“That doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
“It usually does.”
“Not with this.”
He looks back at me, and for a moment, the humor fades completely. “You think I’m… what? Infected? Changed? Secretly turning into something with terrible manners?”
“I think you just healed like Rhazek.”
That lands.
Hard.
Corin’s posture straightens slightly, not defensive, not aggressive—alert. “That’s a bold comparison.”
“It’s an accurate one.”
He considers that, gaze drifting briefly toward the house where Rhazek is undoubtedly aware of this conversation whether he’s physically present or not. Then his mouth curves again, softer now.
“Well,” he says, “if I’m becoming infernally enhanced, I do hope I get the wardrobe upgrade.”
I stare at him.
He sighs. “Too soon.”
“Yes.”
He lifts his hand, turning it under the light again. “It doesn’t feel different.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not alarming either.”
“It should be.”
He shrugs again, but there’s tension in it now. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”
“I will keep an eye on it,” I correct.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s meant to.”
Something flickers behind him.
I shift my gaze past his shoulder.
His shadow.
It moves.
Not dramatically. Not enough to scream danger. Just… slightly off. The edges ripple for a fraction of a second, like heat distortion over stone, then settle back into place.
My grip tightens again.
“Don’t move,” I say.
He freezes. “I wasn’t planning to.”
