Page 54 of Demon’s Snack

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I do.”

I look at the ash smeared across the wet stones where the first demon collapsed. The sight makes nausea crawl up my throat. “It was instinct. He cut me, and the hunger just… moved.”

“You redirected after.”

“Barely.”

“But you did.”

I look at her, rain dripping down my face, horns still exposed, eyes still burning so brightly I can see gold reflected in her pupils. “I almost turned toward civilians.”

Her fingers tighten around my wrist. “Almost matters. So does did not.”

“That is a dangerous way to comfort a dangerous man.”

“I am not comforting you.”

“No,” I say, trying to smile and not quite managing. “You’re documenting my moral near-misses.”

Her lips part with what might have become a retort, but a sound from the far street pulls her attention away. Metal. Boots. Voices organizing themselves into purpose.

Guards.

Probably estate. Possibly city. Either way, bad.

“You have to leave,” she says.

“So do you.”

“I can explain being here.”

“With cracked stones, demon ash, and me steaming in the street?”

“I can explain many things under pressure.”

“That is not the reassurance you think it is.”

She releases my wrist only after lifting her hand slowly, as though giving the bond time to loosen instead of snap. The loss of contact makes the stolen energy wobble, but it does not explode. I catch the rhythm she left behind and hold it inside my breathing.

She notices. Pride flickers across her face before worry buries it.

“Go west,” she says. “Avoid the main canal. There is a covered arcade two streets over.”

“You know a lot of escape routes.”

“I live in a cage.”

The words cut sharper because she says them plainly, without self-pity.

I step back, and the distance hurts less than I expect because the bond remains warm and structured between us. “Isolde.”

She is taken aback.

“Thank you.”