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Silas
I feel like shit. And I know that’s not poetic or noble or haunted in some tragic, tormented way, it’s just the ugly truth. I’ve got this ache behind my ribs, like something inside me got knocked loose and now it’s rattling around without direction. It’s envy. It’s guilt. It’s the venom of watching her eyes go cold when they look at me. Like I’m someone she can’t trust anymore.
I’m Envy. I should be able to fucking handle this.
But when Luna won’t meet my gaze, when she brushes past me like I’m nothing more than an afterthought, like she’s keeping herself from saying something cruel, I feel it clawing at my throat. Not the bond. Me. The worst version of myself, the one who flinches when Elias jokes about Larry the Void Frog because I know I’ll laugh too loud, and she won’t.
She’s so mad at me. And she’s right to be. We all agreed, sure. But I was the one who said it out loud.
The lamb to the slaughter.
I tried to be gentle. I tried to soften it. I thought if it came from me, if I held her hand and kept my voice soft and let her see the panic in my own eyes, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But maybe it’s worse that it came from me. Because she trusted me.
And that’s the part that fucking kills.
Luna’s the first thing I’ve ever committed to without a catch. No claws behind my back. No backup plans. No bitter jokes to make it easier. I bound myself to her, and not just with magic. With every dumb, raw, messy part of me that no one else ever wanted to keep.
I’ve never bound myself to a Sin Binder before. Never even thought about it. They came and went. Pretty little mouths and too much ambition. Power-hungry brats in silk dresses trying to weaponize our magic and wear us like trophies.
Luna isn’t like them. Luna is sweet.
Too sweet for this world. Too soft for the cruelty that pulses in all of us. And maybe that’s why I love her. Not just the kind of love that glows warm in your chest when she says your name, but the kind that hurts. The kind that makes you want to protect her even if it means she’ll hate you for it.
She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. I know. I’ve checked them all.
I sit with my elbows on my knees, face buried in my hands, and I swear I can still smell her on my skin. She hasn’t looked at me since I told her. Not really. And I don’t know if this... whatever the hell is blooming between us... will survive it. But I’ll be damned if I let this be the thing that ruins what I’ve finally found.
I hear footsteps and don’t look up expecting Elias, maybe, coming to dig into me like he always does, using sarcasm as a scalpel.
But it’s not Elias.
It’s her.
My heart kicks like a traitor in my chest, and I look up.
Luna stands there, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but her eyes burning. God, she’s beautiful when she’s angry. Not just the kind of beauty that turns heads, but the kind that crushes worlds.
I start to speak, to say something dumb and flirty just to get a rise out of her, something like, “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you, pretty girl?” but the words shrivel on my tongue.
She doesn’t need charm right now. She needs the truth.
And fuck, I’m scared to give it.
I do the only thing that makes sense to a lunatic in love.
I drop.
Not just metaphorically. I go all in, on my knees, palms flat in the dirt like a sinner at a fucking altar. Because that’s what she is. My altar. My everything. And I, the fool who dared to speak her sister’s name like a solution.
“Luna.” Her name catches in my throat like it’s been laced with thorns. “Pretty girl. I, ” My voice cracks. I let it. “I know I look pathetic right now. I’m aware of how stupid this is. But I’ll stay here until you forgive me. I’ll sleep here. I’ll die here. Dramatically. And then Elias can carve ‘Dumbass Who Wronged Her’ on my grave in Comic Sans.”
Her arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes furious. She doesn’t blink.
I keep going.
“You want me to grovel? I will. Want me to lick the Void moss off your boots? I’ll do that too. Want me to, shit, I don’t know, sing you a love ballad about your thighs and how they haunt my dreams? Consider it done. Rhyming couplets. A lute. I’ll find a lute.”
“Silas,” she warns, but her voice wavers, and that gives me the tiniest flicker of hope.