Actual strands of something molten and wrong shimmer around Rhazek like torn seams in reality, snapping and recoiling, trying to decide whether to retreat or lash out again.
“Corin!” I bark. “Kill the rest of it.”
“I am trying not to die while doing so,” he snaps back, already moving. He slams iron stakes into the ground one by one along the broken perimeter, each impact ringing sharp and metallic, each strike sending a pulse through the earth that makes the remaining sigils sputter and choke.
“Left side,” I call.
“I see it.”
“Then move faster.”
“Charming,” he mutters, but his hands don’t slow.
Rhazek stumbles again, and this time I feel it through the bond before I see it—his strength dipping hard, his control fraying at the edges. One of those flickering strands lashes out behind him, snapping through the air like a whip before recoiling.
My stomach turns.
“Inside,” I say, more quietly now, my grip tightening. “Now.”
He leans into me more than he would ever admit, his arm heavy over my shoulders, his breath uneven against my temple. “You are smaller than ideal for this task.”
“And you are heavier than necessary. Keep moving.”
Corin drives the last stake down with a sharp curse, and the remaining glow in the yard gutters out like a candle choked by its own smoke.
“That should hold,” he says, straightening. Then he looks at Rhazek—and for once, there’s no sarcasm there. “Get him inside. If those strands decide to snap again, I’d rather they do it somewhere with walls.”
“Working on it,” I mutter.
Between the two of us, we drag Rhazek toward the house. His boots scrape against the ground, catching on broken roots and uneven stone, but he doesn’t fight me. That, more than anything, scares me.
Inside, the air still carries the aftermath of everything we’ve done—burnt magic, cracked wood, the faint metallic tang of stress in the structure itself. The door slams shut behind us, and Corin moves immediately, setting fresh wards along the frame with quick, practiced motions.
I don’t stop moving.
I shove Rhazek toward the nearest chair.
He catches himself on the armrest, straightening just enough to glare at me. “I am not finished.”
“Oh, you are absolutely finished,” I say, and then I physically shove him down.
The chair groans under his weight. He grabs the edge like he’s about to stand again.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“I can stabilize the severance?—”
“No.” My voice cracks like a whip. “You don’t get to say that word again tonight.”
Corin glances between us, then moves to the door. “I am locking this down. If the house starts collapsing, I will intervene. Otherwise, you two can attempt to kill each other in peace.”
“Stay out of it,” I snap.
“Gladly.”
The ward flares as he seals it, and then he’s gone—downstairs, leaving us in the strained quiet of a room that has already survived too much.
I turn back to Rhazek.
