BOOK ONE OF THE SIN SERIES ❧ ♡ ❧ THEODORE WYNDCOMBE A young man with a silver tongue who gambles the night away, drinks until he blacks out, smokes more than the average person in a day, and pays dues with his body as if it is nothing ─ while attempting to maintain a semblance of dignity as the Duke of Fallensworth's only son. An embarrassment to his family at only age twenty-six, Theodore cares not who speaks his name in an ill-manner, nor does he mind the venomous stares he receives by those that know him. All that he yearns for is a stiff drink and the touch of a stranger every night. AMBROSE KINGSLEY A wealthy, no-nonsense, thirty-seven-year-old gentleman who has a tight-knit circle in nearly every country. Spending a majority of his time at clubs and salons, only throwing himself into the political world when needed, Ambrose is ─ for lack of a better term ─ a loner. He keeps to himself and prefers it remain that way. He only seeks the company of men whenever time, and his mood, permits. Sporting an icy glare and a horrid attitude to match, he does not know what to think when he runs into Theodore Wyndcombe, of all people, late one night; having been invited to a banquet by a friend of the troublemaker Wyndcombe's family. During their run-in, Ambrose proposes a deal to the drunken Theodore: Pretend to court Ambrose's recently widowed cousin, a noblewoman, and Ambrose will pay off Theodore's gambling debt. Not in his right mind, seeing as it is something beneficial for Theodore, he agrees. And he soon comes to regret his decision come the next morning. Theodore hates Ambrose. Ambrose hates Theodore. But neither can deny the pull. Neither can deny the heat. And it is only a matter of time until Theodore becomes a mess in Ambrose's hands ─ and in his bed.

Every year in Lianhe, the river takes its due. It begins days before the Lantern Mourning Festival ─ people vanish without a sound. By the time the town gathers with their paper lanterns and prayers, the missing return. Their bodies float to shore, waterlogged and wide-eyed. No one knows why it happens. No one dares to stop it. Feng Wenqi makes lanterns for the dead. He doesn't ask who they're for. He doesn't need to. Grief hangs heavy in the air, and the river always remembers. When the festival ends, the lanterns are meant to drift peacefully downstream, carrying messages the living can't bear to speak aloud. But this year, they come back. Water-stained. Torn. Some with names no one remembers carving. Some with messages no one claims to have written ─ including one in Wenqi's own hand. Shen Rulan, a wandering exorcist, doesn't believe in ghosts ─ he dissuades their existence, chalking it up to logic ─ but he does believe something's wrong. The dead aren't just returning. They're watching. Waiting. And Wenqi, with all he's tried to forget, only grows more uneased with every passing year. In Lianhe, the river mourns. But it never forgives.