Page 28

“Well, mystery girl,” I say lightly, “I don’t talk to pretty girls before breakfast. Makes my stomach hurt.”

She laughs, soft and unsure, and my chest pulls tight. Because I know, without looking, without turning, that if Luna walked past right now and saw this—saw this woman smiling up at me like she knows something I don’t—she would absolutely start a riot.

I force another grin, bright and sharp. “You should introduce yourself before I start giving you a terrible nickname.”

Her mouth twitches like she wants to say something but stops herself. And I suddenly don’t like how cold the morning feels, how the sugar on the pastries doesn’t smell so sweet anymore.

"You don’t remember me?" she asks, voice syrup-sweet, batting her lashes like we’re in some kind of play I haven’t agreed to be in.

I blink at her, brain grinding in real time. My grin falters, slipping at the edges. The way she looks at me—like she’s already decided something about me, like she knows me better than I know myself—makes something crawl down my spine.

And I’ve lived long enough to know when something isn’t right.

I take a half step back, instinct pulling me out of reach without thought. “Should I?”

Her smile sharpens, eyes bright like she’s holding a secret she can’t wait to drop in my lap. "I’m Taliah."

She says it like it’s supposed to mean something. Like I should flinch. Like her name alone should open some door in my head that’s been locked.

But it doesn’t.

There’s nothing.

Just empty space.

Taliah steps toward me, fingers twitching at her side like she’s reaching for something—or someone—and I don’t like how that looks. I don’t like how familiar she’s acting, how soft her smile turns when her hand lifts, like she’s about to touch me. I move before she can. Shift sideways like it’s casual, like I’m just stretching my back, but really I’m putting air between us because whatever this is, I want no part of it.

Before she can speak again, before I can even think of something quippy to get her to back off, a hand hooks around my arm and yanks.

Hard.

I stumble, bark out half a protest before I realize who it is.

Elias.

Wide-eyed, silver-haired, wild like he’s just seen a ghost.

"Come with me," he mutters under his breath, dragging me away from the pastry stall like the ground’s about to give way beneath us.

I glance over my shoulder once—just once—long enough to see Taliah still standing there, watching, smile sharp enough to cut.

"What the hell, Eli—"

"Shut up," he hisses, pulling me into the alley between two stalls, the smell of roasted nuts and damp wood pressing in around us.

He rounds on me, hand still gripping my arm too tight. His face is pale, eyes darting like he’s trying to do the math and can’t.

"Do you know who that is?" he asks, voice low, almost frantic.

I frown, shaking my head. "No. That’s the whole problem."

Elias blows out a breath, glancing back toward the square before looking at me again like he’s not sure how to say what he’s about to say.

"That’s Taliah," he repeats. "The Sin Binder."

The words don’t land right at first. I blink at him, waiting for the joke.

He doesn’t laugh.