“Relevant to you,” Corin says. “Not necessarily to us.”
Rhazek does not respond.
I lean forward, irritation sharpening my voice. “What about me?”
“You remain the anchor.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the current condition.”
Frustration flares again, sharp and hot, and I feel the tether react instantly. My pulse spikes, my breath quickens, and before I can even process the change?—
He’s gone.
The chair is empty.
The air shifts violently, heat flaring at the edges of the room, and then he is in the doorway again.
Corin chokes on his stew. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I stare at Rhazek, my chest still tight from the spike in my breathing. “You didn’t decide to move.”
“No,” he says.
“You reacted.”
“Yes.”
Corin wipes his mouth, shaking his head. “That’s not controlled. That’s reflex.”
Rhazek’s jaw tightens slightly. “It is adaptive.”
“It is automatic,” Corin corrects.
I push back from the table and start pacing, my mind racing faster now that I have something concrete to work with. “So if I get upset, you move.”
“If your emotional state disrupts the tether, my manifestation compensates.”
“That’s not compensation,” I mutter. “That’s chasing stability.”
Corin grins. “You’ve got him on a leash and you didn’t even know it.”
“I do not have him on a leash,” I snap.
“Sure you don’t.”
I ignore him and grab a piece of parchment from the shelf, along with ink and a quill. The contract is still fresh in my mind, the phrasing burned into memory whether I like it or not.
I start writing.
“Vitality proximity requirement,” I mutter as I copy the clause. “Life continuity… shared stabilization… conditional range…”
Rhazek watches me.
He doesn’t stop me.
That alone tells me more than anything he’s said out loud.
