He grins. “Sorry. I sensed a rodeo joke opportunity and chose poorly.”
Rhazek looks between us. “I do not understand.”
“Good,” I say. “Stay pure.”
I close my eyes.
Corin’s voice lowers, steady and deliberate. “Inhale. One, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five, six. Exhale. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”
I follow the count.
At first, my body resists the insult of being managed. My lungs want to snatch air too quickly, my heart wants to trip over itself, and my mind keeps flashing back to Maltherion’s voice above the roofline, silk-smooth and obscene, telling us every rhythm can be interrupted. I force my shoulders down. I unclench my jaw. I breathe again.
Corin counts.
Rhazek monitors.
I feel him doing it, that constant attention threaded through the tether. It should make me furious. It still does, a little. Yet beneath the irritation is the ugly truth that his awareness may be the only reason I know when something else is listening too.
After five cycles, my pulse begins to slow.
Rhazek’s voice comes from across the room. “Better.”
“Try not to sound shocked.”
“I am not shocked.”
“Disappointed?”
“Observant.”
Corin marks the wall with charcoal. “Baseline achieved after five cycles.”
I open one eye. “Are you writing on my wall?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Data.”
“That is not your wall.”
“It’s our survival wall now.”
Rhazek inclines his head slightly. “The system has merit.”
Corin points the charcoal at him. “I knew you’d come around.”
“Do not overstate the moment.”
I breathe again, then deliberately break the pattern.
I make myself inhale fast, shallow and sharp, dragging air high into my chest until my pulse kicks upward. The tether reacts at once. Rhazek flickers across the room, his outline blurring at the shoulders, but he stabilizes before the distortion reaches his hands.
Corin slashes a mark on the wall. “Faster recovery.”
Rhazek’s eyes narrow. “Warn me before intentional destabilization.”
