“Then show me.”
He does not answer immediately, and the silence stretches between us, heavy with calculation.
I step closer, close enough to feel the lingering heat from his abrupt arrival. “You don’t get to bind yourself to me and then expect obedience without explanation.”
His gaze sharpens, something more intent settling into it. “You assume obedience is what I expect.”
“Then what do you expect?”
“Adaptation.”
I hold his stare, refusing to yield. “Then start adapting to me,” I say, my voice low and steady. “And show me the damn contract.”
4
RHAZEK
The demand hangs between us with the force of a blade pressed to the throat of an agreement neither of us fully understands, and I feel the tether tighten in response to the tension coiling through her body. Sable’s pulse strikes through the bond in sharp, uneven rhythms, each acceleration pushing against my core with enough force to disrupt the clean stability I had only just begun to map. The district air tastes of salt, soot, damp stone, and human habitation, all layered over the fading heat of my forced manifestation, and none of it distracts from the singular, unavoidable fact that her emotional state is no longer separate from my structural integrity.
She lifts her chin, eyes hard. “I said show me the damn contract.”
Corin remains in the doorway behind her, arms folded across his chest, no trace of the failing body I observed the previous cycle. His aura no longer flickers weakly at the edges; instead, it expands outward in irregular pulses, gathering density at a rate that suggests ongoing transformation rather than simple restoration. He watches me the way one watches a threat thathas not yet decided which direction to strike, and that attention does not falter when I meet it.
I extend my hand, palm upward. “Very well.”
Sable narrows her eyes. “That was too easy.”
“You demanded transparency. I am providing a controlled portion of it.”
“That sounds like fancy phrasing for being slippery.”
“It is precise phrasing for preventing cognitive overload while maintaining contractual integrity.”
Corin lets out a quiet breath that carries the edge of a laugh. “That sounded like fancy phrasing too.”
I glance at him without shifting posture. “Your commentary continues to lack relevance.”
“Still optimistic about changing that.”
Sable’s mouth almost curves, just barely, and the tether reacts at once. A brief warmth moves through my core, smoothing the minor distortions lingering from earlier instability. The sensation does not belong to me. It is not something I generate or command. It originates with her, passes through the bond, and alters my state with a precision that no infernal construct has ever required.
I draw the contract into visible form.
The script ignites in the air above my hand, red lines curling outward into layered rings of infernal structure. The symbols are adjusted for mortal comprehension, their meaning translated without dissolving their binding authority. The effort should require more stabilization than it does, but her proximity compensates for the deficit with unsettling efficiency.
Sable leans closer, her attention sharpening.
Corin moves in as well, though he halts just outside the immediate radius of the script. His caution is deliberate, not instinctive, and I note the difference. He senses the pressure ofinfernal law without recoiling from it, which suggests the bond’s effects extend beyond physical restoration.
The central clause brightens.
Sable reads it aloud, each word flattening slightly under the weight of comprehension. “Vitality proximity requirement.”
She looks up, anger rising in a clean, sharp line. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means the bond requires maintained distance parameters for structural stability,” I reply.
“That is not an explanation.”
