Page 267 of The Sin Binder's Destiny
And there he is.
Severin Virelius, in all his brooding, exquisitely tailored, walking-sin-of-a-man glory. Black-on-black suit with faint shimmering wards stitched into the collar, pressed like he’s about to host a funeral for someone he arranged to have murdered. His hair is as perfect as ever—slicked back, sharp at the temples, like it’s afraid of disappointing him.
His gold-flecked eyes sweep over me, already unimpressed.
“Theron,” he says, voice flat.
“Severin,” I reply with a grin, “you look like you're here to tell us we’re not allowed to haveanyfun.”
“I’m here,” he says through clenched teeth, “to remind you that the Council gave usthirty daysto prove we’re not an irredeemable infestation of wrath and corruption. You willnotmake a fool out of me before we’ve even crossed the threshold.”
Dorian emerges behind me, casually swinging a flask like it’s an accessory. “So, after?”
Severin shoots him a glare that would make mortals combust. “After, you’ll behave like we belong in that world. Not like we’ve come to dismantle it.”
I hold up a hand. “Now hang on. Dismantling is such aloadedword. I prefer... creatively reinterpreting its structural integrity.”
“Theron,” he says tightly, and I canseethe fracture in his glamour—the faintest crack around his left temple, the way his jaw ticks when he’s near spiraling. He’s holding the illusion like a weapon, but we all know it’s forged from panic and pride. “Layla will be traveling with us. The Council expects her to remain... unmarked.”
I raise a brow, slow and deliberate. “Do Ilooklike I’ve marked her?”
Dorian hums. “Not yet.”
“Not helping,” Severin snaps, then turns his focus fully on me. “This is not a fucking game, Theron.”
“No,” I say, softly now, stepping in just close enough to make him stiffen. “It’s worse than a game. It’sreal.And you hate that more than anything, don’t you?”
For a moment, nothing moves.
Then he exhales, sharp, and turns on his heel like a man who can’t afford to be human right now.
“We leave in early,” he says. “Be ready.”
I salute with two fingers and an exaggerated bow. “Sir, yes, sir. Shall I polish my halo?”
He slams the door behind him. Dorian chuckles and flops back onto my bed like we’ve just survived a particularly dramatic scene in a cursed opera.
I’m still grinning as I spin the bone knife between my fingers. Because Severin thinks I’m going to be the problem. But he hasn’t been watching her the way I have.
And Layla?
She’salreadythe storm.
Severin tells us to behave like he wasn’t the one who burned down a cathedral and danced in the ashes like it was a waltz composed for sinners.
Like he hasn’t rewritten half the laws of binding magic just to prove a point. Like he didn’t make a priest kiss his boot and swallow a lie so thick it shattered three realms before the ink dried.
He tells us tobehave.
I’m grinning as I toss another handful of teeth—not mine—into the bag at the foot of my bed. Dorian watches his expression is what I like to call “patiently exasperated,” which is really just code foramused but refusing to encourage me.
“Behave,” I echo, mocking Severin’s gravel-velvet tone. “Act like we weren’t spawned in a hell-rift and raised on ritual sacrifice and mortal panic. Sure. Totally doable.”
Dorian raises a brow. “You're the one who summoned a kraken to flirt with a mermaid queen.”
“Shelikedthe kraken,” I say, indignantly. “She said it was ‘a bold romantic gesture.’”
“She was crying when she said it.”
