His shadows reached across the hall before she'd finished processing the instruction.
They wrapped around her wrists with that now-familiar combination of cool silk and barely leashed power, and every coherent thought she'd been holding dissolved. They guided her hands to the correct positions, adjusting her grip in a way that should have felt impersonal.
It didn't feel impersonal.
It felt like his fingers closing around hers. Like he was standing behind her, his chest against her back, his hands covering her hands, showing her how.
She swallowed hard.
When she made the adjustment, the energy flowed in balance, creating a rhythm among all the mechanisms.
But the shadows didn't withdraw.
They remained wrapped around her wrists, their touch firm enough to guide but gentle enough that she could break free if she wanted. Which she absolutely should want. Which any rational person trapped in a Death Lord's realm would want.
Except her pulse was doing something entirely traitorous, and pulling away was the last thing on her mind.
"Better," he said from across the hall, and his voice had dropped to that rough edge that crept in when his control was working harder than usual. "I can't see the individual threads from here. Only the overall power levels. Your eyes are essential for the fine adjustments."
Your eyes are essential.
Notyou're useful. Notthe tribute serves a purpose. Essential.
The pressure around her wrists tightened fractionally. Could he feel her heartbeat through the darkness wrapped around her skin?
The thought made heat climb up her throat.
Focus on the work. Not on how his shadows feel. Not on whether he knows what they're doing to you.
"Turn the left crystal one quarter clockwise," he instructed. "Now increase pressure on the central formation."
The shadows guided her movements, their touch steady and sure. She should have been focused on the crystals. Should have been tracking the energy flows with the careful attention they demanded.
Instead, she was cataloguing. The way the shadows pulsed in time with her heartbeat. The way they positioned her fingers with a gentleness that contradicted everything she'd been told about the Reaper. The way they seemed to know where she needed support before she did.
This is training. This is practical. This is?—
The tendril curled around her right wrist shifted, tracing a slow path across her inner wrist where her pulse hammered.
She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper.
"Hold that configuration while I adjust the primary flows."
His voice was controlled. Perfectly, impossibly controlled. But she'd been watching him long enough to hear the fractures. The slight roughness beneath the command. The way each instruction came with a breath he probably thought she couldn't hear.
She maintained her position, hyper-aware of every point of contact. His magical signature bled through the connection, a dark current running beneath the technical work. She could feel the edge of his concentration, the effort it cost him to keep this impersonal.
Good. Let it cost you something. Because it's costing me plenty.
"Next position."
She moved to the second platform, and his shadows followed without breaking contact. The transition was seamless. His power flowed with her like he'd been moving with her for years. Like their bodies already knew a choreography their minds hadn't agreed to.
This station required more complex work. Three separate energy streams needed to converge at exact points, their flows slightly out of sync.
The shadows split their attention, some guiding her left hand while others directed her right. The dual sensation was almost too much. Darkness on both wrists, both forearms, adjusting and correcting with a focus that made her feel like the only thing in the entire realm.
"The center flow is lagging," she reported, her voice steadier than she deserved. She tested different crystal positions. "Like this?" She rotated one crystal while keeping pressure on the other.
