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

I need to move. But the taunts follow me.

The doubt seeps deeper. And with every step, I feel smaller.

I keep walking, pushing past the knot of students, past their murmurs and their smug little smirks, trying to ignore the way my stomach feels like it’s caving in on itself.

I don’t know where I’m going, just that I need to keep moving, to get away from the way they look at me like I don’t belong.

Except someone else is watching. Not like the others.

Not whispering, not laughing, not playing along.

Heat prickles along the back of my neck before I even see him.

The moment my eyes shift, the moment I find him standing off to the side of the grand hall, a slow, sinking dread curls through my ribs.

Tall. Broad. Unmovable. He leans against the stone like he’s been here the whole time, waiting, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that should seem relaxed, but nothing about him is relaxed. His body is coiled, shoulders tight, jaw sharper than it has any right to be.

And his eyes .

They aren’t cold, like the other guy’s. They aren’t blank, or amused, or curious. They are pure, smoldering rage. A deep, molten red, burning.

I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but his lip curls like he already hates me. Like, he hates that I exist.

Then he moves. Pushes off the wall, rolling his shoulders, his expression tightening as he closes the space between us. Each step feels heavy, deliberate. Like he’s giving me the chance to run. Like he wants me to.

I can’t. Because by the time my brain catches up, he’s already towering over me, heat rolling off him in waves, fists clenched at his sides.

And then he speaks.

"Fucking great. Another waste of space."

My body reacts before my brain does. Every nerve is screaming at me to put space between me and the furnace of a man now looming over me. But I don’t. Not because I’m brave, but because my muscles are locked tight, my spine rigid, every inch of me wound so tight it feels like I’ll snap in half.

He’s too close. Not the way the last guy was, all poised elegance and calculated power. No, this one is unrestrained, volatile, a storm seconds from hitting the earth. And he’s staring at me like I ruined his life.

I lift my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze. Huge mistake.

Up close, his eyes are worse than I realized, not just red, but the kind of deep, bloodstained crimson that smolders from the inside out. His pupils are dilated, his expression pure disdain. His jaw ticks, his teeth clenched so tight I can practically hear them grinding together .

His whole body is wired, fists curled, chest rising and falling like he’s already two seconds into a fight I didn’t sign up for.

I have no idea what the hell his problem is, but the way he looks at me makes my stomach coil, makes that ugly, lingering weight from earlier twist into something hotter, meaner.

I don’t get to process it before he speaks again, his voice dripping with something rough, scathing.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he mutters. “That you’re standing here like you belong, or that you’re too stupid to realize you don’t.”

A slow, sharp laugh rings out from a nearby group, like they’ve been waiting for the next round of make-Luna-feel-like-shit. I exhale through my nose, steadying myself, but it does nothing to stop the heat crawling up my neck.

“You got something to say, sweetheart?” He tilts his head, voice low and taunting. “No? That’s what I thought.”

I blink. Sweetheart.

Sweetheart?

I don’t know what flips in my head, what snaps loose, but suddenly, I’m burning all over. The weight of everything, the whispers, the looks, the arrogance rolling off these people like they were born on a throne made of other people’s bones, ignites into something sharp.

I meet his stare again, fingers curling at my sides. My pulse hammers in my ears, the pressure in my chest cracking open into something I recognize.

Anger.

“You done?” My voice is rough, uneven, but I don’t care.

His eyebrows raise, just a fraction. Like he didn’t expect me to speak. Like, he didn’t expect me to still be standing.

I take a step forward .

His nostrils flare.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” I say, voice sharper now, stronger. “But you can back the fuck off.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake.

Something in him goes still. Not like before, not the kind of stillness that comes before a fight, but something deeper, darker. A shift that makes the air between us suffocating.

The murmur of the students around us dulls, as if they can feel it too, the change in pressure, the drop in temperature, the sheer fucking weight of his rage.

His jaw works, his head tilting just slightly. That sharp, dangerous almost-smile curls at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He leans in.

His voice is a low rasp, quieter than before, but somehow, that makes it worse.

“You sure about that?”

A shiver works its way down my spine, but I force my body to stay still, to not react, even as something coils in my stomach like I’ve just thrown myself into deep water without checking if I can swim.

I lift my chin, holding his stare. “Yeah. I am.”

He exhales, slow and measured. Like he’s counting backward from ten just to keep himself from snapping me in half.

Then, he steps closer. The shift is deliberate. Heavy. Like he wants to see if I’ll move, if I’ll retreat. If I run. I don’t even breathe.

His head dips, his lips barely an inch from my ear. His voice is just for me now, smooth and threateningly soft .

“I think you’re confused, little girl,” he murmurs, each word wrapping around me like a noose. “You’re standing in a place that doesn’t belong to you. Speaking to people who don’t want you here. Walking around like you’re something other than a fucking mistake.”

The words hit harder than they should. Maybe because they feel true. My nails dig into my palms, sharp enough to sting. Don’t let him see it.

He leans back, just enough for me to see the flicker of something satisfied in his eyes. Like he knows exactly where to cut, exactly where to aim. Like he enjoys it.

Then, his head tilts, a mockery of amusement. Of boredom.

“Now, do yourself a favor,” he murmurs, voice almost gentle.

And then he says the words that make my stomach drop.

“Don’t make me have to teach you your place.”

He lets that hang between us for a beat too long before pushing past me, his shoulder nearly knocking me off balance as he disappears into the crowd.

I stand there, pulse hammering, skin hot, heart twisted into something ugly and furious and aching.

And for the first time since I stepped into this place, I realize something,

I don’t just not belong here.

I was never meant to survive it .