Cain knows what his silence does to me. Soren needs me in ways neither of us fully knows how to name. Ira has already shown me what his fear can turn into when he decides protection matters more than consent. Ezra lays those truths on the table gently, one after another, and waits for me to mistake his accuracy for care.
I let him finish. I let the old rhythm try to pull me under: Ezra calm, Ezra reasonable, Ezra giving shape to my fear like he's the only adult in a room full of monsters. Then I put both hands flat on the table.
"I saw the spirits," I say.
His face stills.
There it is. The first real crack.
"Not the random ones," I continue. "Not the dead who hover around the subway or argue about where their wedding rings went or ask me to tell their daughters they're sorry. The other ones. The ones with chains in their throats."
Ezra doesn't move. His coffee sits untouched between his hands.
"They led back to the Seminary," I say. "They weren't lost. They were sent."
"Aven." His voice softens. That's how I know he's about to lie. "You're under a great deal of strain."
"No."
"The mind makes patterns when it's frightened."
"No."
"You've always been vulnerable to suggestion from the dead."
"And you've always been excellent at making that sound like my fault."
His eyes flash then before he gets it under control almost immediately, but I see the person beneath the sweater, beneath the training, beneath the careful hands and careful voice.
"The Seminary provides sanctuary," he says. "We help restless spirits cross. We protect people like you from gifts that can become dangerous without guidance."
"You put a cross on me that burned."
"It was meant to ground you."
"It suppressed me."
"It kept you from being overwhelmed."
"It kept me from seeing the chains."
Silence drops between us.
There are students at the counter. Someone laughs near the window. Milk steams behind the bar with a shriek that sounds too much like pain and not enough like coffee. Ezra looks past me once, toward the glass, like he can feel something waiting outside.
Cain doesn't move through the bond. He stays exactly where he promised to stay.
I look at Ezra's clean hands. "Every time you told me to wear that cross for my own protection, you were teaching me to confuse pain with safety."
"That's not what I was doing."
"Then what were you doing?"
"I was trying to keep you alive."
"No," I say, and the word comes out colder than I expect. "You were trying to keep me contained."
His jaw works.
