Page 67 of The Sin Binders Ascent

“So,” I say, throwing myself into the empty chair across from them and propping my boots up on the table like I have every intention of overstaying my welcome, “what are we talking about? Chains? Kinks? How none of us signed up for a supernatural reality show with a love triangle from hell?”

Theo’s gaze drifts to me. He watches. Measures. Probably thinking of something clever to say that’ll get under my skin. Problem is, I don’t have skin. I’m ninety percent sarcasm, ten percent caffeine, and all bad decisions, baby.

“I was just telling Luna,” Theo starts, voice low, syrupy, like he thinks I’ll miss the way he says her name like it’s a sin he’s savoring, “how peaceful it is out here. Quiet. Until you two started barking.”

Silas hums beside Luna. “Funny. That’s what I thought the sound of your voice was.”

Theo tilts his head. “Was that meant to sting?”

“I dunno,” Silas says, flicking a strand of her hair over her shoulder and playing with it, “I was too busy not giving a fuck.”

I grin and lean forward, letting the chair creak just enough to sound obnoxious. “You want peace? Great. Here’s a suggestion: shut up and enjoy it.”

Theo’s lips part like he’s about to respond, and honestly, I want him to. Ineedhim to. I’m spoiling for a fight and I can see Silas is already halfway there. But Luna cuts a look at me. Not sharp, not scolding, just tired. Tired of the boys with their egos and their posturing and their pissing matches.

That, more than anything, makes me fall back in my chair again.

“You know,” I mutter, mostly for her benefit, “he’s not even that hot.”

Theo chuckles under his breath, low and dangerous. “Careful, Sloth. Your jealousy’s showing.”

I shrug. “Nah. I’m too tired for jealousy. I just hate you. Pure, unfiltered loathing. It's kind of relaxing, honestly.”

The chain clinks.

Luna exhales like she’s praying for divine intervention and not expecting it to arrive. And beside me, Silas grins like a wolf with bloody teeth.

If it’s a war Theo wants, then gods help him. Because we’ve had thirty years to fall in love with her.

And he?

He’s already too late.

The creak of the back veranda door swings sharp against the quiet, followed by footsteps that don’t rush but carry the weight of every answer we don't want. Orin. Always deliberate. Always five steps ahead, even when the rest of us are running on fury and territorial instincts.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He steps out into the light like he’s walked from another realm entirely,barefoot, shirtless, calm in a way that feels dangerous. His abs catch the sun, all smooth lines and lean strength, and I catch Luna’s eyes flicktoward them before she glances away fast, like it’s instinctive now, like she can’t help but look and hate herself for it.

Theo notices. His eyes flick between her and Orin with something just shy of contempt.

Orin says nothing for a heartbeat more, gaze sweeping the scene,the proximity, the chain pulled taut, Silas practically curled into Luna like he’s part of her anatomy, me still in the chair like I’m laying siege to the morning.

Then he speaks, voice like carved stone.

“What are you all doing?”

Silas stiffens a little, like a student who’s been caught mid-prank, but doesn’t move. I stay lounging, but I feel the shift in the bond. The weight of Orin’s words always ripple through the rest of us. Like prophecy.

“She was cold,” Silas mutters with the kind of false innocence that deserves divine punishment. “I was providing warmth.”

Orin ignores that. “You remember what Blackwell said.”

“No one listens to Blackwell,” I mumble, but it lacks bite because I already know what he’s going to say next.

“If we keep interfering,” Orin says, folding his arms slowly, like even that act carries consequence,“the chain between them shortens.”

That cuts through whatever smug little tension had been brewing. Luna’s shoulders go rigid. Theo, the bastard, dares to look entertained. Like he’s just realized we’ve all been playing into his hands this whole time.

“He wants us to make this worse,” Orin continues, tone level but edged. “He wants us to react. To get possessive. To act like she can’t make her own decisions.”