Page 102 of Demon’s Snack

“Oh, I assure you, the competition is developing nicely.” She pauses at the desk and taps one manicured finger near the scorched ward fragment resting on my tray. “Tell me about the demon.”

I look up at her. “That is not gossip.”

“Everything is gossip if repeated in the correct rooms.”

“It was bound inside the pedestal.”

Her gaze sharpens by a fraction. “You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“Because you saw the runes?”

“Because I can read binding architecture, because the exposed lattice contained compression marks under the decorative projection layer, and because the release channels were not constructed to protect witnesses. They were constructed to create direction.”

“Toward you.”

I do not answer.

Syrenya’s smile thins with interest. “And toward your hybrid.”

“He is not mine.”

Her eyes flick briefly to my throat, where my pulse has betrayed me despite my voice. “No? How disappointing. I was beginning to enjoy the scandal.”

“He has a name.”

“Yes, I heard it several times, mostly shouted by frightened people. Corin Ardyn.” She says his name carefully, as if testing the shape of it. “A human name for a creature Vaerith very much wanted dead or condemned.”

“He wanted proof.”

“He wanted permission.”

“That too.”

Syrenya studies me for several seconds, and the danger in her curiosity becomes clear. She is not compassionate. She is not loyal. She is, however, bored by Vaerith’s certainty and intrigued by exposed leverage. That makes her dangerous, but it also makes her useful if handled with care.

I choose one truth and wrap it in caution.

“Vaerith used a bound entity in a civic demonstration and concealed it beneath projection glamour,” I say. “Several guild clerks saw enough of the exposed lattice to confirm that the ritual was misrepresented.”

Syrenya’s fingers drift over the back of the chair opposite mine. She does not sit. “Misrepresented is such a civil word for attempted murder.”

“It survives public repetition.”

“How practical of you.”

“I prefer accusations that can walk through courtrooms without tripping.”

Her smile returns, slower this time. “You are more fun than you pretend.”

“I am exactly as fun as the circumstances permit.”

“Then the circumstances are improving.” Syrenya turns toward the door but pauses with one hand on the frame. “If someone were to ask whether Vaerith’s circle contained bait channels, I might remember what I saw.”

“That would be civic-minded of you.”

“Do not insult me.”