Page 147 of Demon’s Snack

“You speak of law,” Vaerith says, turning toward the assembled nobles. “While an infernal hybrid stands in this hall beside you, hidden beneath glamour, fed on bound entities and ward structures, destabilizing civic protections with every breath.”

Corin lowers his hood.

The glamour remains just strong enough to soften the horn line, but his eyes burn unmistakably gold.

The room inhales.

He does not move.

Vaerith lifts one hand toward the doors. “The district is already contaminated. Yesterday’s events proved it. Tonight, I will do what weak officials and ambitious rivals lack the courage to do. A cleansing ritual has begun beneath the estate wardline. It will purge unlawful infernal residue before it spreads.”

My stomach drops.

The infernal pressure beneath the floor answers his words.

Every witness lamp in the hall flares red.

Outside, wind hits the building hard enough to rattle the upper windows. A scream rises from the street, then another. The floor under my boots vibrates with a deep pulse that travels through stone, through bone, through the bond itself.

Rhazek steps from the western shadows, face grim. “Summoning breach.”

Vaerith smiles.

That is when the first ward outside collapses.

The blast rolls over the trade hall like thunder trapped under the earth. The doors at the far end burst inward, throwing rain and leaves across the polished floor. Red sigils ignite along the street beyond, crawling up walls, market posts, and contract plaques as if the district itself has become a ritual surface. Stone cracks in branching lines through the outer steps. The wind howls through the open doors, carrying the smell of sulfur, ash, and ancient hunger rising from below the estate.

Several nobles scream.

Clerks scatter papers across the floor.

Lady Othrel grips her cane and snarls something obscene enough to impress me.

Corin steps forward into the threshold.

His body moves between me and the storm with such certainty that I almost object on principle. Then I see what he is doing. He is not hiding me behind him. He is placing himself where the ritual pressure strikes first, taking the impact before it can roll through the hall and panic the crowd into trampling one another.

Gold light floods beneath his skin.

The bond surges, but it holds steady.

“Corin,” I say.

He turns his head slightly, enough that I can see the edge of his profile against the red-lit storm.

“Still beside you,” he says.

The words steady me more than they have any right to.

Sable shoves through the scattering clerks with her pack over one shoulder. “We need people away from glass and outer walls.”

Syrenya raises her voice from the gallery. “All minor houses move your attendants to the inner aisle. Now, unless you prefer being shredded for the sake of dramatic hesitation.”

Rhazek’s infernal power rolls through the western side of the hall as he plants one hand against a column, reinforcing the nearest ward with a pulse of gold-red light. “The summoning anchor is under the estate.”

I look at Vaerith.

He stands near the entrance, hair untouched by the wind, fury remade into purpose.