"Letting me?" The word comes out sharp enough to cut. "Since when do you let me do anything?"
"Since you became my mate." His hands frame my face. "I'm not risking you in that place."
"Not your call." I grab his wrists. "We're partners. That means I get a say."
"You've been a shifter for three hours?—"
"And you just spent six months trapped there." I hold his gaze. "Which is exactly why I'm not letting you go back alone. The bond tethers you to me. That's the whole point of Calder's plan."
His jaw tightens. Through our connection, fear bleeds into anger bleeds into desperate need to protect. "If something goes wrong?—"
"Then we adapt." I don't let him look away. "Together. Like we agreed."
Tears burn my eyes. Through our connection, his concern bleeds into mine until I can't tell which emotions belong to whom. "Then trust that same determination to bring you back again."
He flinches.
"I didn't bond with you so you could make decisions for me." My voice shakes but doesn't break. "We're partners now. That means we decide together. You don't get to play hero and martyr yourself while I wait here helpless."
His jaw works, muscles jumping. Through our connection I feel his resistance crumbling, feel him recognizing the truth even as every instinct screams at him to keep me safe.
He exhales hard. "Fine. We do it Calder's way."
"She has a point," Eli says quietly. "The mate bond is strongest when both partners are actively maintaining it. If Maren channels energy from here while you're over there, the distance and dimensional barrier might weaken the connection."
"But if you're both at the convergence point," Calder adds, "you can maintain the bond at full strength. Maren channels, Jonah navigates, the tether holds."
Jonah's hands frame my face, his touch gentle despite the tension radiating through him. "I can't lose you."
"Then don't." I cover his hands with mine. "We don't have to choose between your plan and Calder's. We try it Calder's way first—me channeling from this side, you going through briefly to anchor the seal. If it goes wrong, we adapt. Together."
"And if adapting means both of us going through?"
"Then we do it." I meet his eyes, letting him see I mean it. "But we don't start with the worst case scenario. We start with the plan most likely to succeed."
Through our connection, I feel his resistance crumbling. Not because I'm right—though I am—but because he's starting to understand that being mates means being equals. Partners. Not protector and protected.
His laugh is rough but genuine. "You're as stubborn as I am."
"That's why we work."
He makes a sound that's half growl, half surrender, and kisses me. Possessive. Desperate. When we break apart, our connection blazes between us, unshakeable.
Calder clears his throat. "If you two are done, we have work to do."
The workshop empties as everyone scatters to their tasks. Calder heads for his ritual supplies. Eli and Beau move toward the convergence point to scout positions. Sawyer disappears in the direction of the main house.
The next hour becomes a blur of preparation. Calder gathers ceremonial items needed for the sealing ritual—crystals attuned to ley line frequencies, blessed water from the northern spring, sage bundles for cleansing. Eli and Beau coordinate defensive positions around the convergence point. Sawyer works on emergency protocols, contingencies if everything goes catastrophically wrong.
I try to help, but my new senses won't cooperate. Conversations from three different buildings assault my ears. The creak of leather as someone adjusts their weight. Every scent layered too thick—smoke and pine sap and sweat and something sharp that might be fear. The ley lines surge beneath my feet, each pulse sending electricity up my spine until I want to scream.
I retreat outside, palms pressed to my temples.
"Here." Quinn appears at my elbow, pressing a cup of tea into my hands. "Chamomile and valerian root. Won't dull yoursenses, but it'll help you process them. Cilla gave me the recipe when I was going through this."
Steam rises between my palms—gardens and earth and lavender. The scent centers me, gives me something specific to focus on instead of the chaos. "Does it get easier? The sensory overload?"
"Eventually." She settles beside me, her own tea cupped between her palms. "I only recently transitioned myself, so I'm still figuring it out. But Cilla says after a few months, your brain learns to filter. You'll stop hearing every heartbeat in a hundred-yard radius. Stop tasting the mineral content of the air."
