If I'm going to keep Lenna here—and apparently I've decided that I am, despite every logical argument against it—then she needs to be able to function independently with the beasts. She's proven she can handle them. Azhrael responds to her better than anyone else. Restricting her access when the beasts clearly want her proximity is inefficient.
And it's not like they could escape. The containment barriers prevent exit, not entry. Tying her signature to the ward would simply allow her to pass through when needed.
"I could tie your signature to the containment barrier," I hear myself say. "It would let you pass through without needing me to lower it every time."
Lenna's eyes widen slightly. "You can do that?"
"It's standard protocol for primary handlers." Which is true, though I've never extended that access to temporary laborers before. "It wouldn't give you control over the barriers, just permission to pass through them."
She glances at Azhrael, who has gone very still watching our exchange. Then back at me. "Yes. If it helps him, yes."
The agreement comes too quickly. Like she doesn't fully understand what she's accepting, or doesn't care about potential complications because Azhrael is distressed.
That protective instinct toward the beasts. The way she prioritizes their wellbeing over her own safety or status.
It does something to my composure that I refuse to examine.
"It requires physical contact," I say, moving closer to her. "The binding ritual needs to read your magical signature and tie it to the existing ward structure."
"Alright." She turns to face me fully, and I notice the way her breathing has changed. Shallow. Faster than it should be for a conversation this mundane.
I raise my hand, palm up. "Your wrist."
Lenna extends her arm, and I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, pulse point fluttering against my fingertips in a rapid rhythm that matches the sudden acceleration of my own heartbeat.
The moment full contact establishes, something rushes through me.
It's immediate and overwhelming—a surge of warmth that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do withrecognition. My body knows this. Knows her. Every nerve ending lights up with visceral certainty that this contact isright, that I should pull her closer, that the space between us is an error requiring immediate correction.
The urge to wrap my other arm around her waist, to drag her against me, to bury my face in her hair and justfeelher is so intense it takes active effort to resist.
It reminds me of my dream, of her pressed against me, of holding her close. My body islongingfor it in a way that feels like I've been deprived air.
Which doesn't make sense when I've never touched her before.
My breathing hitches. My grip on her wrist tightens involuntarily before I force myself to ease the pressure.
Focus.
I pull magic to the surface, channeling it through the point of contact to read her signature. The process should be simple—a basic magical scan that takes seconds, followed by the binding spell that ties her essence to the ward permissions.
But the magic responds to her like it recognizes her.
It shouldn't do that. Magical signatures are unique identifiers, but they don't carry memory. They're neutral markers, like fingerprints. The ward system shouldn't respond to her with anything beyond basic registration.
Instead, it practicallywelcomesher. The binding spell completes with unusual ease, the ward structure accepting her signature as though it's been waiting for it. As though she's not a stranger to this system but someone returning to a place she already belongs.
That's impossible.
I finish the binding and step back immediately, dropping contact before I do something I can't explain. The warmth lingers in my palm where I touched her, and I have to consciously resist the urge to reach for her again.
I can't look at her. Can't risk seeing whatever expression might be on her face right now because I'm barely holding my own composure together.
"It's done," I manage, my voice rougher than it should be. "You can pass through the containment barriers in this section now. The permission is limited to Azhrael's enclosure and the connecting walkways."
"Thank you."
Her voice is quiet. Unsteady in ways that match the chaos in my system.
