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Sable’s mouth trembles once before she hides it under irritation. “Good. Because if you lose control, I will knock you out myself.”

“You keep promising that like you’re looking forward to it.”

“I have a list of blunt objects ranked by sentimental satisfaction.”

“That is weirdly touching.”

“Don’t make it emotional.”

Rhazek steps back toward the hearth. “You have hours before dawn. Use them.”

His gaze flicks from me to Isolde with such pointed restraint that Sable chokes on a laugh.

Isolde lifts one brow. “Subtle.”

“I was not attempting subtlety,” Rhazek says.

I stand and offer Isolde my hand. “Upstairs?”

She studies me for a moment, then places her fingers in mine. “Upstairs.”

The room Sable prepared for us sits under the steep roofline, narrow and warm from the chimney running through the far wall. Practical wards have been carved into the window frame, the door lintel, and the exposed beams overhead, each one filled with dark wax and iron filings. A low bed stands against one wall beneath a heavy quilt. Rain taps steadily on the roof, gentler up here, as if the storm has the decency to keep its distance from what we need to do.

I close the door and set my palm against the ward line from inside.

Gold light moves through the carvings, sealing the room against external interference. The wards answer cleanly, practical and firm, blocking outside magic without trapping anyone within. Isolde watches the glow travel across the frame, her gaze precise.

“You are locking the ward from inside,” she says.

“To keep Vaerith’s magic out.”

“Good.”

“Not to keep you in.”

Her expression softens at the edges. “I know.”

“I needed to say it.”

“I know that too.”

The ward settles into a low hum. The pressure from the district fades by a fraction, muffled behind iron and old wood. The bond remains vivid between us, warm and steady, carrying every unsaid thing closer than speech.

I turn toward her and stop pretending this is only strategy.

“The hunger reacts strongest to desire,” I say.

Isolde’s lips part slightly.

I keep my hands open at my sides. “Violence wakes it. Fear sharpens it. Threat gives it direction. But desire…” I exhale slowly, feeling heat move through the structure beneath my ribs with immediate, dangerous attention. “Desire gets closest to the center. If I can command it there, I can command it anywhere.”

She approaches without hesitation.

Every step she takes over the worn floorboards draws the bond tighter, not frantic, but deliberate. She stops close enough that I can feel the heat of her body through the damp fabric of her dress, then takes both my hands in hers.

“Then stop treating the hunger like a rabid animal in a locked cellar,” she says.

A rough laugh leaves me. “That’s specific.”