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That got the smallest, roughest laugh out of him. It was barely more than air. But it happened.

And because my life was apparently a cosmic prank, the Hellmark pulsed the second Knox laughed.

Not a painful flare. A response. Like the tether noticed the change in him. The black and red line sharpened.

I squeezed his hand and shoved my Magic outward in a thin, iridescent blur. The tether fuzzed again, but not before something on the far end tugged.

Knox’s smile vanished.

“Keep walking,” I said.

He didn’t argue.

The old Warden cabin came into view five minutes later, crouched at the base of a rocky rise like it had been built by someone who hated windows, guests, and joy.

It was small, square, and entirely practical. Weathered timber. Stone foundation. Iron-braced door. A narrow chimney. Ward sigils carved along the roofline, old but intact. No porch swing. No flower boxes. No cute little welcome mat.

“Charming,” I said. “Does it come with a serial killer or do we bring our own?”

“It’s defensible.”

“Of course, that’s what you like about it.”

Knox scanned the ridge, the windows, the door, the scrub line. “Single entry. Clear sight lines. Stone beneath the foundation. Reinforced roof. Better position than Guy’s house if something pushes through nearby.”

“You say romantic things like ‘single entry’ and ‘clear sight lines,’ and yet somehow I remain standing.”

He looked down at me. “Romantic?”

“Nope. Don’t repeat it. I said nothing.”

His mouth did the almost-smile thing again.

I was going to need hazard pay.

As we approached the door, the Ward sigils along the roofline glowed faint bronze. Guy’s Magic. Old, familiar, tired but stubborn as hell.

The sigils recognized Knox. That was obvious. The bronze light brightened, hesitated, then shifted toward emerald at the edges as Sully’s Magic brushed against it.

The Hellmark reacted instantly.

The tether snapped tight.

Knox grunted, his hand crushing mine for one painful second before he loosened it with a hissed apology.

The cabin Wards flared purple. Then black and red lines spidered across the old bronze sigils.

“Oh, no,” I whispered.

Knox’s head turned sharply. “What?”

“It’s using recognition.” My Sight burned brighter, almost too bright, colors sharpening until my eyes watered. “The cabin recognizes you through your blood-relation to Guy’s Magic resonance. The Hellmark is piggybacking on that reaction.”

The black and red pattern spread another inch across the roofline. Not breaking the Ward. Reading it.

I stepped forward.

Knox caught my arm. “Maisie.”