Page 44 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

The storm is unnatural. Snow hammers against the academy’s walls, thick and blinding, turning the gothic spires into black silhouettes against a sky gone white.

Wind howls through the courtyard, rattling the iron gates, tearing through the bare trees like an unseen hand is trying to rip them from the earth.

The blizzards have been coming more frequently. Sudden. Relentless.

A warning.

Something else is stirring in the dark.

I step through the archway, brushing stray flakes from my coat as I make my way inside.

The academy is no warmer than the storm outside, the magic woven through these halls keeps it from falling into complete decay, but it doesn’t waste itself on comfort.

Cold seeps from the stone, from the high vaulted ceilings and the dark marble floors, from the unlit chandeliers overhead.

Beside me, Riven slams the door shut, muttering a curse under his breath.

He’s been seething since we left the estate.

I barely spared him a glance during the walk over.

His mood is thick enough to taste, an acrid mix of resentment and lingering want.

He’s always like this after a binding, but this one?

This one he didn’t want.Which means he’ll be a miserable bastard for a while.

I sigh as I pull off my gloves, flicking my gaze toward him. “Are you going to glower the entire time, or will you save some of your brooding for Blackwell?”

Riven glares at me. “Fuck off.”

I smirk.

He rakes a hand through his hair, still damp with melted snow, his movements sharp, restless. Wrath has always been volatile, but tonight it’s worse, his shoulders are too tight, his breath coming harder than it should, his body wired like he’s ready to tear something apart.

Not that I blame him. His body isn’t his own anymore. The bond has settled. He can feel her now. A dull, insistent hum beneath his ribs, threaded through his bones.

And he hates it.

I watch him for a moment, studying the way his jaw works, the way his fists flex like he’s physically holding himself back from hitting something.

“You’re making it worse,” I say smoothly.

His head snaps toward me. “What?”

“The bond.” I gesture vaguely. “You’re resisting it.”

His eyes darken. “Of course I’m fucking resisting it.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “And yet here we are.”

Riven clenches his jaw, saying nothing.

He won’t admit it, but I know what he’s feeling, because I’ve felt it, too. The pull. The slow, insidious ache of it. The way it settles under your skin like a second heartbeat, constant, unshakable.

Fighting it only makes it worse. Not that I’ll tell him that.

I roll my shoulders, exhaling sharply. “Just don’t embarrass yourself in front of Blackwell.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “As if you haven’t already.”

I smirk. “Let’s not bring you into this.”

Riven mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t argue. He knows as well as I do that Blackwell has plans, and none of us are interested in playing into them.

We step deeper into the academy, the halls stretching before us, lined with torches burning with cold blue flames. The walls are carved with inscriptions, old magic, shifting when you look too closely, rearranging themselves before your mind can grasp them.

No matter how many years I’ve spent in this place, it still moves like a thing that’s alive.

Riven walks beside me, silent and simmering. His shoulders roll like he’s trying to shake something off, but he won’t.

Not now. Not ever. The bond is permanent. And I’m enjoying watching him suffer for it.

I smirk to myself as we reach the office doors, tall and ominous, etched with the academy’s insignia.

Headmaster Darius Blackwell is waiting. And we’re already late.

The office is warm. Stifling, even. A stark contrast to the howling blizzard outside, to the bitter chill that has settled deep in the academy’s bones.

The fire in the hearth burns steady, casting flickering light over the dark wooden walls, the towering shelves stacked with books so old their spines have cracked and curled.

And behind the wide mahogany desk, Blackwell watches us with the same unreadable expression he’s worn since the day he stepped through these gates.

Neither friend nor foe. Something worse. A man who plays by the rules because he must, who moves his pieces across the board without consequence, knowing full well that we can’t touch him. Not yet.

If we could, he wouldn’t have survived his first night here. But the binding is absolute. The headmasters live. We ensure it.

Even when it grates. Even when we loathe it.

I step forward, peeling my gloves off one finger at a time, shaking off the remnants of cold that cling to my skin. Riven stays beside me, a storm wrapped in a body, his hands clenched into fists, his muscles strung too tight.

“Wrath,” he drawls, voice smooth, practiced. “You look- ” His gaze flicks over Riven’s stiff posture, the fire simmering beneath his skin, the mark of the bond still fresh in his veins. “miserable.”

Riven’s answering smile is sharp. Predatory.

“Keep talking, and I’ll show you how much worse it can get.”

Blackwell exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Idle threats. How exhausting.” He leans back in his chair, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “I assume you didn’t come here just to glower at me?”

I smirk, stepping further into the room, dragging a finger over the edge of his desk. “We want a report.”

Blackwell tilts his head slightly. “Ah. ”

His gaze flickers toward the large map stretched across his desk, an intricate, sprawling thing, the edges curling from age. It’s littered with small silver pins, marking known territories, settlements, locations of interest. But my eyes go straight to the black ones.

There are more than the last time I saw it.

A lot more.

My smirk fades. “How many?”

Blackwell exhales, rubbing his fingers along his jaw. “Scouts have confirmed at least five separate sightings near the outer borders.” He motions to the western edge of the map, where several black pins cluster along the mountainous ridge. “The Wraith Army is moving.”

Beside me, Riven huffs a sharp, humorless laugh. “No shit.”

Blackwell flicks his gaze toward him. “Would you like me to lie to you, Wrath?”

Riven’s grin is all teeth. “I’d like you to choke on that silver tongue of yours, but I suppose we don’t always get what we want.”

Blackwell sighs, tapping two fingers against the desk. “They’re not advancing yet.”

I narrow my eyes. “Then what are they doing?”

“Gathering.” Blackwell’s gaze flicks to mine. “More than they ever have before.” He presses his fingers together, considering. “Something is different this time. This isn’t just another failed coup.”

I already know what he’s going to say next. My stomach knots.

“They’re waiting for a leader,” Blackwell murmurs.

Riven’s jaw flexes.

I lean over the desk, gripping the edges, my voice smooth but edged with something darker. “Severin.”

Blackwell nods. “Who else? ”

The room hums with something unspoken. The storm outside rattles the windows, the fire flickering in response, shadows stretching long across the walls.

Severin.

My brother.

I can feel Riven beside me, his body wound too tight, his breath coming sharp and slow, like he’s holding something down. Barely.

We knew this was coming. We’ve felt it in our bones, in the way the world has been shifting, in the way the blizzards strike harder, the air thick with something wrong. But hearing it confirmed, seeing the marks littering the map, spreading like rot, makes it real.

Blackwell leans back in his chair, studying us. “This time, they won’t stop at the borders.”

Riven’s breathing is shallow, his fingers flexing at his sides. “And we’re stuck here.”

It’s not a question. It’s a fact. The Pillar of Binding holds us. The academy walls may as well be chains wrapped around our throats. And Severin knows it.

Blackwell watches us, his expression unreadable. “I have spies in place. You’ll know the moment something changes.”

It’s not enough.

But it’s all we have.

Blackwell shifts his gaze from the map, his fingers still resting near the cluster of black pins. He exhales, slow and measured, then leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers in his lap.

“How’s the girl?”

I roll my shoulders, dragging my gaze back to him. “Wrath bound to her. ”

Blackwell lifts a brow, unsurprised. “Smart move.”

It is.

Even Riven knows that. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Riven huffs a sharp breath, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Fucking brilliant.”

Blackwell doesn’t react. He’s learned not to. He simply gives a slow nod, his expression unreadable, then shifts the conversation.

“I’m moving students off campus,” he says, reaching for a slip of parchment on his desk. “The ones I can, at least.”

I tilt my head, intrigued. “A good move.”

“It is,” he agrees, scanning the names on the list before setting it aside. “There’s no sense in keeping the ones who serve no purpose.” His gaze flicks to me, sharp and assessing. “But not all of them are leaving.”

I smirk. “Of course not.”

Riven shifts beside me. “The ones who stay?”

Blackwell meets his gaze. “Will fight if they have to.”

Riven’s lips curl, but it’s not a smile. “And if they don’t want to?”

Blackwell shrugs. “Then they’ll die.”

I glance between them, amused by how easily Blackwell delivers the words, like he’s discussing an inconvenience, not the potential massacre of students who never asked to be caught in the middle of this.

I tap my fingers against the desk. “And when the army gets here?”

Blackwell leans forward, pressing his palms flat against the wood. “I’ll seal off the school.”

Beside me, Riven exhales sharply. “You’ll what?”

Blackwell’s expression doesn’t change. “I’ll lock down the academy. Reinforce the magic, make sure nothing gets in. Or out.” He tilts his head slightly. “And then I’ll leave the army for you to deal with.”