Page 143 of Demon’s Snack

“I was terrified.”

“I could tell.”

“Rude.”

“I liked it.”

The admission lands low in my chest and stays there.

Behind us, Sable calls, “If you two are done having a deeply meaningful silhouette moment, the district may be trying to explode.”

I close my eyes briefly. “I’m going to throw her into a hedge.”

“She would deserve it,” Isolde says.

“Thank you.”

“She would also retaliate.”

“True.”

The infernal pressure spikes beneath the estate.

Every ward nail in the safe house fence hums.

Rhazek steps off the porch instantly. “It begins.”

The slow drumbeat I have felt all afternoon grows louder inside my bones. The estate district pulses with summoning architecture, each thud rolling through the ground and up my legs. Vaerith is lighting the ritual in stages, building toward something big enough to swallow streets.

Isolde’s hand tightens in mine.

Sable checks the pack slung over her shoulder. Rhazek moves toward the gate. Syrenya rises from the porch, eyes bright with dangerous interest.

I look at Isolde. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Honest.”

“Always inconveniently.”

“We are not invading.”

“No,” she says. “We are confronting.”

“On our terms.”

Her mouth curves faintly. “Ideally.”

I lead her toward the edge of the yard, hand in hand, while the safe house wards glow behind us and the estate district pulses ahead like a heart learning violence.

I do not go toward Vaerith as bait.

I go with Isolde beside me, flame under my skin, hunger under command, and proof already moving through the city like sparks in dry paper.

20

ISOLDE