The Sin of Greed.

  It was never just about wealth or power or conquest. If you considered its perspective, one that, once bound to Eydis, she could read, it fancied itself as a maestro bending the world to its will and composing a symphony where every note was consumption and every pause, decay.

  The melody never stopped, even when there was nothing left. Then, it simply began again.

  So, in some ways, Greed’s attack was the same as its essence. It preferred to rot whatever it touched from the inside out. A graze might heal easily. A hole in the abdomen was much more complex.

  She could have undone if only she’d been awake, if only her mana hadn’t played dead.

  If only…

  So to say she disliked Greed was an understatement. She had hated it long before she ever knew its face. Not that it had one. None of the Sins did. They were shadows, older than language, older than history.

  There were only two people who could undo Greed’s corruption: the Bearer of Greed and the Virtuous Saintess—Callista.

  A title, not a person. Like Eydis.

  She knew the legends. The Light anointed a single mortal each generation with a touch of godhood, blessing them with power over life and death. The chosen victor of the Celestial Empire’s sacred trials. The worthiest.

  Though worthiness owed less to fate than to careful curation.

  Divine favour always seemed to fall on the Light’s own. Platinum hair, silver attire, a bloodline polished to a mirror.

  They called it divinity, a gift.

  Eydis called it binding. A leash, silken and golden, but a leash nonetheless.

  (Because originality is dangerous. Next thing you know, people might start questioning things. Madness. Best to handpick a champion, dress it up as prophecy, and call it a miracle.)

  The Shadows, at least, had a touch more nuance. They elected a Sin, Pride, the first and oldest, nestled deep in the marrow of mortal minds. And of course, Pride needed a vessel, chose a vessel.

  And Pride was never satisfied.

  Because how could shadows command humanity without wearing its face? And Pride was nothing if not vanity incarnate.

  It could claim the fairest of them all, for now. Until another came along, more radiant, more magnificent. More… worthy of its indulgence.

  Binding Pride took more than a soul and a rite. It was the spark. That spark fed Pride and fixed it to its chosen champion. When the spark dimmed, so did its favour. Fickle, unpredictable, and the Shadows preferred it that way. There was one Light and countless shadows, after all.

  A game of thrones, played by the throne itself.

  Light and Shadows were meant to keep to their corners. The keepers of this balance were simple to name. A Saint or Saintess of Light, bound by divinity. A Queen of Shadows, crowned by Sin.

  Destined. Chosen. Trapped.

  But fate—or, more precisely, the current Queen of Shadows—had other plans.

  By ‘current,’ of course, that meant her, Eydis. Rules did not interest her. Boundaries were things to bend and then remake.

  This was never only about power, never only about defying fate. Winning was how she would prove the world wrong, stripping the so-called sacred balance of its holiness and showing it for what it was: a noose, a judgement, a machine that sorted the worthy from the nothing, much as this world decides who is Gifted and who is not.

  It was personal.

  “Eydis.”

  Eydis blinked back to the room.

  “Astra.”

  Astra stood at the kitchen counter, posture straight and composed, though the tight line of her neck betrayed an awareness of every inch between them.

  Eydis lived to provoke until something finally snapped.

  She realised she was standing too close, close enough to notice what she should not: the fine hairs at the nape of Astra’s neck, the pale slope disappearing under her white collar, a single silver strand escaped from the ponytail.

  “You’re not listening,” Astra said.

  Eydis wasn’t. “Of course I am,” she replied, voice as smooth as the coffee they were about to ruin. “Balance, control, and… precision.”

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  Astra shot her a sharp glance before returning to the French press. When she pressed the plunger down, the deep brown liquid separated from the grounds, darkening as it sank.

  Eydis leaned in until one hand braced on the wooden counter and the other hovered at Astra’s waist. A tease. Nothing more.

  Except Astra went still, and her hand froze on the plunger.

  So, perhaps, not just a tease. Perhaps, just a little more.

  Eydis let her fingers slide lower, covered Astra’s hand, then guided the plunger down in a motion far too slow to be necessary.

  "Too much?” she asked, voice dropping as she pressed forward. “Or not enough?”

  The heat rolling off Astra was as instantaneous as it was intoxicating. She sucked in a breath, her free hand flying out to grip the counter, hard. Perhaps to stop herself from punching Eydis, who knew.

  Perhaps we will find out.

  When Astra shifted her stance, Eydis’s hand moved without thought from the counter to Astra’s waist.

  Astra gasped, then tilted her head slightly. “If you ruin another batch—” Her breath hitched as Eydis’s fingers skimmed just above her hip, pressing lightly.

  “Then?” Eydis purred.

  Astra shot Eydis a glare that might have been intimidating if her voice hadn't wavered. “Last I checked, I’m the one teaching you.”

  “Then surely you wouldn’t mind demonstrating precisely how much pressure I should be applying?”

  She expected Astra to shove her off, but Astra’s body went still, as if she had stopped breathing. As if she were calculating something.

  As if she were making a decision.

  Finally, Astra repositioned their hands. This time she did not only correct the technique…

  She interlaced their fingers.

  Electricity snapped up Eydis’s spine.

  “Your problem?” Astra murmured softly, her voice infuriatingly amused. “Too much pressure. Too fast. Too impatient.”

  Fast? Eydis frowned. Was Astra even talking about the coffee?

  Astra turned her head slightly, just enough for Eydis to see her eyes. Deep. Intense.

  Hunger.

  Eydis nearly lost her grip on more than just the plunger.

  And that—that—was the moment Eydis knew she was in trouble. Hunger. The very thing that had birthed every sin that clung to her. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t see it, even if she wanted to.

  Before she could process that dangerous thought, Astra tightened her grip. Her smirk promised trouble as she guided their hands down.

  Slowly.

  "Steady. Controlled. Measured." The words barely disturbed the air between them. "Not everything is a battle, Eydis."

  Eydis’s lashes fluttered. Clearing her throat did nothing. Her voice came out low. “I disagree, Astra.”

  She pressed a little harder, enough to test whether Astra would flinch. But Astra matched the pressure perfectly, their movements aligning.

  “I like my coffee the way I like everything else,” Eydis continued. “A little unpredictability keeps things exciting, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Astra did not reply. She paused a few second too long, and eased back.

  Not away. Back.

  Was it a mistake, or a deliberate provocation?

  Because the last breath of space between them vanished. Eydis felt every point of contact: hip against hip, back against chest, fingers still tangled on the plunger.

  Eydis’s smirk faltered. Her pulse thundered, silent on her face, loud under her skin.

  Astra turned until her lips ghosted against Eydis's jaw. “Who said…” Her voice was lower now, threaded with a dare. "I don't enjoy a little... unpredictability?"

  And Eydis felt the full weight of Astra’s gaze. Her mind screamed at her to break the moment before it became something else.

  “I didn’t know you could be…” Eydis’s eyes dropped to Astra’s lips.

  And stayed there.

  She had memorised so much already, the silk of Astra’s hair, the small shifts in her voice when amused or irritated or caught between.

  But this—this was unfair.

  “Could be what?” When Astra’s soft lips parted, teasing without meaning to, her breath was warm with the sweetness of cherries from her lip balm.

  Would she taste like that, too?

  The thought burned. Eydis’s fingers twitched against Astra's hip. And Astra noticed.

  Eydis knew she had because Astra’s knuckles whitened on the counter, because the pulse at her throat flickered quick and uneven. The hand above Eydis’s remained unnaturally still, as if afraid of what the next movement might mean.

  I didn’t know you could be such a tease.

  Eydis moved first, or rather…

  She slipped. (She never slipped.)

  The plunger jerked, the seal broke, and ripples stirred the grounds back into the brew.

  Astra blinked, just once, before her eyes flicked back to the beaker. But her hand didn’t leave Eydis’s.

  “At this rate,” Astra muttered shakily, “I won’t have had a single decent cup of coffee before nightfall.”

  She exhaled, like she had just remembered how, then stepped back too fast, as if forcing herself to move.

  Eydis should have tossed a tease to see if Astra would snap back. That was their game. Push, resist, balance holds.

  (Did Astra even resist?)

  But Eydis didn’t. Because this, whatever this thing between them was, had shattered the moment coffee grounds swirled into the steaming water.

  For the first time in years, she wasn’t thinking about binding Sins, or Light, or Darkness, or the fragile, enforced balance of the world.

  No. That wasn’t true.

  She was thinking about balance, about what happens when shadow leans too close to light, especially when the light burns this bright, bathing Astra’s profile in warmth, silver strands almost shimmering. So brilliant it made her want to shield her eyes.

  Or reach for it.

  Would it be selfish? To pull Astra into the dark? To let her own shadows cover that light?

  Especially when…

  When Astra was Callista.

  The Callista. The Saintess.

  And Eydis knew it, felt it, had felt it from the moment their paths first crossed. Perhaps even her own doppelg?nger had sensed it. Celestial Goddess? That…

  Wasn’t far from the truth. At all. She realised that now.

  The Saintess should have hated her. Should have killed her. Instead, Astra healed her, and turned her back to Eydis without a flicker of doubt, as if Eydis were no threat at all. Absurd, Eydis agreed, mirroring Astra’s earlier thought.

  But what was even more absurd was knowing all this. Knowing it, and yet…

  Eydis was letting her teach her how to make coffee.

  That was the part that got her. This senseless moment. This thing between them that had no name but felt far too much like…

  Connection.

  As the coffee steeped, Astra cleared her throat without turning. “Want me to show you again?”

  It wasn’t the words themselves but the way Astra asked her, a careful, almost cautious, almost shy question, as though she knew exactly what she wanted and yet somehow did not.

  Heat, scent, proximity, it pressed in.

  Too much.

  Eydis stepped back. “It is fine. I will wait outside.”

  “I see.”

  Eydis turned on her heel and walked out. She felt the stare burning into her back, scraping her skin. She quickened.

  She wasn’t running.

  She only needed fresh air.

  She was running. But it was certainly not fear.

  This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t be happening.

  *

  But if it wasn’t fear, then why was her heart still racing?