Page 106 of The Threads Between

“How much time do I have?” I asked.

“Seconds,” Beatrice said. “Perhaps less, depending on how cleanly he cuts.”

August and I looked at each other.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

His hand moved. The sharp whisper of severance, and the central knot came apart. The binding started to unravel immediately, threads beginning to drift apart.

I reached for my power.

The Void Calling rose instinctively, searching for what had been severed. I could see it, the ghost of the knot, the pattern it had held, the connections that had existed moments before. Still there. Still recoverable.

I pulled.

Golden threads spun from my fingers, reaching into the space where the knot had been. I wove quickly, following the pattern I could sense, rebuilding what August had just severed.

The knot reformed.

Not perfectly. The threads were slightly looser than before, the binding not quite as tight. But it held.

I let out a breath. “That was⁠—“

“Slow,” Beatrice said. “Again.”

August's grin was insufferable. “She said you were slow.”

“I heard what she said.”

“Just making certain.”

“Break another knot and see how slow I am.”

His eyes glinted. Challenge accepted.

This time I was ready. The moment his power whispered through the thread, I was already reaching, already pulling the pattern back together. The restoration happened faster. Smoother.

“Better,” Beatrice said. “Now do it without thinking.”

We fell into a rhythm. August would sever a binding, and I would restore it. Then another. Then three at once. Each time, the bond hummed between us, his awareness of what he was about to cut bleeding into my readiness to catch it, my power rising to meet his in perfect synchronization.

“You're getting faster,” August said after the seventh attempt.

“You're getting predictable,” I countered.

Through the bond, his amusement spiked. “Am I?”

The next severance came from a different angle, not the central knot but an anchor point I hadn't been watching. The thread started to dissolve.

I caught it anyway.

Because through the bond, I'd felt his intention shift a half-second before he acted. Not thought exactly, just awareness. The direction of his focus. Where his power was about to strike.

I restored the anchor before he'd even lowered his hand.

“That's not fair,” he said. “You can feel what I'm about to do.”