Corin leans over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”
“A way out,” I say. “Or a way to bend it.”
“Good plan.”
I underline a section, frowning. “This part. ‘Life continuity remains bound to mutual preservation parameters.’”
Corin tilts his head. “That sounds complicated.”
“It sounds vague,” I say. “Which means it’s flexible.”
Rhazek’s voice cuts in, low and precise. “Infernal contracts are not designed to be exploited by mortals.”
“Everything is exploitable,” I reply without looking up. “You just have to find the weak point.”
Corin straightens, rolling his shoulders. “Speaking of weak points…”
He grabs the edge of the table and lifts.
Not just a little.
He lifts it clean off the floor.
I stare at him. “Put that down.”
He sets it back carefully, clearly pleased with himself. “Still getting stronger.”
Rhazek watches him closely. “Your healing has been accelerated beyond baseline parameters due to infernal exposure.”
“Translation?” Corin asks.
“You are not finished changing.”
Corin’s grin falters slightly. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is incomplete.”
“That’s not comforting.”
I keep writing, my mind racing ahead now. The phrasing is messy in places, layered in ways that feel deliberate but not absolute. There are gaps, small inconsistencies where intent and execution don’t align perfectly.
And in those gaps?—
Opportunity.
I tap the parchment. “This isn’t finished.”
Rhazek’s gaze sharpens. “Explain.”
“This clause,” I say, pointing. “Life continuity. It doesn’t define the limits clearly. It ties stability to preservation, but it doesn’t lock how that preservation works.”
Corin leans in again. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it might be negotiable,” I say slowly.
The word hangs in the air.
Rhazek does not interrupt.
