“I did not design the clause.”
“You are still the one standing in it.”
Corin gestures between us. “So if she walks off, you start falling apart?”
“That is an imprecise but directionally accurate description.”
“That is the worst kind of accurate.”
I turn toward the corner of the adjacent building, where the lane bends out of direct sight. The moment the structure blocks visual contact, the tether tightens abruptly. The shift is immediate and violent.
Pain fractures through my ribs with surgical precision.
It is not a dull ache or a spreading burn; it is a clean break, as though something fundamental has been forced out of alignment. My hand strikes the wall to steady the form, and for a moment the world becomes too loud, too sharp, every sensory input amplified beyond tolerance.
I step back into view.
The pain recedes in layers, each step toward her restoring structural coherence.
Sable is already moving, her expression no longer just angry but edged with something sharper.
“What happened?” she demands.
“Line-of-sight interruption increases destabilization,” I say, controlling my breathing as the last of the fracture settles.
“You mean turning a corner nearly dropped you.”
“I mean the clause is more restrictive than initial projection.”
Corin watches with narrowed eyes, his attention shifting from me to Sable and back again as he processes the implications. His aura pulses again, brighter this time, as though the bond continues to feed something within him.
I focus on him directly.
He feels it.
I can see the moment the awareness settles across his expression, not as fear but as acknowledgment. He does not step back or flinch. Instead, he studies me with the same steady focus he applied when he was weak, only now there is strength behind it.
“What?” he asks.
“You perceive the infernal field.”
“I perceive that you’re staring at me like you’re trying to take me apart piece by piece.”
“That is not inaccurate.”
Sable glances between us. “Corin?”
He shrugs slightly. “It feels like standing near a furnace with the doors shut. You know it is hot, you know it could get worse, and you’re not entirely sure how far you can push it before something goes wrong.”
The description aligns closely with my own perception of the altered bond.
I shift my attention back to Sable and begin tracking her heartbeat in real time. The rhythm overlays my own structural stability, each change in pace corresponding to subtle fluctuations in my manifested form. Anger produces sharp spikes followed by rapid correction. Concern creates a heavier, steadier pattern that reinforces cohesion. Humor introduces a brief warmth that smooths the outer edges of distortion.
Corin watches me too closely.
“You’re doing something,” he says.
“I am observing.”
