Page 1 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

Lucien stands like a storm barely held at bay, his arm outstretched, palm open in demand. There’s no amusement in his expression, no carefully controlled mask of boredom or condescension, just the raw edge of someone used to being obeyed without question.

Like hell.

I meet his glower with one of my own, lifting my chin, refusing to shrink beneath that ice-carved stare. “I packed what you told me to.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t lower his hand. “Then let me see.”

A challenge. A test. Another power play disguised as concern.

I exhale, slow and sharp. “What, you think I left behind the mandatory ‘survive the Sub-Sins’ kit? Or are you just hoping to find an excuse to lecture me about preparedness?”

His jaw tightens. “I think you’re reckless.”

I smile, all teeth. “And I think you’re unbearable, but here we are.”

A muscle ticks in his cheek. He doesn’t move. Just stands there, arm still outstretched, waiting for me to cave. Because that’s what Lucien Virelius does, he waits. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or argue. He lets his silence weigh down on you like a command.

But I’m not built to bend.

Caspian, lounging against the doorframe, snickers under his breath. “Gods, I love it when she pisses you off.”

Lucien ignores him, his focus honed entirely on me. Something that makes my pulse beat a little harder. Something that feels like the edge of a knife pressed just beneath my skin.

“Bag,” he says, voice cutting through the room like a blade.

I let the moment stretch, a slow, deliberate heartbeat. Then, because I’m feeling particularly difficult, I reach for my satchel, pull it open, and upend the entire thing onto the table between us.

A controlled mess. Supplies spilling out in a cascade of carefully chosen essentials. Blades, rations, medical kits, a spare set of clothes, enchanted sigils, and an extra knife tucked into the lining.

I meet Lucien’s gaze as I cross my arms over my chest. “Satisfied?”

For a moment, he says nothing. Just looks down at the spread of gear, scanning with that cold, meticulous scrutiny of his. I expect him to find something to nitpick, some minuscule flaw, some missing element that would justify his presence in this conversation.

Instead, he exhales, sharp and quiet. “You’re learning.”

It’s not approval. Not quite. But it’s not the dismissal I expected, either.

Caspian lets out a low whistle. “Luce, was that almost a compliment? I think I just felt the world shift.”

Lucien doesn’t take the bait. He just flicks his gaze back to me, something unreadable lurking behind those pale blue eyes. Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the door.

I let him go. Let him reach the threshold, let the air settle just enough before I say, “I don’t need you to check on me.”

He stills. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to leave. If he’s going to let me have the last word, let me believe I won this one. Then he turns, slow, deliberate.

“I don’t care what you think you need,” he says, voice low, even. “You’re mine to keep alive.”

And then he’s gone.

Caspian lets out a long, low breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Damn. He’s getting worse.”

I shake my head, shoving my things back into my bag. “No. He’s just getting desperate.”

I move to follow, but Caspian’s laughter halts me, low, indulgent, sliding down my spine like silk. “Adorable,” he muses, pushing off the doorframe, stretching like a cat that’s too self-satisfied for its own good. “You should do that more often. It makes Lucien’s eye twitch.”

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him again for good measure before turning on my heel, ignoring the way his laughter follows me.

Elias falls into step behind me, the whisper-soft drag of his movement barely audible over the steady beat of my boots.

“You realize he’s going to make you regret that, right?

” His voice is smooth, that lazy slur of his that always makes it sound like he’s half-asleep, except I know better.

Elias is always listening. Always aware.

“I regret a lot of things,” I murmur, scanning the halls ahead, searching for the sharp silhouette of Lucien’s retreating form. “Pissing off Lucien is nowhere near the top of the list.”

Elias hums. “And yet, you make it a hobby.”

“I like my hobbies.”

He exhales, something that’s almost a laugh but not quite. “I’ll make sure your gravestone says that.”

I flick him a look over my shoulder. “That’s morbid.”

“Accurate, though.”

I don’t argue, because if I don’t survive this, there won’t be enough of me left for a gravestone.

The halls stretch wider as we reach the main archway leading to the outer courtyard.

The doors ahead are massive, carved from black ironwood, sigils etched deep into the surface, humming with embedded wards.

Even from here, I can feel them, woven into the grain, soaked into the metal reinforcements.

This place wasn’t just built to keep people out.

It was built to keep something in.

Elias steps ahead of me, pressing a palm to the heavy doors. The sigils flicker in response, the magic shifting beneath his touch, recognizing him. The locks disengage with a deep, grating thud.

“I still don’t know why we’re listening to him,” he mutters, shoving one of the doors open with a casual strength that shouldn’t be possible.

The courtyard beyond is empty, the cobblestones slick with recent rain, the sky overhead a churning mass of cloud and moonlight.

“This whole ‘charge in blind’ plan feels incredibly stupid.”

“Since when do you care about smart decisions?” I step past him, out into the courtyard, the crisp bite of night air settling against my skin.

“I don’t.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, following. “I just think if we’re all going to die horribly, we should at least make it interesting.”

I snort. “What, you want a dramatic sendoff? Maybe some fireworks?”

Elias grins, slow and wicked. “If I’m going out, I want an audience.”

I shake my head, dragging my gaze across the courtyard. The academy behind us, a massive silhouette against the restless sky, but it’s not what holds my attention. Lucien is waiting near the outer gates, his posture rigid, his focus locked on the path beyond.

He doesn’t acknowledge us as we approach. Doesn’t turn as I stop beside him, the iron bars of the gates stretching high above us, cold and unforgiving.

“What’s the plan?” I ask.

Lucien exhales, still staring ahead. “We move fast. We don’t make mistakes.”

I lift a brow. “That’s it?”

He finally looks at me, and whatever he sees in my expression makes something in him shift. Not soften, Lucien doesn’t soften. But there’s a flicker of something like restraint. A pull at the edges of him.

“We don’t have time for careful,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “Silas and Riven have already been gone too long.”

I swallow, something twisting low in my gut. “Do we even know if they’re still alive?”

Lucien’s jaw tightens. “They are.”

I don’t ask how he knows. Because I feel it too, the thread in my chest, stretched tight, fraying, but not broken.

Elias shifts beside me, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “So, when you say fast, are we talking ‘discreet and efficient’ fast or ‘cause a scene and see who we piss off’ fast?”

Lucien doesn’t even blink. “We get in. We get them. We leave.”

Elias grins. “Oh, so option one. Boring.”

Lucien turns, pressing a hand to the iron gates, and they groan open on silent hinges, revealing the path beyond, the dark stretch of road that leads away from the academy, into the unknown.

I exhale, adjusting the strap of my satchel. “Then let’s go.”

Lucien steps forward first.

I follow.

Elias lets out a low, amused hum as he falls into step beside me, hands still shoved deep into his pockets. “This is going to be fun.”

The air shifts the second we cross the outer perimeter of Daemon Academy. It’s not immediate, not dramatic, but it’s there, a slow unraveling of something invisible yet absolute. A pressure that’s been pressing down on us for so long we almost forgot it was there.

Until it’s gone.

Lucien keeps walking his long strides eating up the distance between us and the waiting rift. Elias follows with the same loose-limbed ease he always carries, though I don’t miss the way his silver eyes gleam with something sharper than usual. And me?

I hesitate.

Not visibly. Not enough for Lucien to comment. But my fingers tighten around the strap of my satchel, and my lungs feel too full, too light, like I’ve stepped into the thin air of a mountaintop.

Because they were never allowed to leave.

Not truly.

Daemon Academy’s walls weren’t just built to keep outsiders out.

They were built to keep the Sins inside.

Bound to their roles, to their legacy, to the twisted, centuries-old rules that kept them caged in invisible chains.

This is the first time they’re walking free, no tethers, no academy magic leashed around their throats.

I wonder if they feel it too, the absence of it. If they hear the silence where there was once something constant pressing against them. If the weight of freedom is heavier than the weight of captivity.

Lucien doesn’t give any indication. But something about the way he walks is different. Not looser, not exactly, but… deliberate. Like each step is testing the limits of his autonomy.

Elias, of course, doesn’t bother masking his reaction.

He inhales slowly and deep, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy, satisfied roll of his shoulders.

“Well, well,” he muses, exhaling through his nose.

“No chains. No tracking sigils. No overbearing rules about where we can and can’t step.

It’s almost like we’re real people again. ”

Lucien doesn’t acknowledge him.

Elias grins. “Oh, come on. You have to be feeling something about this.”

“Later,” Lucien says, clipped.

Elias lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You always say that.”