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I’ve known him too long. Fought beside him, bled beside him, watched him make decisions that turned kingdoms to ash. He doesn’t flinch easily. Doesn’t break. But when it comes to Luna… there’s something unshakable in his stillness now. Not devotion, not quite. But clarity. He’s already made peace with the cost.
And that guts me more than I’ll ever admit.
Because I haven’t.
Not really.
Even as I calculate the angles—how long we can stay in this village without tipping Branwen off, how many exits the tavern has, how many villagers might be sleeper agents in her grasp—I keep looping back to the same fucking point. There are too many of us now. Two Sin Binders where there should be one. Two halves pulling in opposite directions. And magic, for all its chaos, doesn’t tolerate imbalance for long.
Something will have to give.
Someone.
And I won’t risk Luna being on the altar when the blade falls.
So yes—I’ll stall. I’ll buy us a few more days in her presence. I’ll lie, manipulate, do what I do best. Because if Orin and I are going to walk into Branwen’s hands, it won’t be without a strategy. And if we fail… at least we’ll fail while she’s still breathing.
I glance across the square again.
She’s there, just at the edge of the marketplace, her back to me. Wind catching the ends of her dark hair, the threads of her dress pulling like they belong to something older than fabric. She’s not dressed like a queen. She doesn’t speak like one. But everything bends around her like she’s already been crowned.
She doesn’t know what she’s becoming.
And none of us know what it’ll cost when she finishes.
“You’re staring.”
Orin again. Still calm. Still unreadable.
I don’t look at him. “Just thinking.”
“That’s your problem.”
A pause. He lifts his mug again, sips once, then adds, “She’ll make it. You don’t have to die for her.”
I finally turn to him. “Don’t I?”
Orin tilts his head, studying me. “You don’t believe in fate.”
“No.” I shake my head once. “But I believe in math. And the numbers say we’re fucked.”
He almost smiles. “Then maybe it’s time to stop thinking like a tactician and start thinking like a believer.”
“Is that what you’ve become now?” I arch a brow. “A zealot for the Binder?”
“I’ve lived long enough to see stranger things.”
I can buy us days. Maybe a week, if Branwen’s distracted enough. But in the end, the Hollow doesn’t forget. And neither do the gods.
One Sin Binder.
One throne.
One ending.
And Orin and I are the only ones willing to pay the price to make sure that ending isn’t written in her blood.
“Just enjoy the time you have left with her,” I mutter, not bothering to temper the steel in my voice. It isn't bitterness, not exactly. It’s truth sharpened into something more lethal.Something I can aim. “You make it sound like offering ourselves up is the solution.”