Page 27 of The Sin Binder's (The Seven Sins Academy #4)

I step up to the edge of the portal like I’m surveying the world's biggest, sexiest mistake. Hands braced on my hips, chin tilted like I’m about to deliver the State of the Fucking Union. Except this isn’t politics—it’s something far more dangerous. It's us. And worse, it’s me, because the second I see that portal yawning open like it’s been waiting for us to fuck it all up, I know exactly what’s about to happen.

We’re about to do something incredibly stupid. Which, naturally, is where I thrive.

I glance over my shoulder at the others—the ones who finally showed up because Caspian probably sent out a distress signal in all caps, bolded, and underlined like the good little responsible Sin he is now. Elias looks like he’s still shaking glitter out of his hair, which honestly improves him. Ambrose is giving me that I hate everything about you look, which only encourages me. Riven’s jaw is locked so tight he looks like he’s about to punch the portal itself. And Caspian’s hanging back like he wants to bolt, but can’t.

And Luna—fuck me—she’s still too close to the pillar, still lit from the inside like she’s some fucking god’s idea of a cruel joke. She’s the only one not looking at me, and that will not stand.

So I clap my hands once, loud enough to draw every gaze back to me. "All right, degenerates and disasters," I announce, voice dripping with manufactured authority, "welcome to Operation Bad Idea."

Riven groans, dragging a hand down his face. "—"

"No, no, no, don’t interrupt me when I’m being brilliant." I wave him off, pivoting on my heel so I can start pacing in front of them like I’m giving a damn lecture at the Academy again—the kind that ended with something on fire or someone naked. Usually both.

"We are now officially in Phase One: Stick our hands into an ancient, magically unstable portal and pray it doesn’t chew us up like a bad date." I throw out a jazz hand toward the portal behind me, the light flickering like it’s listening. Like it wants us. "The rules of Operation Bad Idea are simple: No one dies. No one touches the weird glowing shit without permission. And if anyone tries to sacrifice themselves, I get dibs on smacking them first."

Luna’s lips twitch. I catch it out of the corner of my eye and my stomach fucking somersaults like an idiot.

"And what’s Phase Two?" Elias asks, trying so hard to sound bored, but I can see it—the pulse in his throat, the way he’s inching closer to her without realizing it. Like gravity. Like all of us.

I give him my most wicked grin. "That’s easy. We go in."

A beat of silence rolls over them.

Riven finally mutters, "You’re a fucking menace."

I lean in toward Luna, stage-whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, "He says that like it’s not why you love me."

Her smile flickers wider, softer, but there’s something behind it—something sharp and wild and dangerous, something that tells me she’s already thinking three steps ahead of us.

And I want her to.

Because I know how this goes. We walk into hell together. And I’ll be damned if I don’t hold her hand the entire way.

I straighten, wiping imaginary dust off my palms like the world’s worst showman. "So. Let’s go wake Orin and Lucien the fuck up."

The portal pulses again, wide and waiting.

And we step into the dark.

The moment we step through, the world shifts. Not gently, not politely. It folds inward and snaps outward like it’s laughing at us, and I swear the fucking stones underfoot ripple.

And then—everything stops.

Not literally. Not like when Elias decides to bend time like the lazy bastard he is. No, this is something else. Something older. Like the Hollow itself is holding its breath, watching us stumble into its stomach, waiting to see if we’ll digest or rot.

But my brain doesn’t process that right away, because my eyes catch movement in the periphery—his movement.

Elias, tongue out, eyes squinting half-lidded at me like we’re the two worst kids in class about to get detention from the gods themselves. His whole posture radiates that chaotic, fuck around and find out energy he wears better than his damn hoodie. Except right now, it’s in slow motion, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I meet his stare, grinning like the problem I am, and lift two fingers. Aim them straight at his smug face. Finger guns.

He blinks slow, lips twitching as his body tips—purposefully—like a domino losing balance. I watch, utterly enchanted by how this idiot can weaponize his own body like this, as he stumbles dramatically back into Luna.

She huffs when he crashes into her like dead weight, catching him with a hand to his chest like she’s used to us being the disasters we are. Because she is. She signed up for this. Bonded to it.

And that’s when I bark out a laugh, because the whole fucking world isn’t actually in slow motion.

It’s just us.

Me and Elias being absolute dicks in the middle of something deadly serious, because if we stop long enough to acknowledge how bad this could get, we’ll crack apart. So instead, we keep cracking jokes, acting out the chaos we are, because it’s the only thing that feels real.

I shoot him another finger gun over her shoulder, and his face splits in a grin even as he groans dramatically, clutching at his chest like she’s stabbed him by simply existing.

"You're welcome," I say, voice pitched like I’m performing in front of an audience, because I always am. Always will be.

Luna mutters something about us being idiots, but there’s warmth threaded beneath it. A flicker of relief in her eyes like she needed this too—needed us acting like the world wasn’t currently swallowing itself whole.

The portal behind us is still pulsing, still wide open like a mouth waiting to devour. But for one beat, one fucking perfect, ridiculous moment, we’re just a boy falling into a girl, and another boy pointing finger guns at both of them like a lunatic.

And then, beyond the soft sound of Elias mumbling something stupid in Luna’s ear, I hear it—the faintest hum, like the Hollow itself is waking up around us.

The portal shifts.

And it’s time to move.

I throw my arm out across Luna’s chest like I’m the world’s most responsible crossing guard. Like I’m protecting her from imminent danger. Which I absolutely am. It’s just not the kind she thinks.

My hand brushes right over her breast—deliberately—as I stop her, and I feel the second her eyes narrow, the sharp inhale right before her palm smacks my arm like she’s swatting a wasp. A very sexy, chaotic wasp.

"," she snaps, all bite and no teeth, because she knows I do this on purpose.

"Listen, sweetheart," I murmur, my grin stretching sharp enough to cut. "I’m a man of many talents. Protecting your pretty little life and copping a feel at the same time? Efficiency."

Elias snorts from behind, muttering, "God, you’re so cringe, . You’re gonna give her a second-hand embarrassment aneurysm."

I don’t even turn around. "She married me, technically. You’re just jealous because I get the honorary tit privilege."

That earns me another smack, this time from Luna’s elbow jamming into my ribs, but there’s no real force behind it. She’s still smiling, even when she tries to scowl, and that does something to me. Something fierce.

But I straighten, arm falling away as the ground beneath us hums again—not from magic this time, but from whatever the hell is waiting beyond that portal. The Hollow isn’t dormant anymore. It’s alive, shifting, breathing with us in it, and I feel it down to my bones. The ripple of something ancient unfurling like it's waking from a nightmare.

I glance over my shoulder at Elias, who’s stopped pretending to be casual now, eyes narrowed at the glowing edges of the stone and ash swirling ahead of us. "You ready to follow me into the pit of hell?"

Elias lifts a brow lazily. "As long as you don’t try to grab my tits."

"You’d be so lucky."

I shift, glancing toward the portal’s flickering mouth, squaring my shoulders. "Alright, my sweet sinners," I announce, voice louder now, slipping into something performative because that’s how I handle the fact we might not all come back. "Operation: Get Our Old Men Back is a go."

The portal spits us out like chewed-up bones, shoving reality back around us all at once—magic thick and old here, like the place remembers every blood-soaked step we’ve taken across it. And I, being the professional disaster that I am, see the angle—the timing—the absolute perfection of the moment.

I can do this.

I time the momentum, tuck into a smooth barrel roll like I’m the goddamn hero of this story, my grin already pulling sharp across my face because I’m gonna stick the landing and throw finger guns at my crew like the absolute menace I am.

Except—Ambrose fucking Dalmar beats me to it.

The bastard comes out of the portal like he’s been doing this his whole life, shoulders loose, coat snapping behind him, and he drops into a flawless roll before I even hit the ground. He’s smug about it, too. The man has the audacity to pop up on his feet, pivot on a heel, and finger gun me before I can get my hands up.

A wink. My wink.

The man winks at me like he invented the damn thing, and then throws over his shoulder, “Payback’s a bitch, Veyd.”

I freeze mid-roll, flat on my back in the dirt, staring at him like he’s grown two extra heads and both of them are flipping me off.

Luna’s snort of laughter cuts through the thick hum of magic, followed by Elias absolutely losing his shit next to her, bent at the waist, wheezing like he’s never seen anything funnier.

"That was supposed to be my move!" I shout, scrambling to my feet, dirt smeared down my arm, hair wild and glitter still clinging to my skin from earlier. "Ambrose Dalmar, you dramatic, manipulative bastard—how dare you steal my chaos!"

Ambrose just smirks, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off centuries of order and rules, like this—this moment—is the first one he’s actually enjoyed in a long time.

"You had it coming," he throws back without looking at me, already striding forward like he owns this fucked-up world we’ve been spat back into. Like he didn’t just casually pull the rug out from under me.

I throw my arms wide, grin dangerous and all teeth. "You see this? You see how everyone underestimates me until they start copying me?"

Elias, wheezing, wipes his eyes. "You’re the trendsetter of bad ideas, . Always have been."

Luna shakes her head, but when she catches my eye, her lips quirk up again. "You’re still my chaos."

I puff out my chest because hell yes I am, but then the ground beneath us pulses—deep and hungry—and everything shifts.

The sky here never looks right, too dark, too stretched, colors bleeding at the edges like reality itself is holding its breath. The portal behind us is still open, but the longer we stand here, the more it feels like the ground wants to eat us whole.

Ambrose glances back, all sharp calculation again. "Fun’s over, Veyd. Let’s find Orin and Lucien before this place devours us."

Ambrose is walking like every shard of ruined stone and every sliver of danger bends for him. Loose-shouldered, chin up, that fucking smirk stretching across his face like the entire universe owes him applause. And maybe it does—maybe he's always been carved from arrogance and sharp edges—but today, it’s worse. He’s cocky, almost casual, falling into step like he’s the leader of this little merry band of degenerates.

And technically? He isn’t.

Riven’s out front, jaw tight, eyes sharp, rage coiled under his skin like a loaded weapon, because he’s the one in charge when shit hits the fan. But me? I’m the second-in-command, not because anyone voted me in but because I declared it. Loudly. Often. With great fanfare. And nobody has kicked me out of the spot yet, which means it's mine.

And Ambrose—tall, cool, calculating bastard—thinks he can just swagger in here and steal my spotlight like he stole my barrel roll? Not a fucking chance.

So, I do what any responsible, chaos-fueled second-in-command would do.

I step right in front of him. Cut him off like I’m a drunk driver with a death wish, pivoting neatly on my heel so I’m facing him, walking backward, arms spread wide like I’m ready to receive an award for Best Disruption of Authority. And yeah, I know how to make an entrance, even mid-walk.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I announce, lifting a hand and splaying it over his chest to stop him, ignoring how solid he feels under my palm because this isn’t about that. "What the hell do you think you’re doing, Dalmar?"

Ambrose barely lifts a brow, like I’m an insect buzzing in front of his face, mildly amusing, vaguely annoying. "Walking."

"Nah." I shake my head, lips twitching. "You’re leading. You’re not in charge, buddy. There’s a chain of command, and unfortunately for you, I’m the chaos gremlin who put himself right under Riven’s snarling authority."

Ambrose tilts his head, eyes glittering like he knows exactly how to disarm every one of us and chooses, very deliberately, not to. "And you decided this when, exactly?"

"Since always." I clap him on the shoulder, keeping us both moving now, but I force him to walk a step behind me. "I’m the heart of this operation, the pretty one, the mouthpiece, the entertainment, and occasionally the reason we all survive."

"You’re the reason we almost die," Elias mutters, catching up on Luna’s other side, dragging his fingers lazily through his hair, grin crooked and dangerous. "And you’re not even the pretty one."

"Rude." I flash him a wink, then throw it at Luna too because she’s watching me with that dangerous look again—the one that says she’s mine and she loves every ridiculous thing I do even when I shouldn’t.

Ambrose sighs like the weight of our stupidity is heavier than the crumbling magic around us. "And here I thought the apocalypse would kill me. Turns out, it’s this."

I glance back over my shoulder at him, grin sharp, cutting. "Nah, Dalmar. We’re the apocalypse."

Ambrose cuts in front of me again, like the gods themselves handed him permission to steal every last ounce of spotlight I’ve carved out for myself. He’s walking too loose, too light, the corners of his mouth twitching with something dangerously close to a grin. Not his usual cool, dead-eyed calculation—this is something new. And it’s pissing me off in the best possible way.

I don't even think about it. My body moves on instinct, slipping around him with a sidestep so smooth it should be illegal, and I shoulder-check him—not hard, but enough to let him know I’m still here, and I’m still better.

He hums, low in his throat, and sidesteps right back, cutting me off again like this is some kind of dance, and maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

“Oh, we’re doing this now?”

I say, dropping my arm dramatically across my chest like I’ve been mortally wounded by his audacity.

Ambrose doesn’t answer, but there’s a flicker in his gaze, sharp and amused. His pace slows, matching mine deliberately, letting the distance collapse between us until I can smell the faint, earthy spice of whatever cologne he wears like a second skin. He shifts again, blocking my path so seamlessly it feels like choreography.

I pounce.

Literally.

I launch sideways into him like a goddamn feral creature, catching him off guard enough that he stumbles, the edge of his coat whipping around my arm. He recovers too quickly, hands catching my shoulders, and for one second, we’re tangled, chests brushing, breath close enough I can count it.

“Careful, Veyd,”

Ambrose mutters, voice silk-wrapped steel. “You’ll start something you can’t finish.”

I grin—too wide, too sharp. “Sweetheart, that’s my entire personality.”

Before he can get another word out, I twist, slide under his arm, and spin back in front of him like this is the goddamn ballroom and I’m leading. My boot scrapes against broken stone, the ground of this cursed realm crumbling beneath us like sugar.

He lunges again—not with power, but with sheer physicality, matching me move for move, and we end up circling like two idiots in the middle of Branwen’s hellscape while behind us, the others’ footsteps fade like a dare.

And fuck, Ambrose is smiling now. Barely, but it’s there—carved into that sharp mouth like a secret, like he’s been dying to let it out and didn’t know how.

“You done?”

he asks, breath curling, voice low but lighter than it’s ever been.

“Not even close.”

I spring forward again, this time knocking into him shoulder-first and darting back like a tease. “You wanna dance, Dalmar? I’ll give you the whole damn show.”

And then, before he can react, I bow. An actual fucking bow, ridiculous and sweeping, one hand at my stomach like I’m about to perform for the gods themselves. “Your move, Prince Charming.”

Ambrose just shakes his head like I’m the world’s worst mistake, but there’s something in his eyes now—something that wasn’t there before. A spark. A sliver of light where there was only cold calculation.

He steps forward. No magic, no bite. Just a man, sharp and lethal and, for once, willing to play. And I swear to all the Sins, it’s the best thing I’ve seen all day.