The tremor hits without warning, violent enough to scatter me across three dimensions. When I pull myself back together, I'm barely visible. The dissolution is accelerating.
The Bone Collector's signature has been growing stronger. He's hunting.
I feel Yorika moving through the library, climbing the impossible stairs, following some instinct toward...
No.
I solidify in the corridor just as she finds it, the hidden entrance to my research chamber. Her fingers trace the concealed seam, finding the weakness in the ward.
"Stop."
She spins, knife already in hand. "There's something here."
"Yes. And it's not for you."
"More secrets?"
"Safety measures. That chamber contains things that would hurt you. Not physically, emotionally. Things about the Collector, about his victims. Things you're not ready to see."
"I've been ready for three years."
"No. You've been angry for three years. There's a difference."
She steps toward the hidden door. "I need to know."
I'm suddenly there, between her and the entrance, my form more solid than it's been all day. The proximity to her, the surge of protective instinct, gives me strength I shouldn't have.
"You need to stop." My voice drops to something darker. "These defenses don't distinguish between friend and foe. Touch that door without me, and you'll be scattered across seventeen dimensions before you can scream."
"Then come with me. Show me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because once you see what's in there, you can't unsee it. And right now, your anger is keeping you functional. What's in that room would break you."
"You don't know what would break me."
"Don't I?" I lean closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "I can taste your emotions, Yorika. Every single one. The rage that keeps you moving. The grief you won't let yourself fully feel. The guilt that you weren't there to save her. And underneath all of that, tiny fragile hope that maybe your sister can still be saved. That room would kill that hope."
"Maybe it needs to die."
She tries to move around me. I block her. She tries the other direction. I'm there too, shadow moving faster than flesh.
"Move," she demands.
"No."
"I said move."
"Make me."
The challenge hangs between us. Her hand goes to her knife. I let my form solidify further, shadow tendrils spreading to block the entire corridor.
She doesn't draw the knife. Instead, she does something unexpected. She presses her body against mine, one hand sliding up my chest while the other traces patterns on my arm.
"Is this what you want?" Her voice drops to a purr. "Me to beg for access? Me to offer myself in trade?"
