“Sable—”
“Now.”
The word lands with enough force that even he stops pretending not to hear the command inside it. He extends his arm slowly, palm up. There are no cuts. No bruises. No swelling where bone should have shattered against dense wood. His skin looks flawless, except for the faint afterglow beneath it, a pattern that disappears the moment I focus too hard.
I grab his wrist.
He lets me.
That frightens me more than resistance would have.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Enthusiasm.”
“Corin.”
“Poor emotional regulation?”
I tighten my grip. “I saw the sigils.”
His mouth closes.
Behind me, the house door opens.
I do not turn. I already feel Rhazek before his boots touch the porch, that infernal heat threading through the bond withcareful restraint. Too careful. Carefully means guilty. Carefully means he has known exactly enough to make decisions without me.
Oh, excellent.
We are doing this again.
I release Corin’s wrist and turn. Rhazek stands at the top of the steps, black hair loose around his shoulders, eyes fixed on the shattered target with the calm expression of a man watching a cliff crumble and calculating how long before the village below notices.
“Tell me,” I say.
Rhazek’s gaze moves to mine.
“Sable—”
“No.” I point toward Corin without looking away. “You do not get to use my name as a delay tactic. Tell me what is happening.”
Corin sighs. “In fairness, no one enjoys being the subject of a yard interrogation.”
“You punched through a training dummy.”
“It was more of a firm disagreement.”
“Your shadow stretched the wrong way.”
“Shadows are dramatic by nature.”
“Your skin had sigils under it.”
He glances at Rhazek. “That one is harder to dismiss, I admit.”
Rhazek descends the porch steps, slow and controlled. “Infernal infusion occurred.”
The words hit the yard like a dropped blade.
