I closed my eyes, forcing my breathing to slow. Setting an intention meant clarity and precision. I needed to be absolutely certain of what I wanted.
The demon needed to leave the operative's body. Not just retreat deeper or play possum. Leave. Completely. Without harming the human in the process. Without leaving any piece of itself behind.
The intention crystallized in my mind, sharp and perfect. Not a command or a demand, but a destination. A fixed point I could aim for.
Now for the hard part. I had to let go. Had to stop fighting the chaos of my demon blood and instead let it flow toward that fixed point on its own terms.
It was like trying to unclench a fist I'd been holding closed my entire life. Every instinct screamed against it… against surrendering control, against trusting the wild, destructive part of myself I'd spent years trying to suppress. My muscles trembled with the effort of holding myself back, of allowing rather than forcing.
The dagger grew cool in my hand, then icy, but pulsing with energy that felt nothing like the hot, volatile power I was used to. This was colder. Older. More patient. It spread up my arm like frost, slow and certain.
And beneath it, answering that ice, something else stirred. Not the raging inferno of my demon power, but something quieter. Darker. A current rather than a storm, moving with purpose toward the intention I'd set.
The dagger began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter… a pure, white light that cut through the dimness of the containment chamber. The runes along its blade caught the glow, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Light pierced through the sweatpants until I pulled the dagger out and held it in front of me.
The demon's smug expression faltered. "What are you doing?" it demanded, backing away from the glass. "Stop it. STOP IT!"
I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. The power had its own momentum now, building between my witch intention and demon chaos, feeding back into itself in an endless loop. The dagger grew colder; the light illuminating the entire chamber in stark relief.
"NO!" the demon screamed, the operative's body convulsing as black smoke began to pour from her mouth, her nose, her eyes. It wasn't retreating deeper… it was being forced out, molecule by molecule, the combined power of witch and demon driving it from its hiding place.
The operative collapsed, her body no longer under either entity's control as the demon fought desperately to maintain its hold. Her back arched at an impossible angle, her limbs thrashing wildly. A howl tore from her throat… not human, not even close, a sound that scraped against my eardrums like physical pain.
And then, with a final, desperate shriek, the demon exploded outward in a burst of black smoke and acrid stench. It hit the ceiling of the cell, then the walls, searching frantically for any crack, any weakness in the wards that might let it escape. Finding none, it gathered itself into a dense, writhing mass and shot through the tiny ventilation duct in the corner—badly wounded but alive, fleeing with its metaphorical tail between its legs.
The operative lay still on the floor of the cell, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. No black smoke leaked from her pores. No unnatural angles bent her limbs. Just a human woman, traumatized but free.
"She's clear," Kearan said, already moving toward the cell door from the observation deck with his medical kit. "The demon's gone. Completely."
I stood frozen, the dagger still glowing in my hand, power humming through my veins in a completely new configuration. Not demon, not witch, but something that used both as fuel. Something balanced. Something that felt, for the first time in my life, like it belonged entirely to me.
"Well done, Parker," Zandia's voice came through the speaker, satisfaction evident in every syllable. "Your mother would be proud."
The glow from the dagger faded slowly, the metal warming against my palm. I slipped it into the pocket of my sweats, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt, how raw. This new power, this balance, left me vulnerable in ways I hadn't anticipated. Open in a way that made my skin crawl.
Kearan worked quickly, checking the operative's vital signs with practiced efficiency. She was conscious but dazed, her eyes clearing slowly as awareness returned.
"What happened?" she asked, voice rough. "Where am I?"
"You're safe," Kearan assured her, his tone gentle. "You've been... unwell. But you're going to be okay now."
She looked past him to where I stood, confusion giving way to recognition and then to fear. "You," she whispered. "You were there. In my head."
I took a step back, suddenly unable to bear the accusation in her eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, the words inadequate. "I didn't know?—"
"It wasn't your fault," Grayson interrupted, appearing at my side with that uncanny ability to be exactly where I needed him. "The demon had been riding her for months. You freed her."
The operative's face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Months?" she choked out. "I've been... for months?"
No one answered. There was nothing to say that wouldn't make it worse.
Grayson led me from the room, his hand warm at the small of my back. Cerbie followed, all three heads alert, scanning for threats. Mephistral hovered near my shoulder, uncharacteristically quiet.
"We should get you back to your quarters," Grayson murmured. "You look exhausted."
He was right. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the aftermath of using so much power, even this new, balanced version, hit me like a truck. My legs trembled with each step, vision blurring at the edges.
We'd almost reached the door when a voice called out behind us.
