Corin rises to his feet, brushing his hands together. “Good. I’ve always wanted to be terrifying in new and exciting ways.”
“Corin,” I warn.
“What?” he says. “If I’m going to survive being magically rewired, I might as well enjoy the perks.”
I turn away before I can respond and face Rhazek instead. “Stay here.”
“This room is suboptimal.”
“This room has walls,” I say. “And a door. You’ll live.”
“That outcome is not currently in question.”
“Then stop arguing and stay.”
He studies me for a moment, and I feel that strange, quiet pressure of his attention settle over me again. The tether hums faintly, steady but alert, like it’s waiting to see which direction I’m going to push next.
“Very well,” he says.
I don’t thank him.
Instead, I turn and head back downstairs. Corin lingers for a second, glancing between us, then follows me with a low whistle.
“You just assigned a demon to a guest room,” he says as we descend. “I feel like we should mark the date.”
“I assigned a problem to a contained space,” I correct.
“That is one way to phrase it.”
We settle back into the kitchen, though “settle” feels like a generous word for what is happening. The air is still charged, still sharp with everything that has changed, and the normalcy of a table and chairs does nothing to soften it.
I shove a bowl toward Corin. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
He takes the bowl, eyeing me. “You’re cooking through a crisis.”
“I’m thinking through a crisis,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Barely.”
I ladle stew into another bowl, the scent of root vegetables and broth rising with the steam. It should be comforting. It isn’t. Not anymore.
Rhazek appears in the doorway.
I don’t hear him come down the stairs.
He’s just there.
Again.
I slam the ladle down harder than necessary. “We talked about this.”
“I am within acceptable proximity.”
“You’re also ignoring instructions.”
