Page 108 of Demon’s Snack
“Yes.”
“You are impossible.”
“Frequently.”
His voice softens and the damp air feel suddenly too close. “Tell me what you’re doing next.”
That is why I came.
Not to beg.
Not to be carried out like stolen property.
I step closer, close enough that the bond warms between us with focused recognition. “Vaerith has been skimming soul-energy through shell contracts for years. I copied the ledgers. I have proof tying ritual supply expenses to unauthorized intake. I have Dareth-Ardyn archival references, proof that he knew enough about stabilizer bloodlines to use me deliberately, and a recent memorandum describing public exposure as a proof mechanism.”
Corin listens without interrupting, which costs him. I can see it in the tension around his eyes and the careful openness of his hands.
“I have coin, routes, and copies going out through Bren if the estate locks down,” I continue. “I will not return to ordinary compliance after tonight. I am preparing to move, but I will choose the moment because if I vanish poorly, Vaerith owns the story before we begin.”
His gaze holds mine. “And me?”
“You stay ready.”
“That is vague.”
“You hate vague.”
“I hate being told to stand outside while he puts chains around you.”
“I am not wearing chains.”
“Not yet.”
“No,” I say, stepping closer still. “Not ever.”
The bond settles around those words, warm and fierce.
Corin looks at my wrists again, then slowly lifts one hand. He stops before touching me, asking without softening the need in his face.
I offer my right hand.
His fingers close around mine with careful strength.
“I am going to want to tear that house apart,” he says.
“I know.”
“You’re going to tell me not to.”
“I am going to tell you when.”
His eyes lift to mine.
For once, he has no joke ready.
Good.
The night deepens around us, full of wet stone, distant shouting, and the invisible machinery of Vaerith’s estate turning toward its next act of cruelty. I hold Corin’s hand beneath the broken archway and feel the bond answer with steady heat.
