His gaze settles on mine. “Bare skin,” he says quietly. No softness in the words. “You’ll need to remove the top layer.”
My breath catches. I swallow hard, pulse kicking up as heat creeps up my neck.
Because of course. Why wouldn’t this magical bond also involve emotional vulnerabilityandpartial nudity?
Raiden’s gaze doesn’t waver. He’s controlled. Distant. Like he’s already braced himself for what’s coming—and shut every door behind his eyes.
I nod, throat dry. My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for the ties at the collar of the ritual cloak. The fabric is light, too light, and it rustles softly as I loosen it and slip it off.
Cool air brushes my skin. I fold the cloak carefully and lay it over a nearby bench, trying to pretend my heart isn’t pounding like it’s about to crack open my ribs.
Trying not to wonder if he can hear it.
“Why did you tether yourself to me?” he asks.
I blink, caught off guard. My fingers freeze at the hem of my tunic.
Seriously?
I look up at him. “Yeah, I just figured binding my unstable magic to the grumpiest guy in the room sounded like a great time.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something tightens in his jaw.
“I—I didn’t,” I add, softer now. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
He exhales and glances away. “I felt it, Lindsay. At the dueling pits—it snapped right out of you and into me.”
I shake my head, pulse spiking. “I didn’t even know you wereat the Undercourt.I was kind of busy not dying.”
Raiden’s eyes flick back to mine. He studies me for a second, then lowers his gaze to my hands.
His voice is quieter this time. Still flat, but strained at the edges. “It won’t work through cloth.”
I stare at him. “What, the magic? Or your ability to keep making this more awkward?”
His eyes lift to meet mine again—steady, unreadable.
“It has to be skin to skin,” he says.
My fingers tighten around the hem of the tunic. Every instinct in me is screamingrun, but my feet stay rooted to the stone like they’ve made some kind of suicidal peace with this. I nod once, barely, and pull the tunic over my head.
The air is instantly colder, sharp against my skin. Goosebumps rise before the fabric even hits the floor. The thin bra they provided offers little in the way of modesty.
Raiden doesn’t move. His gaze holds above my shoulders, distant and disciplined, but there’s a flicker in the set of his jaw and the shift of muscle under inked skin.
He’s not unaffected. He’s just very,verygood at pretending.
Lucky me.
Professor River’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Now. Stand inside the circle—opposite.”
I kick off the slippers they gave me, forcing my legs to move. The stone bites cold against my bare feet. Raiden steps forward, matching me without hesitation, like this is just another line on his schedule between Brooding Practice and Judging People Who Breathe Too Loud.
The runes beneath us pulse, faint and rhythmic. Like they’re waiting. Watching.
Why give me so much clothing if I was just going to end up half-undressed in a glowing circle with the guy who clearly hates this?
