Page 43 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

“I love her,” I say, and it tastes like truth.

“Not because she’s strong. Not even because she’s bound to half of us already.

I love her because she listens. Because she doesn’t flinch from the parts of us that would make anyone else run.

She sees us, all of us, and instead of pulling away, she steps closer. ”

I swallow hard. “Because she’s the first Sin-Binder who hasn’t tried to wield us like weapons or heal us like we’re broken. She just... exists with us. And that’s more terrifying than any blade.”

Elias whistles low. “Shit, Vale. You’re gonna make me cry.”

I offer a faint smile. “Then cry.”

But he doesn’t. He claps me on the shoulder and keeps walking, quieter than before. Maybe even humbled.

And behind us, I feel her gaze flicker to my back, like somehow, she knows I said it. Like the bond between us is growing roots even without magic. And I wonder, when she is ready, when she turns to me with that storm in her eyes and chooses, will I still be strong enough to say yes?

“She’s good for us,” I say, breaking the stretch of silence that’s grown too heavy between us.

Elias glances at me like he expects a punchline, but I keep my voice quiet, unadorned. No lecture. Just the truth.

“She’s good for you,” I add, and that gets his attention.

He stops walking. Just halts in the middle of the dead path like he’s lost signal and buffering for something clever to say. But nothing comes. His brows pull together. “You believe that?”

I meet his gaze. “Yes.”

“She’s chaos, Orin.”

“So are you.”

He lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but I’m fun chaos. She’s, like... soul-upending, heart-shattering, make-you-question-your-entire-existence chaos.”

“And?”

“And, ” He pauses again, swearing under his breath. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

I allow a rare, soft smile. “I’m not here to argue. I’m here to remind you that being afraid of loving her doesn’t mean you don’t.”

He makes a face like the words are uncomfortable clothes he doesn’t want to wear. “I’m not afraid.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” I repeat calmly. “And it’s okay.”

Elias’s shoulders hunch as if the weight of that truth settles on his spine. “It’s not supposed to feel like this. I’ve never wanted anyone to know me this well, and she already does. I’ve never wanted anyone to see me, and she looks at me like I’m... worthy. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

I nod, slowly. “Yes.”

He finally breathes out and stares at the horizon like it might save him. “Gods, I do love her. I do. And I hate how fucking easy she makes it.”

“She’s good for you,” I say again, and this time, the words don’t echo; they land. “She softens your sharpest edges without dulling you. She holds space for the darkest parts of you without trying to fix them. That’s rare, Elias. That’s sacred.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t argue either. His silence is an admission.

We start walking again, slower now, but somehow more certain. I don’t tell him the rest of what I’m thinking, that I love her too, that I have since the first moment I saw how she held my chaos like it was holy, but I don’t need to. Elias knows. He’s always known.

And still, we walk side by side.

Brothers in our damnation. Bound in different ways to the same storm-hearted girl.

Elias glances at me like he’s trying to make the question sound casual. “Hypothetically,” he starts, dragging out the word like it tastes wrong on his tongue, “if someone, anyone, were maybe considering the whole binding thing… how would one, you know… bring it up?”

I don’t respond immediately. Not because I’m stalling, but because Elias, despite the sarcasm woven into every word he’s ever spoken, has never once been this transparent. He’s practically holding the question in his open palm and begging someone to see it for what it is. And I do.

I clasp my hands behind my back, pace unhurried. “You mean if someone who is obviously in love with her and doesn’t want to admit it out loud yet wants to bind to her without sounding like a pathetic little wreck?”

“Yeah, that. Exactly that,” he mutters, eyes fixed forward.

“First, he should stop pretending it’s hypothetical. She already knows.”

That gets his attention. His head jerks toward me like I’ve slapped him with a revelation. “She does not.”

“She does. She’s not oblivious. Just merciful.”

Elias groans and tips his head back toward the washed-out sky. “Why is it so much worse when you say these things like you’ve already read the ending?”

“Because I probably have.”

He snorts at that, but there’s tension in the curve of his mouth, the way he presses his tongue to his cheek like he’s biting back more than his usual banter.

I slow my steps so we’re walking side by side again. “If it were me, I’d start with the truth. Not grand declarations. Just… truth. She doesn’t need to be impressed. She needs to be trusted. To feel safe in your certainty.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then he mumbles, “What if I don’t feel certain?”

I glance over at him. “You do. You’re just terrified of what that certainty makes you.”

His laugh is rough. “Pathetic little wreck?”

“No. Vulnerable. And that’s something new for you.”

He exhales hard through his nose, then shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets. “Okay, philosopher king. So truth. Something like… ‘Hey Luna, by the way, I think about binding to you every time you smile, and it makes me want to die, but also, I’d probably let you ruin me if you asked nicely’?”

I arch a brow. “It’s cringey. But yes. That.”

He groans louder. “You’re no help.”

“I’m exactly the help you need. You just don’t like the form it takes.”

Elias mutters something under his breath about how philosophers should be banned from giving romantic advice, but I hear the shift in his voice. The fear hasn’t left him, but it’s dulled. Now it’s curiosity, warmth, the ache of something he hasn’t let himself hope for.

And maybe that’s what scares him most. Not the idea of binding. Not even loving her.

But the fact that she might not love him back.