Page 48 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

I should be listening. The common room is full, alive with conversation.

The Sins are discussing their efforts to fortify the estate, their words sharp, deliberate, edged with strategy.

Caspian leans back on the couch, twirling a dagger between his fingers like he’s barely paying attention.

Silas lounges with his boots kicked up on the coffee table, smirking as he recounts something, probably exaggerated, definitely ridiculous.

Ambrose and Elias sit by the hearth, going over defenses in low, measured voices.

Orin watches from the window, eyes distant, like he’s waiting for something to appear in the snow.

I hear all of it. I absorb none of it. Because my mind is elsewhere. Or rather, My mind is tied elsewhere. To him.

Riven .

I exhale slowly, fingers curling into the thick fabric of my sweater as I try to ignore it, to block out the feeling that has been gnawing at the edges of my awareness all day.

It’s not something I can name. Not pain. Not a pull. Not something as simple as wanting to be near him. It’s deeper than that. It’s a thread in my ribs, something woven into my marrow, something pulling tight whenever I let my thoughts drift too far.

He’s close.

I know he is. Not because I saw him. Not because someone told me. Because I can feel it. Like a shadow curling at my back, something simmering just beneath my skin, a presence that has become as constant as my own breath.

The bond.

I thought I understood what it meant. Thought it was just magic, just something functional, a way to connect, to command, to hold power over the Sins.

But I was wrong. It’s not something I hold over him. It’s something that holds me to him.

I swallow, my breath coming slower, heavier, like I’m trying to adjust to something that won’t settle.

I remember the exact moment it happened, the second Riven’s blood mixed with mine, the rush of heat, of weight, the sensation of something fusing to me, wrapping around my very being, latching so deep that I know, without a doubt, that it will never come undone.

Not unless I do. Not unless he does .

I shift in my seat, gaze flicking toward the door, toward the hallway beyond it, where I know, know, that if I walked far enough, I would find him.

Because I always can.

Because I always will.

The realization sends a slow, unsteady heat curling in my stomach.

Because Riven doesn’t want this. He resents it. Resents me. And yet… Yet, even now, even with that distance between us, even knowing how much he hates what we are, I know if I called for him, if I whispered his name, if I let myself reach through this bond, he would come.

Because he wouldn’t have a choice. And neither do I.

Silas is yelling again. Which isn’t new. What is new is that I’m actually paying attention to it. Not because I care about whatever stupid thing he’s lost his mind over this time, but because,

Because it’s him. And apparently, that matters now.

I blink, dragging myself out of my own thoughts, out of the pull of my bond to Riven, and focus on the scene unfolding in front of me.

Silas is standing near the hearth, arms flailing in dramatic distress, his face pulled into something between rage and deep, personal betrayal. Elias is on the couch, stretched out like he has all the time in the world, a bored, vaguely amused look on his face as he watches Silas lose his mind.

"You sociopath," Silas snaps, pointing an accusing finger. "You actual monster."

Elias tilts his head. "Is this about the book? "

"Of course it's about the book!" Silas throws his hands up, pacing furiously. "You dog-eared the pages, Elias. Like a common heathen."

Elias blinks, expression blank. "And?"

Silas gasps. Actually gasps, like Elias just told him he committed war crimes.

"And?" he repeats, horrified. "And? Do you know what you’ve done?

Do you know what kind of sacrilege this is?

" He presses a hand to his chest like he’s physically in pain.

"You could have just marked the page like a normal person.

Used a bookmark. Used a piece of paper. Used your soulless, empty gaze to burn it into memory, "

Elias shrugs. "Too much effort."

"Too,… " Silas makes a strangled sound. "Too much effort? You are literally immortal. What the fuck else do you have to do?"

Elias just smirks. "Annoy you, apparently."

Silas lunges for him, and I laugh before I can stop myself. It’s instinctive. Immediate. Warm.

And he hears it. Silas stops mid-motion, arms still half-raised like he was about to wring Elias’s neck, but now his head whips toward me, his expression shifting.

Like he wasn’t expecting me to be watching. Like he wasn’t expecting me to be laughing at him.

And he looks pleased about it. His hands drop. His shoulders shift. His entire posture changes, like he’s been hit with some kind of revelation.

And then, he smirks. Oh no. He moves toward me, way too fast, eyes locked on mine, and suddenly I know, I just know, that I have made a grave mistake.

Because I laughed. Because he heard it. And now he’s going to become insufferable.

He stops just in front of me, tilting his head, his grin all trouble. "Well, well, well."

I sigh. "Silas, "

"You think I'm funny," he says, voice smug.

I press my lips together. "I never said that."

"You laughed."

"At you, not with you."

"Doesn’t matter." He leans in slightly, dropping his voice to something low and conspiratorial. "You think I’m funny."

I roll my eyes, pushing lightly at his chest. "Move."

He does not move. Instead, his smirk widens, his fingers catching my wrist before I can pull away. And then, Something shifts. Not obvious. Not dramatic. Just subtle. Just awareness. His fingers are warm against my skin. His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist.

And suddenly, I remember.

He kissed me today.

And it was, It was nice. Not overwhelming. Not terrifying. Not something I regret. Just nice. And that? That might be the most dangerous part of all. Because nothing in my life has ever been nice before.

His grip tightens, just slightly, his expression shifting from smug to something else, something darker, something curious. He tilts his head, studying me like I’m something new. Like I’m something he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

And I hate that I feel heat rise to my skin because of it.

I glare. "You're ruining the moment."

His lips twitch. "What moment?"

I rip my hand free, scowling. "Exactly."

I stand up and walk away before he can make it worse.

Because if I don’t, I think he might actually win. I need space. From Silas, from whatever just happened, from the way my stupid heart is still knocking too fast against my ribs like it didn’t get the memo that we are not doing this.

I move across the room, past the flickering firelight, past Caspian’s lazy amusement and Ambrose’s quiet consideration, past all of it, and drop down onto the couch beside Orin.

Because Orin is safe. He doesn’t tease me, doesn’t push, doesn’t look at me like I’m some puzzle he’s dying to solve. He just is. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.

Orin glances at me as I settle in. And without a word, without even pausing, he shifts, moving just enough to make space for me, just enough that I can pull my legs up and get comfortable without feeling like I have to hold my breath.

It’s small. Subtle.

But it helps.

I exhale, leaning my head back, letting the warmth of the fire soak into my skin, letting the hum of conversation wash over me.

Silas, thankfully, has redirected his energy .

“You absolute disgrace of a person,” he’s ranting, voice sharp, dramatic, still pacing near the hearth. “I will never forgive you for this.”

Elias, still lounging like he has all the time in the world, flicks a lazy glance up at him. “You said that last time.”

Silas glares. “Last time you ruined my tea. This, this is so much worse.”

Elias shrugs, unaffected. “It’s a book, Silas.”

Silas clutches his chest, like he’s actually in pain. “It was literature, you barbarian.”

Orin hums, soft amusement threading through his voice. “You okay over there?”

I blink, glancing at him. He’s watching me, dark eyes steady, his gaze less assessing than the others’. Like he’s not trying to figure me out, just trying to check in.

And, And I don’t hate it.

I nod, slow. “Just needed to sit.”

He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask why, doesn’t give me some unreadable look like he’s trying to pick me apart. Instead, he just shifts again, just enough that our arms brush, just enough that I know I’m welcome here.

Silas, however, has not calmed down.

“You know what, Dain?” He shoves a finger toward Elias. “You’re a book murderer. That’s what you are.”

Elias lifts a brow. “Murderer?”

“Yes.” Silas gestures wildly. “You should be arrested. You should be tried for crimes against intelligence.”

Elias smirks. “How ever will I live with myself.”

Silas growls, turning on his heel and stomping toward the other end of the room, muttering what I’m pretty sure are actual curses under his breath .

I can’t help it. I laugh. Quiet. Small.

But Orin notices.

He tilts his head slightly, watching me. “You like him.”

I pause. Something flickers in my chest. Not denial. Not agreement, either. Just something.

I swallow. “He’s… funny.”

Orin’s lips twitch. “You’re so mean.”

I arch a brow.

“He kissed you today, didn’t he?” Orin’s voice is casual, but his gaze is sharp, cutting through me easily.

I exhale. “I don’t know what it was.”

Orin studies me for a moment. Then, finally, he leans back, nodding toward Silas, who is still grumbling to himself, still pacing, still very clearly in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

“Well,” Orin says, voice quiet, amused. “It was probably funny.”

I shove at his arm, laughing despite myself.