Banu nods eagerly. "It's perfect—already designed to contain consciousness, which is essentially what the binding is. A ghost of a binding needs a ghost of a vessel."
I exchange a quick look with Emir. "Get it. You know where."
Emir vanishes without a word, moving with the unnatural speed that centuries of shadow magic have granted him.
I turn my attention back to Nesilhan. The chains are tightening faster now, pulsing with erratic energy. Her face has gone pale, sweat beading at her temples as she struggles to breathe through the constriction.
Nesilhan cries out again, the chains visibly tightening around her torso. I kneel beside her, not touching but close enough that she can feel my presence. "Hold on," I murmur, darkness surging with helpless rage. "Just hold on."
Across the room, Yasar is no better, his face contorted with pain as he slumps against the wall. For once, his usual smirking composure has completely abandoned him.
Elçin works quickly, her hands tracing complex patterns over the visible chains. Through her touch on the visible silver chains, she can sense the chaotic energy. "Passing through that realm weakened its structure. I warned this might happen—that kind of dimensional crossing puts enormous strain on soul-level magic. It was only a matter of time before it reached critical failure."
Emir returns in a swirl of shadow, holding the crystal vial. The black crystal gleams with faint golden light—the last remnants of Aslan's trapped consciousness. I take it from him, studying the intricate magical architecture I'd designed specifically to torment my wife's former lover.
"Poetic justice," I say, handing it to Elçin. "The man who wanted her will now serve as the prison for the magic that kept her bound to another."
Elçin takes the vial, examining it with sharp focus. "This will work. The containment spellwork is..." She pauses, her eyes widening slightly as she traces a particular pattern of runes. "Impressive."
"I'm known for my ingenuity when properly motivated," I reply darkly.
Another cry from Nesilhan draws my attention. The silver chains are pulsing faster, squeezing tighter with each heartbeat.
"Do it now," I order Elçin.
"Everyone out," she says, already positioning the vial between Nesilhan and Yasar. "The transfer ritual is volatile—magic this unstable could have unpredictable effects on anyone nearby."
My shadows surge protectively around Nesilhan. "I stay."
Elçin looks up, her storm-gray eyes meeting mine with unusual intensity. "The magic could kill all three of us if something goes wrong. Is that what you want? For Nesilhan to die because you were too stubborn to wait outside?"
Banu tugs at my arm. "Come on, Shadow Lord. Even monsters need to know when to step back."
Nesilhan's eyes find mine through her pain. "Go," she whispers. "Please."
I hesitate, caught between competing instincts.
Emir steps forward. "My lord. Let her work."
The stoic practicality in his voice—the same tone he's used in every battle and crisis finally cuts through my resistance. I back toward the door where Emir and Banu wait.
"This had better work," I tell Elçin, shadows coiling tightly around my fists. "Or I'll find new uses for that soul bottle."
"Save your threats for someone who's impressed by them," Elçin replies, already turning back to her patients. "I need concentration, not an audience."
The door closes behind us, and immediately my shadows lash at the walls, seeking an outlet for helpless rage.
Through the door come the sounds of chanting—Elçin's voice rising and falling in the ancient language of binding magic. Then, screams—first Nesilhan's, then Yasar's, their voices twisting together in a harmony of agony that makes my shadows whip violently around me.
Light flashes through the cracks around the door—silver and gold intertwined, blindingly bright. Then silence falls, so complete and sudden that it seems to have physical weight.
I count my own heartbeats—one, three, seven—before the door opens. Elçin stands in the doorway, blood streaming from her nose, her face deathly pale but her expression composed.
"It's done," she says simply, and steps aside.
I push past her into the room, my gaze finding Nesilhan immediately. She sits on the edge of the chaise, breathing deeply, her face still pale but free from pain. No silver chains constrict her chest. No magical signature lingers in the air around her.
"Nesilhan?" I move toward her, stopping just short of touching, still uncertain of my welcome despite everything we've shared in the Veil.
