“You will not repeat that test,” he says.
“I know.”
“I am not making a request.”
“I said I know.”
Corin still has one hand braced against Rhazek’s back, and his face is pale with anger. “You should have stopped at ten.”
“I thought he could hold longer.”
“He nearly split apart in the street.”
Rhazek straightens slowly, though Corin does not release him until he is certain the demon can stand. That, more than anything, unsettles me. My brother is supporting a demon in public, and neither of them has the sense to find it absurd.
I step closer to Rhazek, not away. “No more range tests.”
His gaze searches mine. “You understand now.”
“Yes.”
The admission tastes bitter.
I understand too well. This is not inconvenience or discomfort. Distance does not merely weaken him. It damages him. Whatever I am to the bond, I am not a loose condition written into a clause. I am part of the structure holding him here.
Corin picks up the sack and shoves it against my chest. “We’re going home.”
“For once, I’m not arguing.”
“Miracle of miracles.”
We return without stopping, the market noise fading behind us as the lanes narrow toward our district. I feel Rhazek close at my back the entire way, and I do not complain when his shadow falls over mine.
At home, Corin drops the supplies onto the table with enough force to rattle the cups. “We fortify everything.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Not just the yard. Windows, roofline, cellar stones, chimney, every threshold.”
“Yes.”
“And you stop conducting experiments that require catching collapsing demons in public.”
I look at him. “That was very specific.”
“It was a memorable experience.”
Rhazek stands near the door, clearer now that I am close, but quiet. Too quiet.
I spread parchment across the table and begin mapping the house. The ink scratches fast beneath my hand as I mark every wall, every window, every exterior stone. The smell of iron filings mingles with the bitter resin and the fading steam from tea no one drinks.
“Corin,” I say, pointing with the quill, “outer ward reinforcement. Start with the north wall, then the alley stones. Use iron anchors every three feet.”
He takes the hammer and spikes without hesitation. “Done.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
He gives me a look. “After today, you are not allowed to say that to me.”
