Page 46 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

This is a terrible idea. Not because I’m incapable, far from it. I am, in fact, the single most capable Sin when it comes to crafting illusions. No, this is a terrible idea because Luna is here. And I don’t do well with an audience.

Not because I’m nervous. Please. I was born for the stage, the spotlight, the grandeur. But when the audience is her, and she’s watching me with those dark, thoughtful eyes, waiting for me to explain something that actually matters, well.

That’s annoying. And I don’t like being annoyed.

I glance at her as we step into the clearing, the snow swirling around us in thick, heavy flurries. She’s bundled in a coat that’s too large for her, one of ours, the fur-lined collar swallowing her throat, the sleeves nearly covering her fingers.

She looks…Not important.

I drag my attention back to the actual important thing: the spell .

“You’re going to want to pay attention, Binder.” I stretch my fingers, feeling the hum of power thrumming beneath my skin. “You’re about to witness some real magic.”

Luna lifts a brow. “I’ve seen magic before.”

I smirk, tapping a finger to my temple. “Not like this.”

She doesn’t argue.

Good. That means I have her curiosity.

I step forward, surveying the open space before us.

The estate’s outer perimeter stretches wide, an expanse of land blanketed in frost, the jagged trees forming a skeletal barrier between us and the world beyond.

This is where they’ll come first. The Wraith Army.

The Sub-Sins. Every creature that wants to tear us apart.

And my job? To make sure they never get close enough to try.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders, letting my own power rise to the surface. It spills through my veins, sharp and cold, electric with the snap of potential.

But today, I’m not just using my magic. I’m borrowing someone else’s.

I stretch my fingers, and my power shifts. A second pulse, darker, heavier, greedier, threads through my own, settling into my limbs like it belongs there. I flex my hand, watching the way it glows faintly at my fingertips, the telltale shimmer of Ambrose’s power sinking into my own.

Luna notices.

Her gaze sharpens. “You’re using Greed’s magic?”

I flash her a grin. “Borrowing. Enhancing.”

Her lips part like she wants to argue, but I don’t give her the chance.

I raise my hand, palm outward, and pull.

The ground trembles. The air thickens. Shadows stretch from the trees, elongating, shifting, twisting into something more.

Illusions are delicate things. Most magic is about force, pushing, pulling, dominating.

But illusions? They’re about belief. You don’t just show someone a nightmare.

You make them feel it. You sink it into their skin, their mind, until they can’t tell what’s real and what’s you.

And right now? I’m making monsters.

The trees groan, warping, their skeletal branches stretching into grotesque, spindling limbs, clawing at the sky. The snow darkens, turning slick, wet, an illusion of blood spreading in thick pools beneath our feet. The air carries the scent of rot, of decay, of things long dead.

But the best part? The best part is what’s watching.

Eyes. Dozens of them. Hidden in the trees, lurking in the frost, peering through the gloom with a cold, hungry gaze. They flicker in and out of existence, never staying in one place for too long, never giving the mind enough time to rationalize what it’s seeing.

Luna exhales sharply, staring.

I grin, twirling a hand through the air, letting the illusion shift again.

Now there are shapes, figures moving in the mist, silhouettes that look just human enough to unsettle. They move unnaturally, limbs disjointed, heads cocked at angles that don’t make sense. Some skitter along the frozen ground. Others hang from the twisted branches, watching.

Luna takes a slow step forward, her breath visible in the cold.

“These will keep the Wraiths away?” she murmurs.

I smirk. “They won’t just keep them away. They’ll make them think twice about stepping onto our land. ”

The illusions pulse, flickering like they’re aware of her, shifting, twisting toward her movement.

Luna stops.

I chuckle, crossing my arms. “Your mind knows this isn’t real.” I tilt my head, watching her closely. “And yet.”

She exhales, slow and controlled. “And yet.”

I flick my fingers, and the watching eyes blink out of existence. The figures in the trees vanish. The scent of rot fades, the blood-soaked snow returns to pristine white. The landscape returns to normal.

But the magic lingers. Waiting. Humming beneath the surface.

Luna watches me, lips parting like she’s about to say something, something I might actually want to hear, but then she stops. Shakes her head slightly.

I raise a brow. “Lost for words?”

She exhales, shaking her head. “No. Just- ” She glances at the space where the illusions had stood, like she’s still trying to convince herself they were never real. “You’re good at this.”

I grin. “Of course I am.”

She gives me a look, but I catch the way her lips twitch. Curiosity. Something I can work with.

I step closer, watching her carefully. “It’s all about knowing what someone is afraid of.”

She meets my gaze. “Is that what you do?”

I smirk. “I make nightmares.” I let the words settle, let them linger, before adding, softer, more deliberate, “Would you like to see your own?”

Luna holds my gaze.

This was supposed to be my moment. The grand reveal.

The flawless demonstration of my power. A masterclass in deception, in illusion, in warping reality itself into something that bends under my fingertips.

And I was nailing it. The scenery had been perfect, dark, twisted, dripping with dread.

The way the shadows slithered, the way the illusions pulsed with life, the way Luna looked at them, looked at me, was exactly how I’d planned it.

And then, then she had to go and ruin it. Not by saying something stupid. Not by doubting me, or questioning, or arguing. No, no, that would have been fine. Expected, even.

She just, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her hood slipped down, just a little, just enough for the snow to catch on her lashes, tiny white flakes clinging to the dark strands, melting slow against the warmth of her skin.

And I, I completely fucking malfunction. My entire brain short-circuits. Every carefully crafted, cool, darkly mysterious Sin persona I’ve ever cultivated just evaporates into the abyss.

Because she’s pretty. And now, instead of continuing this absolute masterpiece of a magic lesson, instead of maintaining my untouchable air of superiority, I’m standing here like an actual disaster, blinking at her like a lovesick idiot, hyperaware of the fact that my entire body has just turned into a goddamn cringe machine.

I clear my throat. Too loud. Way too loud.

She glances at me, curious. “Silas?”

Oh fuck, she said my name.

I panic. “Hair.”

Luna’s brows furrow. “What?”

Oh god. Abort. Abort. I scramble for recovery, but it’s too late. The damage is done. I have officially spoken the word ‘hair’ at her like an absolute freak of nature.

I force my face into what I hope is a casual expression, but it’s probably not because my ears are burning and my fingers twitch like I suddenly don’t know what to do with them.

“You had, ” I make a vague gesture at my own head, which somehow makes this worse, because now I look like I’m performing some kind of tragic interpretive dance. “Your, um. Hood. And then your- ”

She blinks at me.

I blink back.

Kill me. Just kill me now.

Luna tilts her head slightly, eyes flicking over me, her lips curving, just barely, just enough to let me know that she knows. And that? That is unacceptable.

I need to fix this. Immediately.

I straighten my spine, shake my shoulders out, try to remember that I am a terrifying, untouchable illusionist and not a moronic puddle of social ineptitude.

And then, because my brain is truly committed to ruining my entire life, I point at her.

With both fingers .

Fingerguns.

“ANYWAY.”

Luna blinks.

I internally scream.

“Uh,” I continue, because at this point I have to, “so, the illusions! Yes. Magic. Scary, powerful, impressive me, that’s what we were talking about.” I nod aggressively, because apparently, my body has decided subtlety is for cowards. “And not, um… not… your hair.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then, she smiles. A real one. Slow, amused, like she’s enjoying my very public downfall. I know I should be annoyed. Offended. Defensive.

But instead, I just melt. Because fuck me, she’s too much.

She blinks up at me, snow still clinging to her lashes, her smile curling at the edges. “Silas.”

My stomach implodes.

She’s going to say something. I know it. Some sharp, cutting, probably devastatingly true remark about the fact that I just fumbled my entire existence over a single piece of misplaced hair, And I will die on the spot if I let that happen.

So before she can, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I throw my hands up and summon the most terrifying fucking illusion I can possibly think of.

Black tendrils erupt from the ground, shadows lurch forward, a snarling mass of nightmares unfurling into the air.

The trees shudder. The air crackles. The world darkens.

And in the middle of all of it, I stand there, jaw tight, avoiding all eye contact, pretending I totally meant to do this and that my entire soul hasn’t just been obliterated by a single girl and her stupidly perfect fucking face .

Alright. I’ve recovered.

That brief, horrifying lapse in dignity? Forgotten. Wiped clean. Never happened. I am once again suave. Debonair. A man in control. And definitely not still thinking about how Luna fucking laughed at me.