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“Ready?” I asked.

“No.” Bernie swallowed. “Do it anyway.”

Carrick’s projection sparked. “On Maisie’s signal.”

Maisie looked at me.

No vows. No speeches. No grand claim thrown into the teeth of Hell.

Just her voice. “Trust me?”

“Aye.”

Maisie hit the mark.

The Hellmark lost focus.

Black and red lines blurred across my arm. The pull vanished so abruptly that Guy and I both nearly overbalanced backward. For one impossible breath, the wound went silent in a way that had nothing to do with mercy and everything to do with blindness.

One.

“Now!” Maisie shouted.

Bernie cut.

Not the mark. Not me. The exposed Infernal tether.

Lavender-and-silver Necromancy sliced through the black and red line.

Mammon roared.

The black and red wound convulsed. The emergency Wards flickered so violently the whole cabin strobed blue and white, black and red, blue and white again.

Two.

On my side, the severed end of the tether whipped backward.

Searching.

Looking for the Magical signature it had known for a century.

Maisie still bent that signature away.

The line whipped past my arm like a blind snake. It struck empty air, recoiled, searched again, and failed.

Maisie’s knees buckled.

I reached for her and stopped myself before I ruined the only thing keeping Hell blind.

“Maisie?”

She bared her teeth. “Still fucking busy.”

Three.

Her Magic released.

The severed line searched for my signature the instant Maisie’s Magic released.