Page 46 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

Layla’s voice is quiet, muffled by the curve of my thigh, but there’s a brittle edge to it that tells me she’s already run the scenario a dozen ways in her head before asking.

Her eyes are open, watching them the same way I am, like we’re staring at wolves who forgot they weren’t supposed to bare their teeth at the ones they swore to protect.

“No,” I murmur, fingers still threading through her tangled hair, “it’s not normal.”

Silas tries to act subtle. But he’s the kind of idiot who thinks glancing over his shoulder every few seconds while pretending to stretch is stealth.

His gaze cuts toward me again, quick, but not quick enough, and when our eyes meet, he winces, caught.

Then he does the most Silas thing imaginable: he grins. Wide. Boyish. Shameless.

“Gods,” Layla breathes, closing her eyes like she can shut it all out. “What are they planning?”

I wish I could lie. I wish I could say they’re just talking strategy, that they’re worried about the next monster clawing its way out of the void, or mapping our next move toward whatever passes for safety out here.

But I know them too well. The way Orin’s shoulders don’t move, how Lucien is sitting forward, his forearms on his knees like he’s about to issue a decree.

Elias is there, too, trying not to look as serious as he feels, and Riven, gods, even Riven looks like he hasn’t snarled in ten whole minutes, which is terrifying on its own.

“They’re deciding something,” I say. “Something they don’t want us to be part of.”

Layla hums, exhausted, but her voice sharpens with something that might be fear or fury. “Do you think it’s about Severin?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. Because it is. It always is.

And even though I don’t know what they’re thinking, I know the shape of it.

I know the way Silas avoids my gaze one second and holds it too long the next.

I know the ache that coils low in my gut when Riven glances over, eyes storm-dark and unreadable.

I know Lucien, especially Lucien, and I can feel the weight of his silence like a blade waiting to fall.

“They’re going to ask us to do something we won’t like,” I say. My fingers still in Layla’s hair. “Something that feels like a choice, but it won’t be.”

Layla doesn’t answer. But her hand finds mine, and she laces our fingers together like a lifeline, like we’re two halves of the same thread already being pulled taut.

Whatever they’re planning… I’ll find out.

And if they’re thinking of using her, if they’re thinking of offering her up to Severin like a sacrificial peace, I’ll burn every one of them down before I let that happen.

Silas stands up like he’s just realized he has legs.

He brushes his hands down his thighs once.

Then again. Then a third time. He’s stalling.

His fingers flick off nonexistent dust, his body language an open book for once, and I read every page like it’s written in blood.

He’s nervous. And when Silas is nervous, something is very, very wrong.

He turns toward me, mouth already forming some poor excuse for words, but Elias sweet, chaotic Elias, doesn’t let him get that far.

He plants both hands on Silas’s back and shoves.

Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to say, “Get the fuck on with it,” in the way only Elias can.

Silas stumbles two steps forward, flailing like a man sent to his execution, and when he catches himself, he turns just enough to glare over his shoulder.

Elias is already leaning back with his arms folded, whistling like he’s innocent.

They’ve chosen him. They’ve chosen my Silas to deliver this. The one I’m bonded to. The one who tries to hide how much he adores me behind stupid jokes and cringeworthy pick-up lines. The one who would rather eat glass than see me cry.

Which means this is going to hurt.

My breath catches in my throat before he even speaks.

He stops a few feet from me, shifting from one foot to the other, hands shoved into his pockets now like maybe he’ll find courage hiding there.

He offers me a smile, that stupid, crooked one he uses when he’s trying too hard not to cry or laugh or scream.

“Hey,” he says. Just that. Soft. Awful.

I stare at him. Wait.

He rocks on his heels. “Soooo… you know how sometimes you love someone so much you just… don’t want them to, like… hate you forever?”

Oh gods.

I narrow my eyes. “Silas.”

“Right, right, yeah. Okay. So.” He clears his throat, visibly swallows, then blurts out in a single breath, “We think we might have to offer Layla to Severin.”

The world doesn’t stop. It tilts.

My blood goes cold.

He rushes forward, hands raised like he can catch the words midair and shove them back in.

“Not like that, I swear. We don’t want to, Luna.

We don’t. But we’re stuck, and she’s the only one Severin actually wants, and if we can use that to trap him, just trap him, not hurt her, I swear on everything, not hurt her, ”

I stand. Not quickly. Not violently. But the way his face falls when I move tells me he knows. He knows.

“Get away from me,” I whisper.

“Luna, ”

“I said, get away.”

Because this isn’t just strategy. This is betrayal. And they sent the one I love to hand it to me like a gift. Like maybe I’d unwrap it more gently if it came from him. Like I wouldn’t see the knife beneath the ribbon.

But I do. I see it all.

Layla lifts her head from my lap like it weighs more than her whole body.

There’s sleep in her eyes, but it’s the kind that doesn’t come from rest, it’s born from exhaustion so deep it’s become part of her bones.

Her gaze flicks between Silas and me, her brow furrowing with confusion first… then understanding.

I don’t know which is worse: the weariness dragging her down, or the way realization hits her like a slap.

“Luna?” Her voice is quiet. Fragile. Like she already knows she’s about to be cracked open.

I can’t answer her. Not with Silas still standing there looking like he’s the one who’s bleeding. I stare at him, and all I can see is betrayal wrapped in that stupid boyish grin he used to get away with everything. Except now, it doesn’t work. Not anymore. Not this time.

“Say it,” Layla murmurs, sitting up straighter. “Say what you’re all thinking.”

Silas flinches, and for one pathetic second, I think maybe he’ll lie. Maybe he’ll spare her.

He doesn’t.

“It’s not like that,” he says, voice hoarse. “We’re just… stuck. And Severin isn’t letting up. He wants you, Layla. He won’t stop. And we’re, fuck, we’re all dying out here trying to keep you safe, and, ”

“And now I’m a bargaining chip?” she cuts in, her tone cold and eerily calm. Her eyes are locked on his, unblinking. “A sacrifice?”

“No,” I say before Silas can speak. “Not a sacrifice. Just a necessary loss, right?”

Layla's breath stutters. She turns to me, and I hate the way she looks at me, like I’ve known all along. Like I agreed.

“I didn’t know,” I tell her quickly. “Not until now.”

She nods, too slowly. “But you weren’t surprised.”

Her words hit harder than they should. And maybe she’s right. Maybe some part of me, some awful, cynical part, expected this. From Lucien, maybe. Even Riven. But Silas?

I glance at him, and he’s pale. Hollowed out like he already knows he’s lost something he won’t get back.

“Layla,” he tries again. “We wouldn’t let him hurt you. We’d be right there. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Layla's laugh is brittle. “I am alone. I’m always alone. I’m not Luna. I don’t get protected, I get offered up.”

That’s when I move. I rise, step between them, and push Silas back. Not hard, but enough. Enough to draw a line.

“She’s not yours to offer,” I say quietly, every word a blade.

He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me like he’s breaking from the inside out. And I wish I could care. But I don’t. Not right now.

Because Layla’s face is in her hands. And the girl who’s been nothing but strong is finally unraveling.

And I’m not sure which betrayal hurts worse, mine or theirs.

Silas freezes, mouth still open like the apology’s caught on his tongue, and he doesn’t know whether to swallow it or choke.

I rise to my full height, barefoot, bristling, burning, and I don’t care that he towers over me, or that I once thought his bond felt like coming home.

Right now, all I see is betrayal dressed in boyish charm, and I want to rip the softness from his voice until it matches the knife he just tried to slip between my ribs.

"Luna, honey, "

“Don’t.” My voice cuts sharper than his blades. “Don’t call me that. Not now.”

His jaw ticks, hands out like I’m a wild thing he has to soothe, but I’m past the point of being soothed. I lean in, my face inches from his, and let him see exactly what he’s turned me into. “Try it. Go ahead. Try to take my sister from me.”

“I wasn’t, ” His voice cracks. “We weren’t going to, Luna, please. We just, ”

“Wanted to talk about it?” I echo, vicious. “That’s why you had a little secret huddle like a bunch of cowards? That’s why they sent you, the bonded one, the soft one, the one who could take the heat because they knew I wouldn’t tear out your fucking heart?”

He flinches like I actually might.

And maybe I would.

Because this isn’t a plan. It’s a betrayal packaged in strategy. It’s survival dressed up as sacrifice.

And they thought I wouldn’t see it.

“You think I can’t feel it?” I hiss. “The guilt crawling off you like it’s contagious? You think sending you was going to make it easier?”

“I didn’t want to come,” Silas says, voice low and raw. “But I couldn’t let them say it. Not to you.”

“You didn’t let them say anything, Silas. You agreed.”

That silences him. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even try.

I hear Layla behind me, her breath catching like she’s trying not to cry. And gods, I can’t take the sound of her heartbreak, not again. Not when it’s caused by the people I trusted to protect her.