I could leave. Could try again.
But where would I go? Back to dying? Back to Columbus where everyone would see me as claimed property?
No. Stuck here. At least until I figure out what survival looks like.
Which means testing the new boundaries.
After getting dressed and pulling my hair into a messy bun, I walk downstairs like I own the place.
They're all in the kitchen. Dorian making coffee. Oakley doing something with eggs. Corvus reading the news on his tablet.
All three freeze when I enter.
"Morning," I say.
"Morning," Dorian says carefully. The way you'd address a live grenade.
"Can I use the kitchen? I want to make toast."
Silence.
"Of course," Oakley says. "Whatever you need."
Toast. Butter. Orange juice. I settle at the kitchen island like this is normal.
They're all watching me. Trying not to be obvious about it. Failing spectacularly.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," Dorian says. "You seem better."
"I am better." I bite into the toast. "Proximity is helping. Like Corvus said it would."
"That's good," Oakley says. Too enthusiastic. Too eager.
Turning to Corvus, I set down my toast. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"In your research. About fated mates. About rejection sickness. How long until I'm... stable?"
He sets down his tablet. "Define stable."
"Not dying if I leave."
His eyes hold mine. "Years. Maybe never. The bond is permanent. Distance will always cause deterioration."
"So I'm stuck."
"Biologically, yes."
The truth of it settles in my chest. Heavy. Unmovable. Already knew it, but hearing it confirmed is different.
"Okay," I say. "Then I need different rules."
Dorian leans against the counter. "What kind of rules?"
"Full access to the house. No locked doors except my own bedroom. I want my laptop back with internet. I want to be able to go outside without supervision."
