“There are likely dozens,” I say.
Corin tightens his grip on the hammer. “Then we break dozens.”
“We return first.”
He looks ready to argue until he glances at my hand and sees the faint distortion along my fingers. “You’re at your limit.”
“I am within operational tolerance.”
“That means limit.”
“It means we return.”
He nods once. “Fine. But we start breaking them after.”
We move faster on the way back. The tether pulls harder with each step, not because Sable is farther, but because she is aware of our absence now. Her pulse has risen despite her breathing discipline. She is angry. Afraid. Counting.
When we reach the house, she is waiting in the doorway.
Her eyes go immediately to Corin, then to me, checking for blood, smoke, curses, possession, and smugness in that order.
“Well?” she demands.
Corin lifts the hammer. “We found a ward parasite, smashed it, burned it, and then found kidnapping road scribbles.”
Her face pales. “Kidnapping what?”
“Abduction preparation markers,” I say, stepping past the threshold. “Maltherion is constructing a route.”
Sable’s fear hits the tether, but she clamps down on it so fast that the pulse barely spikes. “How many?”
“Unknown.”
“That is my least favorite number.”
I double the ward density before answering further.
The house flares red.
Every sigil tightens, every iron anchor deepens its hold, and the lattice compresses inward before pushing outward with doubled resistance. Sable grips the doorframe as the force moves through the structure. Corin does not wait for instruction. He takes the remaining iron anchors and moves to the outer perimeter, hammer already swinging before he reaches the north wall.
Strike after strike rings through the district.
Sable watches him from the doorway, her mouth tight. “He’s faster again.”
“Yes.”
“We are going to discuss that.”
“Yes.”
“We are also going to discuss you taking him with you.”
“Yes.”
“And you not telling me abduction was on the table.”
“I did not know until I found the markers.”
