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Maisie’s expression changed. Not soft. Not fragile. The woman had just stabbed a Hell creature with a binding knife and then complained about snacks. Fragile had left the building, stolen a horse, and changed its name.

But something fierce and steady settled over her face.

“Then help me make sure he can’t.”

Not save me. Not lock me away. Not decide for me.

Help me.

Stand with me.

“She does not ask ye to save her, Lad,” Sully said quietly. “She asks ye to trust her.”

I hated that Sully, of all people, was right.

I hated it because trust felt more dangerous than fire. Fire I understood. Fire obeyed shape and will and breath. Trust asked me to put something breakable outside my control and believe it didn't make me weak.

I looked at Maisie. “What do you want?”

Her eyes flicked over my face, wary and bright. “Right now?”

“Aye.”

Maisie grabbed the front of Guy’s borrowed flannel and kissed me. I froze for one heartbeat.

I froze because someone had chosen me. Not summoned. Not ordered. Not claimed. Not used.

Chosen.

Then Sully surged beneath my skin, not taking over, not pushing, only laughing low and fierce in the oldest part of me.

I kissed her back.

Carefully at first, because careful was the only way I knew how to touch something precious without imagining it turning to ash. Then less carefully, because Maisie made a small, impatient sound against my mouth and tightened her fist in the flannel like she meant to keep me exactly where she had put me.

There was no thunderclap. No Fate shoving scripture into the sky. No Mating Bond snapping shut like a trap.

Only Maisie’s mouth on mine. Her breath. My hands at her waist, holding without trapping. The blue and white emergency Wards humming around us, old and stubborn and entirely uninterested in romance.

When she pulled back, the room had the nerve to remain the same.

I knew better.

Everything had changed.

Maisie's mouth curved, shaky, pleased, and far too brave. "There. Another choice."

The communication tether chose that exact moment to crackle back to life… Because reality was a rude bastard with dramatic timing.

Bernie’s voice snapped through the renewed shimmer. “Status?”

Maisie released my flannel but did not step away. “Alive.”

I cleared my throat. “Creatures retreated.”

A pause followed. Then Bernie said, “Good. Carrick found something.”

Maisie tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Of course he did.”