I refuse visible reaction.
Inside, my calculations detonate.
Forced cardiac arrest. Severance window. Anchor collapse. Manifestation destabilization. Secondary consequence to Corin’s restoration unknown. Sable’s mortality becomes the attack vector, not because Maltherion cannot breach the wards, but because he need only stop her heart long enough to break the contract’s living rhythm.
I memorize every implication while keeping my face empty.
“You assume access,” I say.
Maltherion’s smile thins. “I prepare access.”
Corin steps forward before Sable can catch his sleeve again. “Then prepare harder.”
Sable hisses, “Corin.”
He does not look away from the projection. “No. I’m tired of everyone talking around us like we’re meat with opinions.” He raises the iron stake toward Maltherion, and his voice steadies in a way that makes even the wardline answer with a faint hum. “If you want her heart, you come through me first.”
Maltherion’s eyes brighten.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “The brother believes himself a barrier.”
“I believe you heard me.”
“I did. That is why I am amused.”
Corin’s jaw tightens. “Come closer and laugh.”
Sable grabs his arm this time, but she does not pull him back. Her fingers dig into his sleeve, and her pulse is a storm through the tether, fear and fury braided so tightly that my core strains against both.
Maltherion looks between them, then at me. “You have been softened.”
“I have been informed,” I reply.
“You are standing before mortals as though they are worth shielding.”
“They are worth denying you.”
“Such discipline. Such austerity. Such romantic deterioration.” His expression shifts, and the mockery sharpens into intent. “I am preparing ritual severance. You may enjoy your anchor while her heart remains obedient, but every rhythm can be interrupted.”
Sable’s voice cuts through the night. “Try it, and I’ll make sure whatever is left of you regrets learning my name.”
Maltherion smiles at her with genuine pleasure. “There she is.”
The projection begins to thin, smoke peeling away from the edges of his form.
I step forward. “Maltherion.”
His gaze returns to mine.
“If you cross the lattice, I will unmake you.”
“No,” he says softly. “You will try while wondering whether she is still breathing.”
The projection dissipates.
The night rushes back in around the house, sound returning in layers: distant rainwater dripping from gutters, Corin’s controlled breathing, Sable’s pulse hammering through thetether, and the wards humming like iron insects beneath the foundation. I move before either mortal speaks.
Power drives through the lattice.
