”

“Then what, Theo?” Her voice sharpens. “You want to babysit me while I climb my way back to a world that’s already decided to kill me? You think I’m going toforgetwhat Brashir just said?”

“No,” I say. “But you don’t get to go home bleeding. Not like this. Not without someone at your back.”

She lets out a breath, half-laugh, half-exhausted disbelief. “Why? Because youcare?”

I meet her eyes. I don’t flinch. I don’t look away.

“Because I’m not leaving you in this place to die. That’s it. That’s all.”

The quiet that follows is thick, not in the dramatic way, not in the scripted kind of silence where people are supposed to realize something profound. It's just heavy with all the shit neither of us is willing to unpack. She's tired. She’s covered in bruises she won’t name, blood that’s mostly hers, and magic that still hasn't come back. I’m hungry for something I can’t touch without breaking it.