Page 17 of The Sin Binder's (The Seven Sins Academy #4)

I yawn as I stir my coffee—though calling it coffee feels generous. It’s a desperate swamp of sugar and cream with just enough actual caffeine to qualify as something consumable. The kind of drink that gets you judged by serious people, which is exactly why I drink it. Also, I like things that rot my teeth.

I lean over the chipped counter in the makeshift kitchen we’ve been using, waiting for the energy to hit. Or for the building to burn down. Honestly, either would be fine.

Then I hear it—footsteps. Slow, weighted ones. Riven.

He looks like the embodiment of a bad mood, wrapped in black sleeves and sharper angles than usual. His expression is unreadable, but his exhaustion is obvious in the way his hand drags through his hair like it’s a punishment.

“Morning, sunshine,”

I mumble, not bothering to turn around as I blow across the rim of my mug.

He doesn’t respond. Which would be normal. Except… he’s looking at me like I’ve just said something worth stabbing me over. His eyes narrow, hard and assessing.

I freeze, frowning. “What?”

And then I hear it.

My voice.

But not my voice. It’s too mine. Too precise. Too deliberate. Like a recording of me, but laced with a kind of intimacy I wouldn’t dare show, especially not to Riven.

“I think about her at night,”

it says, soft as sin. “Not in the ways you’d think… It’s worse. I wonder if she’ll still want me when I stop making her laugh.”

Riven's head jerks slightly, and for a second, I swear he looks startled. Not by the words. But by how true they sound.

And I’m fucking horrified.

“What the actual shit was that?”

I bark, spinning around.

The room’s empty. Just me, my sugar sludge, and Riven’s confusion morphing into something much more dangerous—curiosity.

“You tell me,”

he says slowly, crossing his arms. “That came from your mouth. Or your throat. Or whatever the fuck is wrong with you today.”

I blink.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

“That was not me,”

I say, heart spiking. I glance down at my hands like they’re going to fall off or reveal hidden mics. “I mean, it sounded like me, but I don’t monologue about my secret nightly insecurities to the guy who looks like a rejection demon.”

Riven doesn’t smile. He never smiles. But the edge of his mouth twitches.

Just once.

“You worried your jokes are gonna wear off?”

he asks. And that’s when I realize: he’s not making fun of me. He’s asking.

And I hate it. I hate how fucking close it is to the truth. How fast that fake voice peeled me open in front of someone who’s made of knives.

I swallow and down half the coffee to cover my pause.

“It’s probably the circle,”

I mutter, rubbing at the back of my neck. “Residual magic. You summon a lingerie version of your favorite person and suddenly the walls are singing your secrets. Typical post-ritual side effects.”

“Convenient.”

“No,”

I say, “what would be convenient is if you’d pretend you didn’t hear that. Like a normal emotionally constipated immortal.”

He raises an eyebrow.

And I glare.

“Also,”

I add, pointing a dramatic finger at the ceiling, “if my mouth starts randomly confessing anything about dreams involving wedding rings and a house full of chaotic magical toddlers that are definitely not mine but definitely look like Luna, you shut that shit down immediately.”

Riven stares. Then turns, deadpan, walking off like I’m not worth it.

I follow Riven because he’s moving like something matters, which means I should probably pretend to care. Even if my brain is still half-frosted with sugar and the memory of my mouth saying something to him that I absolutely never said. I’m not even talking in metaphors this time. I literally did not say that. My lips stayed closed. My soul, however, apparently didn’t get the memo.

And now I’ve got a new problem. Because it’s happening again.

“I sometimes rehearse insults in the mirror just in case I run into Orin again.”

The voice is mine. Exactly mine. Not similar. Not mimicry. Mine. Except I didn't say a word. I'm just walking.

“Shut up,”

I mutter under my breath, and Riven glances back like I’m about to try a cartwheel down the hallway.

I wave at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just—uh—exorcising my internal monologue. Very spiritual.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. Like I’m amusing. Which is deeply offensive because I am hilarious and should be treated with awe, not mild entertainment.

We turn the corner.

“I don’t understand what taxes are.”

I trip. Not on anything. Just trip. Over reality. I slap a hand over my mouth like I’m trying to muzzle a feral dog.

“I thought 'Renaissance' was a type of pasta until Orin told me it wasn’t,”

my voice says.

Riven stops walking.

Dead stop.

Slowly turns his head and looks at me. Like he’s trying to figure out if I’ve been possessed by something stupid.

Which, honestly, maybe I have.

Because now my voice is whispering again. “I once had a crush on a sentient shadow because it told me I was pretty.”

“THAT ONE WAS A JOKE!”

I snap, hands up. “I was doing a bit. I’m a comedian. You know this. That wasn’t even true—well, not emotionally true.”

Riven lifts a brow.

I spin around, checking the empty hallway like I’m going to find a microphone or a speaker or one of the other me’s trying to mess with me. The walls don’t answer. The shadows stay put. There’s no spell sigil I can see. Just me. Me and my mouth and the internal chaos leaking out like a cracked egg of shame.

And then it happens again.

“Sometimes, when Elias falls asleep near me, I draw a mustache on him and blame Caspian.”

I freeze. Horror washes over me like cold soup.

“Wait,”

I say. “WAIT—how the hell would it know that?”

Riven just stares at me.

And then the voice whispers: “I don’t actually know how to swim. I just float dramatically and hope I look hot.”

My soul detaches. My dignity dies in real time.

I press my forehead to the wall and groan. “Okay. Okay. I’m cursed. This is a curse. Some ancient, petty, truth-revealing curse that picked me of all people to ruin.”

Riven crosses his arms, not even pretending to hide the amusement anymore. “Sounds like karma.”

I flip him off without looking. “Sounds like you need a hug.”

The voice doesn’t respond this time, which is honestly more unsettling than when it did.

I exhale. “Let’s just find whatever-the-fuck before this place decides to recite my grocery list out loud. Or my kinks. Because I know those are next, and I’m not emotionally prepared for Luna to hear I once had a phase where I was into clowns.”

Riven stops walking.

“…Clowns?” he says.

I point at him, face red. “You tell anyone and I’ll summon that sexy clone of Luna again but with your face and make you watch her flirt with Elias.”

He actually shudders. Victory. But still—something is wrong. And I need to figure it out before this place spills the real secrets. Like the fact I kinda liked Ambrose’s cologne once. Or that I cried during a dog food commercial.

We walk faster. I need answers.

Before the walls start singing.

I make it to the living room in one piece. No new voices. No ghostly echoes. No confessions about how I once cried when I saw a picture of a baby goat wearing pajamas. Just… silence. Glorious, suspicious silence.

Elias sprawls on the couch like gravity has a personal grudge against him. I drop next to him, my hip knocking into his on purpose because we’re bonded by shared idiocy, and I like when he grumbles about it. That’s how I know he loves me.

He barely looks at me. “You look haunted.”

“I am,”

I mutter. “By myself.”

“Sounds about right.”

I sip my coffee. More sugar than caffeine. Probably more chaos than either. Everyone else is scattered around the room—Riven brooding like it’s a competitive sport, Caspian curled in on himself like he’s composing poetry with his sadness, Ambrose pretending he isn’t watching Luna. Luna… who looks far too entertained for someone who just watched me have a psychic meltdown this morning.

I lean back. I relax. And then it happens again.

“I once licked a glowing artifact because I thought it would taste like candy.”

The sound is barely above a whisper. But it’s my whisper. My cadence. My vocal fry on the end of “candy.”

Elias goes still beside me.

I stare straight ahead.

“I did not say that,”

I say aloud. “I am innocent. My mouth is a liar and I want a retrial.”

“Did it taste like candy?”

Elias asks, voice so dry it could slice bread.

“NO,” I hiss.

“Shame.”

“I thought I was safe,”

I whisper into my coffee. “I thought we were past this.”

But my voice—traitorous, smug, gleefully chaotic—keeps going.

“I sometimes narrate my own life in a dramatic voice when I’m alone. With sound effects.”

Riven snorts from across the room.

“I don’t even remember thinking that,”

I mutter, already curling in on myself like I can physically keep the next secret from escaping.

Too late.

“My first kiss was with a mirror and I told everyone it was a water sprite.”

Luna chokes on her tea.

Caspian groans and drapes a pillow over his face. “Please, gods, make it stop.”

“Don’t encourage it,”

I say to no one and everyone. “If you acknowledge it, it gains power.”

But it already has power.

Because next comes: “I once tried to prank Ambrose and ended up locked in a broom closet for six hours with a haunted mop. I apologized to the mop.”

“Wait,”

Elias says, slow and deliberate. “Are you still haunted by that mop?”

“It sends me letters.”

He pauses. “…What?”

“Don’t ask follow-up questions.”

Another whisper spills out, louder this time, like my voice is gaining confidence: “I secretly think I could seduce the moon if it gave me a chance.”

Elias falls off the couch laughing.

“I have the energy,”

I snap defensively. “I could totally seduce the moon. It just hasn’t been ready for me.”

Riven sighs like he’s questioning every choice that led him here.

I sink into the cushions, face hot. “This house is cursed,”

I declare. “The school is cursed. I’m cursed.”

Luna bites her lip. “You sure you’re not just… leaking?”

“Oh I’m leaking, all right,”

I grumble. “Leaking secrets, dignity, whatever thread of sanity I had left.”

“Let me know when you start leaking useful information,”

Ambrose says, deadpan.

“Let me know when you start leaking personality,”

I shoot back.

Another whisper slithers out: “I sometimes wonder if I’m actually the villain in everyone’s story but then I remember I’m hot, so it’s probably fine.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“…Okay that one’s valid,”

Elias says.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. “If this doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to dig a grave and swan dive into it with a kazoo solo.”

I try to breathe. Deeply. Calmly. Like maybe if I pretend I’m a composed, responsible adult with no secrets worth hiding, the whispering will stop.

It doesn’t.

“I don’t know how babies are made,”

my voice says, but without my consent, and with way too much confidence.

Luna chokes. On laughter. Caspian slides down the couch like his spine just gave up, wheezing into a pillow. Elias nearly launches his tea across the room, clutching his stomach like the betrayal physically wounded him.

“Okay—”

I point wildly at everyone. “That one was taken out of context!”

“Was it?”

Luna manages between giggles, her entire face red with effort. “Was it really?”

“I didn’t say I don’t know, I said I don’t know specifically, like... the logistics,”

I defend, because somehow that’s supposed to help. “There are steps, Luna. It’s not intuitive!”

But the voice—the goddamn voice—is just getting started.

“I once tried to seduce a mirror because I thought my reflection winked at me first.”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS A PORTAL!”

I shout, panic creeping in.

Caspian’s half on the floor now. I think he’s crying. Might be laughing. Or having a seizure. I honestly don’t know.

“I practice flirting in the mirror using lines from vampire romance novels.”

“Those books slap,”

I snap back before I can stop myself. “And they work.”

“Oh, do they?”

Luna asks, eyes practically gleaming with evil.

My voice answers for me: “Once I said ‘I want to drink you like a fine vintage of regret’ and got slapped.”

The room implodes into laughter again. I swear Riven smiles. Riven.

“Okay, okay, okay,”

I say, hands up, desperate now. “That’s enough. You’ve had your fun, me. Now shut up.”

But there’s no mercy here.

“I thought foreplay was just forehead play for like a century.”

“I—”

I start to say something, anything—anything at all that could salvage this, but I can’t. There’s no saving this. I can feel the sweat forming, the shame crawling across my skin like insects.

“I used to think orgasm was a type of mushroom.”

“You’re a god,”

Elias cackles. “You’ve been around since the dawn of language. How do you not know this?”

“I don’t ask questions!”

I shout, defensive. “I just pretend until someone corrects me and hope no one notices!”

Luna is gone. Her laughter is so full-bodied she slides off the armrest she was leaning against, catching herself on the wall like she’s drunk on my humiliation. And she should be. I’m dying. I’m literally combusting from within.

But it’s the next one that kills me. Truly. Spiritually.

“I think Luna’s laugh sounds like sex and I would like her to laugh in my mouth.”

Silence.

Complete. Fucking. Silence.

Luna turns slowly toward me, hands still over her mouth, her expression a dangerous blend of horror and delight.

“I—”

I point again. Uselessly. “I never— That’s—”

But my voice finishes me off.

“I named my left nipple Luna.”

I explode off the couch. “I’M LEAVING. I’M ASCENDING. I’M NO LONGER PART OF THIS REALITY.”

“Wait—”

Caspian wheezes. “Left one? What’s the right one called?”

There’s a beat.

“…Elias,”

the whisper says smugly.

Luna’s laugh is dangerous. Not just because it does something unholy to my chest when she really lets go, but because right now—it’s aimed at me. She’s doubled over on the couch, one hand gripping Caspian’s arm for balance, the other waving uselessly in the air like she’s trying to surrender to the chaos. Tears stream down her cheeks, and she wheezes, “Make it stop. Caspian, turn it off—please.”

Caspian, for his part, looks positively delighted with himself. His smile is all teeth, sharp and smug, and he leans back against the armrest like a man who’s just watched the first act of a masterpiece and knows act two is going to be even worse. “Can’t. Spell’s got to run its course. A few days, maybe a week. Depends on how juicy your secrets are, .”

I blink. “Wait—what spell?”

Caspian grins wider. “Your hoodie.”

I look down.

The hoodie. The one I’ve worn since yesterday. The same hoodie I slept in. The one I thought smelled like betrayal but figured it was just Elias’s shampoo rubbing off on me. That hoodie.

“You spelled my hoodie?”

I hiss, twisting to grab the hem, but it’s already too late. My voice chimes again—cheerfully, traitorously.

“I once used a summoning circle to ask for dating advice.”

Luna lets out another howl of laughter, sliding halfway off the couch again.

Caspian shrugs, utterly unapologetic. “You created a sex clone of Luna. This is retribution.”

“That clone was beautiful,”

I mutter, defensive on instinct, then immediately realize my mistake.

“I’m right here, ,”

Luna says between giggles. “You don’t have to compliment my magical copy.”

“She was also less judgey,”

I add. “And she didn’t put spells on my clothes!”

“That’s because she didn’t have magic, you dumbass,”

Elias deadpans, tossing a pillow at me. “And now we know the truth about your nipples.”

“And taxes,”

Luna adds, still laughing. “Don’t forget about that one.”

I collapse dramatically onto the rug in front of the coffee table. “I’m going to die. My legacy is going to be ‘the god who tried to flirt with a mirror and doesn’t understand federal infrastructure.’”

The hoodie chimes in again. “I once tried to convince a tree to marry me. In my defense, I thought it was a nymph.”

“Was it?”

Caspian asks, amused.

“It was an elm tree. Named Greg.”

More laughter. Raucous, vicious, full-bellied betrayal. And Luna’s gasping now, clinging to the edge of the couch, her face practically glowing from how hard she’s laughing. It’s not fair. No one should be allowed to look that good while watching me be publicly executed by enchanted apparel.

I roll over and glare at Caspian, jabbing a finger at him. “You know this is going to come back to haunt you, right?”

“Oh, I count on it,”

he purrs. “I’m broken, not stupid.”

The hoodie speaks again, sweet and smug: “I once tried to write Luna a love poem but it turned into a limerick about her thighs.”

There’s a beat.

Elias lets out a wheeze so high-pitched I’m surprised glass doesn’t shatter. Caspian slams his fist on the couch cushion like it personally offended him. And Luna—Luna is just shaking her head, lips pressed together, one hand over her chest like she’s trying to keep her heart from bursting.

“I hate everything,”

I mutter into the rug. “I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t,”

Luna says through her laughter. “You love me.”

“I named a nipple after you,”

I shout from the floor. “OF COURSE I LOVE YOU.”

More laughter.

The hoodie adds softly, “I’d let her murder me. That’s not even a metaphor.”

I go still.

The laughter tapers.

Luna’s smile falters for just a second—but not in a bad way. Just long enough for something unspoken to pass between us. Something quiet. Heavier. Real.

She shifts on the couch. Reaches for me. “Hey…”

I sit up fast, too fast. Point at Caspian. “You’ll pay for this. You and your slutty magic.”

Caspian blows me a kiss.

Luna shakes her head, eyes still shining. “Best prank ever.”

“I’m sleeping naked forever now,”

I grumble. “No more hoodies. No more trust.”

And the hoodie, like it’s been saving the best for last, whispers softly:

“I don’t know how to tie a tie. I’ve been faking it for four centuries.”

Everyone loses it all over again.

And honestly? I kind of deserve it.