He has a pattern, the broker mentioned it. Always buying the unusual ones. But for what purpose? Curiosity, Mikaere said. Information. Testing for something.
Compatibility.
The word surfaces again. Compatible with what? For what?
Tomorrow I'll push boundaries, test limits, learn more. Tonight, I plan.
Three years I've waited for this chance. I can wait a few more days to do it right.
NEZAVEK
The scrying bowl shows me everything.
I watch Yorika through the layer of liquid shadow that serves as my window into her quarters. She lies on the bed fully clothed, every muscle coiled for action even in supposed rest. Her hand never strays far from the knife in her boot. Even unconscious, she's ready for war.
The anchor bond pulses between us, not complete, not yet, but present. A thread of connection I can follow like tracking prey through darkness. Through it, her emotions flow: rage (expected), determination (admirable), grief (constant), and something else. Something she doesn't want to acknowledge.
When I touched her arm to transport her here, her body responded. Not fear. Something else. My proximity affects her in ways she’s fighting hard to ignore. She hated that response. Hates it still.
The tremor hits without warning.
My form scatters across the study, shadows spreading thin, consciousness fragmenting into too many pieces. For a moment, I exist everywhere and nowhere: in the walls, in the air, in the spaces between heartbeats.
Three months since the Collector discovered how to poison the void paths themselves. The taint spreads through every shadow road, every dissolution, every use of my nature. I feel it now, corruption threading through my essence like acid through veins.
Meditation slows it. Staying solid helps. But only an anchor bond can burn the poison clean. Without one, I have weeks at most.
I force myself back together, but it takes longer than yesterday. Longer than this morning. The edges won't quite solidify, leaving me translucent, barely there.
I feel Yorika shift in her sleep, responding to my distress without waking.
"Master."
Mikaere stands in the doorway, all four arms crossed in what would be disapproval if he allowed himself such emotions.
"Report," I manage, though speaking costs more effort than it should.
"The human tested every surface of her quarters. Twice. She identified the observation properties of the mirror within minutes." He pauses. "She's already planning something."
"Of course she is."
"Master, she's dangerous."
"Yes."
"More dangerous than the others."
"Yes."
"Then why."
"Because she doesn't flinch." I turn from the scrying pool to face him fully. "Because her mind works in patterns I haven't seen before. Because she has the anchor potential."
"The tremors are getting worse."
"I'm aware."
"If she doesn't accept the bond soon."
