I should withdraw.
The thought presents itself with logical clarity, outlining the benefits of retreat and analysis within the infernal plane. However, the tether responds immediately to the idea, tightening just enough to remind me of the consequences.
Distance is no longer theoretical.
Neither is the pull.
Sable looks at me again. “Are you leaving?”
“No.”
The answer arrives without delay.
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because the bond remains unstable, your brother’s condition continues to evolve, and your tendency to move without considering the consequences has already demonstrated its effect on my manifested form.”
“That is the official answer.”
“It is sufficient.”
Corin exhales softly. “That means no.”
We return to the house together, the three of us moving in a loose formation that reflects necessity more than agreement. The interior greets us with the scent of bloodroot, ash, and dampwood, layered with the faint metallic brightness that still lingers from the contract’s alteration.
The damaged floorboards mark the site of my earlier collapse.
Corin notices my attention. “I’m still billing you for that.”
“You lack the authority.”
“I have imagination.”
Sable gestures toward the table. “Sit.”
“I feel fine.”
“You were dying yesterday. Sit.”
He considers arguing, then decides against it and drops into the chair. The movement is smooth, controlled, and far too easy for someone who should still be recovering.
Sable moves through the room, and I adjust my position instinctively, maintaining line of sight as she crosses from the stove to the basin. Each shift is small, efficient, and increasingly automatic.
She notices.
“You are hovering,” she says.
“I am maintaining optimal positioning.”
“You are standing in the doorway like a guard dog.”
“That comparison is inaccurate.”
“It is close enough.”
Corin leans back, watching us with open interest. “I’m going to start charging admission.”
I ignore him and continue tracking the bond.
