Page 104 of Demon’s Snack

I force air through the pressure around my throat. “I am not a tool.”

His eyes brighten with anger now, clean and delighted. “You are my ward.”

The word lands like a chain.

“Under protective estate authority,” he continues, “your body, labor, education, and contractual output remain subject to Sylmorne oversight until release is granted.”

“You never intended release.”

“No. But you made permanence necessary.”

The ward tightens around my arms.

I bite down on the first sound that tries to leave me.

Vaerith notices and smiles. “You endangered noble operations. You compromised a public demonstration. You revealed protected ritual infrastructure and aligned yourself with a contaminant in front of civic witnesses. I can invoke the wardship clause permanently by dawn and bind your labor directly to this estate. No more errands. No more unsupervised archives. No more charming little acts of defiance in public courtyards.”

My heart beats hard enough that the bond warms in response. Somewhere beyond these walls, Corin may feel the flare. I cannot let that become another leash.

I breathe shallowly, then smile.

Vaerith’s expression cools.

“What,” he says, “is amusing?”

“You.”

The word scrapes because the ward is still pressing my throat, but it comes out clearly enough.

His eyes narrow.

“You continue confusing possession with competence,” I say. “That is unfortunate in a man who claims to value structure.”

The magic squeezes my wrists until my fingers go numb.

“You are in a poor position to be clever.”

“I am in a familiar position to be underestimated.”

“Careful.”

“No.” My voice steadies because anger has burned through the fear cleanly. “I will not be your property. Not today. Not under a permanent wardship invocation. Not because you dressed a trap as civic duty and expected me to smile while you used me as bait.”

His face goes still.

“Brave,” he says.

“Accurate.”

“Foolish.”

“Frequently.”

The ward around my right wrist bears the faintest pulse between pressure cycles. I noticed it years ago while cataloging household binding mechanisms, because Vaerith’s family prefers elegant wards with ornamental excess, and ornamental excess creates timing flaws. The clause governing wardship restraint requires a verbal compliance command before a permanent invocation can align. Until that command is spoken, the restraint operates as temporary corrective magic, and temporary corrective magic cannot cross a formal employment token without consent.

My ink ring is ugly, iron, and officially classified as an archive access token.

I twist my right hand two degrees inward during the next pulse and press the ring against the ward band.