“Better,” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
“You feel it too.”
“I do.”
I adjust the current again, this time lower, subtler. A quieter frequency. The bond shifts with it, not resisting the change. Sable responds instantly, her own energy threading alongside mine, adapting without strain.
“Show-off,” she says.
“I am demonstrating.”
“You’re flirting.”
“Also accurate.”
Her laugh is softer this time, less edged. It settles into the space between us like something that belongs there.
Downstairs, a floorboard creaks.
Corin.
I do not need to look to know he’s there, somewhere in the lower hall, leaning against a wall or seated on the edge of a table, listening with that infuriatingly perceptive stillness he adopts when something interests him more than he wants to admit.
The bond’s rhythm shifts slightly as Sable leans her forehead briefly against my chest. Her breathing synchronizes with mine without effort now. Not forced. Not dragged into alignment. It simply… happens.
The current between us strengthens.
Not violently. Not in the way it did during crisis or ritual. This is something else—something controlled, deliberate, almost… exploratory.
I let it build.
Sable responds in kind, her energy rising to meet mine, not lagging, not compensating. Equal.
Always equal now.
Below us, Corin exhales quietly.
I do not need the bond to feel his reaction, though I catch a faint echo of it anyway—something like satisfaction, threaded with relief and the smallest hint of amusement.
“Of course,” he mutters to himself, just loud enough for my hearing to catch. “They’ve turned catastrophic merging into a stable pattern. Naturally.”
Sable lifts her head slightly. “He’s listening.”
“Yes.”
“Should we be offended?”
“He would be disappointed if we were not aware.”
“Fair.”
Her fingers trace along my collarbone, and the simple contact sends another controlled pulse through the bond. I adjust again, testing a higher threshold.
She meets it.
No hesitation.
