Page 132

Sable dips two fingers into the herbal paste and presses it directly against the hidden sigil.

Pain sears across my skin immediately. I inhale sharply as heat burns through the tracking mark hard enough to whiten the edges of my vision. Black script surfaces beneath the paste like ink forced upward through paper.

Corin crouches in front of me so fast the chair creaks beneath him.

“Easy,” he says quietly.

“It hurts.”

“That’s because Sable is apparently treating you with acid.”

“It is not acid,” Sable says indignantly. “It is alchemical counteragent.”

“It smells hostile.”

“It is hostile.”

The sigil writhes once beneath the paste before collapsing into black smoke that curls upward and dissolves near the rafters.

Sable wipes the remaining paste away with a cloth and leans back. “Gone.”

Corin’s face darkens visibly. There it is again. That sharp, dangerous edge in him whenever someone hurts me, even indirectly.

Rhazek notices too.

“Control,” he says quietly from the doorway.

Corin doesn’t look away from me. “I am controlled.”

“You are vibrating.”

“That is not measurable.”

“It is extremely measurable,” Sable mutters.

I touch the reddened skin beneath my collarbone carefully. The burn throbs faintly, but the bond feels cleaner now, less obstructed by the oily residue of Vaerith’s mark. Corin’s presence presses warmly against my senses without interference.

“Sit,” I tell him.

“I’m already crouching.”

“You’re looming emotionally.”

Sable bursts out laughing.

Corin shoots her a wounded glare. “I regret saving everyone repeatedly.”

“You’re very brave,” Sable says through obvious amusement. “Now sit down before your feelings develop claws.”

He drops into the chair opposite mine with theatrical annoyance, long legs stretched toward the hearth while gold still flickers faintly in his eyes. The firelight catches the sharp line of his cheekbones and the dark curve of one horn where exhaustion has weakened the glamour.

I watch him carefully.

The hunger has changed shape.

It still exists beneath his skin, powerful and alert, but it no longer crashes through the bond like a storm tearing at its own walls. The infernal current coils inward instead, focused and responsive, following rhythm rather than chasing chaos.

Good.