Page 45 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

A slow grin spreads across my lips. Smart. He’s not wasting resources. He’s not throwing bodies at a losing battle. He’s doing what he’s always done, what we do. Calculating the necessary sacrifices. The students who stay? They’re just collateral. The real weapons have always been us.

Riven glares at him. “You’re just going to throw us at them?”

Blackwell exhales, bored. “If you’re looking for sympathy, Wrath, you’re in the wrong office.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “It’s fine.”

Riven turns on me. “You agree with this?”

I meet his gaze, unbothered. “We’re the only ones who can fight them.”

Riven flexes his fingers, barely containing his irritation. “You mean the only ones who have to.”

Blackwell leans back in his chair, watching us. “You don’t have to do anything, Wrath.” He lifts a brow. “But we both know you will.”

Riven doesn’t answer. Because he’s right. The Sub-Sins are coming. The Wraith Army is already at the borders. And when the time comes, when the first blade is drawn, it won’t be Blackwell who stops them.

It’ll be us.

This isn’t another small-scale uprising. Not another half-formed attempt to reclaim a seat of power they were never strong enough to hold. This time, they’re all coming.

I drag my fingers over the map, eyes tracing the black pins littering the borders, creeping inward, spreading like rot. Each one marks a sighting. A movement. A whisper of something gathering beyond the reach of the academy’s walls.

I exhale slowly, lifting my gaze.

“We assume all of them are coming.”

Riven’s shoulders go rigid. He clenches his jaw, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, every part of him bracing.

Then, he exhales sharply. “Fuck.”

I smirk, tilting my head. “You expected anything less?”

Riven laughs, short and humorless, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” His jaw ticks. “I don’t give a shit about the rest of them, but Vaelrik, ” He cuts himself off, exhaling through his nose, shaking with the effort it takes to hold himself still.

His brother. His bloodlust incarnate. I watch him carefully, gauging just how close he is to losing it. Wrath burns hotter when there’s family involved, and Riven? He would kill Vaelrik with his bare hands if given the chance.

I lean back against the desk, dragging my fingers over the edge. “Then we make sure they don’t get that chance.”

Blackwell hums, shifting through the papers on his desk. “We need to talk fortifications.”

I nod. “What’s in place now?”

Blackwell doesn’t look up. “Nothing that will hold for long.”

I smirk. “That’s a problem.”

He finally meets my gaze, deadpan. “You think?”

I wave a hand, ignoring his irritation. “The outer perimeter? ”

“Protected by old magic, but not unbreachable.” Blackwell taps his fingers against his desk. “It’s held for centuries, but with the bond weakening, we can’t rely on it. If they push hard enough, they’ll break through.”

I ignore Riven’s muttered curse, focusing instead on the weak points we need to reinforce. “The main risk is their sheer numbers.” I tap the map where the black pins cluster. “They won’t storm the walls one at a time. They’ll flood us.”

Riven nods, already shifting into strategy. “We need bottlenecks.”

I grin, pleased. “Precisely.”

Blackwell leans back, crossing his arms. “Explain.”

I gesture toward the western ridge, the natural barrier of jagged cliffs and steep terrain. “We force them through tight spaces. Narrow passages. Sections where they have to funnel their numbers instead of overwhelming us in open ground.”

Riven nods. “It’ll slow them. Give us time to cut through them before they reach the gates.”

Blackwell lifts a brow. “And if they make it past?”

I exhale, eyes flicking to the academy grounds. “We force them into smaller spaces.”

Riven grins, sharp and brutal. “A slaughter.”

Blackwell’s expression remains neutral, but he inclines his head slightly, considering. “It could work.”

“It will work.” I straighten, glancing between them.

“We reinforce the outer barriers with everything we have. Redirect them where we want them to go. If they manage to break past that, we drive them deeper into the school, into the wings we’ve already sealed off.

” I smirk. “Turn the academy into a labyrinth they can’t escape. ”

Riven exhales sharply, something dark glinting in his eyes. “A graveyard. ”

I grin. “Exactly.”

Blackwell watches us, his lips pressing together like he’s reluctant to admit we’re right. “It’s ruthless.”

I lift a brow. “And?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll need to shift some of the remaining students into the east wing. Keep them out of the crossfire.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Do what you need to. Just make sure they don’t get in our way.”

Blackwell nods, already making notes.

Riven cracks his knuckles, shifting his weight. “And the final line?”

I inhale slowly, exhaling through my nose. “The Seven.”

Blackwell lifts his gaze.

Riven’s lips curl. “Us.”

I nod. If all else fails, if the fortifications hold but not long enough, if the wraiths breach the walls, Then we stand in their way. And we end them.

Blackwell is still speaking when Riven’s mood shifts. It’s not obvious at first. A small shift in weight, a tightening of his jaw, his fingers flexing like he’s already wrapping them around the headmaster’s throat.

I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, letting the warmth of the office settle against my skin as I watch Blackwell, watch his mouth move, listen to the words that are about to turn this conversation into something uglier.

“We should consider binding another Sin to her.”

I tilt my head, slow and amused. There it is. Blackwell says it like it’s a simple thing, like it’s an option we haven’t thought of. As if Luna is just another asset to move across the board. Not ours. Not his .

I feel it ripple through the space beside me, the immediate, visceral reaction.

Riven’s next inhale is sharp.

Blackwell doesn’t stop.

“She’s too valuable to risk,” he continues, shifting a paper on his desk, not looking up. “We need to ensure she survives. If that means securing another bond, it’s worth considering.”

Riven steps forward. “You’re not considering shit.”

His voice is low. Dangerous. The kind that warns before it destroys.

Blackwell finally looks up. “Wrath.”

Riven plants both hands on the desk, leaning in, his presence like a blade being unsheathed. “You do not get to come near her.”

Blackwell doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. But I see the calculation behind his eyes, the way he’s weighing his next words carefully.

He tilts his head. “I wasn’t aware she belonged to you.”

Riven exhales sharply, jaw tight, body coiled. “She doesn’t.”

Blackwell lifts a brow. “Then- ”

“But that doesn’t mean you get to use her like she’s yours.”

I smirk. Because this, this is exactly what I expected. It’s instinct. Possession, whether he wants to admit it or not. And Blackwell, for all his measured words and careful manipulations, just found the limit to what he can push.

Blackwell exhales, clasping his hands together, his gaze flicking between us. “If you don’t want another binding, then we move her inside the school grounds.”

“No. ”

Riven’s voice is sharper now, something lethal curling at the edges.

Blackwell watches him. “She’ll be safer within the walls, ”

“She’s already safe.”

Blackwell sighs. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, ”

“The only thing I understand,” Riven says, voice low, “is that you seem to think you have a fucking say in this.” He pushes off the desk, straightening, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the urge to snap. “You don’t.”

I chuckle, dragging a hand over my jaw. “You really should know better, Blackwell.”

The headmaster shifts his gaze to me, lips pressing together like he wants to argue but knows it won’t matter.

I flash him a grin. “She stays where she is.”

Riven exhales, slow and heavy, turning back toward the door. The conversation is over. Blackwell watches us leave, the fire flickering behind him, his expression unreadable. But I know one thing for certain. He’s already trying to figure out another way to move the board.

And I dare him to try.

The cold bites harder as we step back into the storm.

The wind howls through the open courtyard, tearing through the trees, turning the academy’s towering spires into dark, jagged silhouettes against a sky gone white.

The snow is relentless, thick and heavy, coating the stone paths in a fresh layer of ice, swallowing our footprints as fast as we make them.

I walk, unbothered, hands in my coat pockets, eyes sharp as I scan the storm-choked horizon.

Beside me, Riven moves like he wants to hit something.

We pass through the academy’s outer gates, the wrought iron frozen over, slick with layers of ice that have been thickening over the past few weeks.

The blizzards are unnatural. The air itself carries something wrong, something heavy, the kind of cold that digs deeper than skin.

The Sub-Sins are coming. And we’re running out of time.

Riven exhales sharply, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. “That smug bastard is going to try something.”

I hum, tilting my head. “Of course he is.”

Riven scowls, his breath fogging in the air. “He’s been looking for ways to get his hands on her since the second she walked through the gates.”

Blackwell likes to play. Luna is a new piece on his board. One he can’t quite control. Which means he’ll try. And he’ll fail.

I roll my shoulders, glancing up as our estate comes into view beyond the trees.

It stands on the edge of the academy’s lands, looming and dark, an ancient thing built long before we ever stepped foot in this place.

Black stone, carved deep with runes that glow faintly beneath the layers of ice clinging to the walls.

The sigils are old magic, our magic, woven through every inch of the estate, reinforcing the foundation, ensuring that no one who doesn’t belong here can step inside without suffering for it .

The great doors stretch tall, solid ironwood, bound in silver. The windows are arched, framed with sharp iron detailing, tall and narrow, set high enough that light barely spills through the glass.

It’s not a home. It’s a fortress. And soon, it will be a battleground.

I step through the gate first, boots crunching over the thick frost layered over the courtyard. The snow here is untouched, unmarred by footprints that don’t belong.

The others are inside.

Riven follows, exhaling hard, raking a hand through his hair. “If Blackwell so much as breathes in her direction, I’ll rip his fucking throat out.”

I chuckle, stepping up the stone steps toward the entrance. “That’s cute.”

He scowls. “I’m not joking.”

“I know.” I push open the door, stepping inside, letting the warmth of the estate wash over me.

The air is heavy with the scent of firewood, of aged leather and old magic.

The great hearth in the main hall is burning, casting long, flickering shadows over the stone walls, the chandeliers above dim with their golden glow.

Riven stomps the snow from his boots, his jaw still tight.

I glance at him, exhaling. “We need to reinforce the estate.”

His gaze snaps to mine.

I motion toward the hallway, heading deeper inside. “If they make it past the first line of defense, this is where we draw them in.”

Riven’s scowl deepens, but he follows.

I walk through the halls, brushing my fingers over the old stone, feeling the magic embedded deep within it. The estate was built to withstand anything, but the Sub-Sins aren’t just anything.

“We strengthen the outer barrier,” I say, voice smooth, deliberate. “Double the wards, reinforce the sigils.”

Riven nods, arms crossing. “I’ll have Ambrose go over them.”

“Good.” I pause near the grand staircase, glancing up at the high arched ceiling, at the darkened corridors stretching beyond. “If they breach the perimeter, we let them in.”

Riven’s lips curl. “Trap them.”

I grin. “Exactly.”

He exhales, dragging a hand over his jaw. “We’ll need Elias to set lures.”

“He’ll love that.”

Riven snorts. “He better.”

I nod, considering. “Silas can weave the illusions.”

Riven tilts his head. “And Cas?”

I smirk. “Caspian will do what he does best. ”