Page 62
Story: The Sin Binder's Descent
“I vote for both,” Silas grins, eyes lit. “We knock first—then blow it up when no one answers.”
“Of course you do,” Caspian murmurs, not looking at him.
Ambrose speaks finally, low and clean. “We don’t touch the front entrance. That’s where he’ll have layered the deepest protections. We go in through the chapel. The wards will still sting, but it’s our best shot at getting past them without waking whatever he’s bound into the floors.”
That silences everyone. The chapel.
I glance at Silas, and for once—even he’s quiet.
“What do you think we’ll find?” I ask. The question is meant for Ambrose, but it’s Riven who answers as he steps through the gate behind us.
“Secrets,” he says. “And probably something that wants to kill us.”
He doesn’t look at me, but when his hand brushes mine, he lets it linger for a second too long before walking ahead.
The others follow. And I do too—toward the place that made us all what we are, toward the office of a man who’s been silent too long, toward whatever truth the Academy buried beneath its stones.
The Hollow is shifting again. And I’m done being careful.
Riven’s back is to us at first, his silhouette sharp and carved in shadow, framed by the splintered moonlight filtering through the trees that claw at the chapel. The doors—tall, carved with old runes worn down by weather and age—don’t yield to him, not even a groan. He stands completely still, both palms pressed flat against the cold stone, his head bowed like he’s listening for something just beneath the surface.
The rest of us go quiet without being told. There’s a gravity to him when he’s like this—when the rage isn’t blinding but focused, tuned like a blade.
Then he speaks.
“Why the fuck would you let Silas do your makeup?”
His voice cuts across the stillness like a blade dipped in disbelief. He turns his head toward me, one brow raised, and that barely-there scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth like it’s fighting not to smirk.
I blink at him, then lift a shoulder in a shrug, feigning innocence. “Because he said he had to. Something about ‘goth-bitch realness’ or the aesthetic of morally ambiguous burglary.”
Riven blinks once. Slowly.
Silas, behind me, perks up like a damn feral cat. “See? She gets it.”
“She looks like a sad raccoon,” Elias mutters, squinting. “A hot one, sure. But like, still very nocturnal and deeply troubled.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “That was exactly the look I was going for.”
Caspian hums from where he’s leaned against a twisted column, the remains of an old angel statue crumbling beside him. “I think it’s art. Chaos as expression. Rebellion by eyeliner. Very... Silas.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Riven growls, fingers twitching against the door. But the scowl softens just a fraction as he glances back toward me.
“Should I be worried about the door?” I ask, stepping forward. The chill coming off the chapel isn’t just temperature—it’s magic, ancient and awake. I can feel it trying to press against my skin, trying to taste me.
Riven grunts. “It’s not locked. It’s warded. Old spells. Layered. And pissed.”
“Like you,” Elias offers, unhelpfully.
“Touch it, and it’ll snap your soul in half,” Riven continues, ignoring him. “Or at least curse you with boils. Possibly worse.”
I glance down at my eyeliner. “I mean, I’ve already committed to the look. Might as well finish it off with a little hellfire.”
Riven’s jaw tics. “Cute.”
“I thought so.”
“Don’t touch the door, Luna.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62 (Reading here)
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147
- Page 148
- Page 149
- Page 150
- Page 151
- Page 152
- Page 153
- Page 154
- Page 155
- Page 156
- Page 157
- Page 158
- Page 159
- Page 160
- Page 161
- Page 162
- Page 163
- Page 164
- Page 165
- Page 166
- Page 167
- Page 168
- Page 169
- Page 170
- Page 171
- Page 172
- Page 173
- Page 174
- Page 175
- Page 176
- Page 177
- Page 178
- Page 179
- Page 180
- Page 181
- Page 182
- Page 183
- Page 184
- Page 185
- Page 186
- Page 187
- Page 188
- Page 189
- Page 190
- Page 191
- Page 192