Page 71 of Demon’s Snack

Isolde watches the effort, and her face changes slightly. Pride, worry, and something more tender than either move through her eyes before she reins it all back.

“You see?” she says softly. “This is why you cannot react blindly.”

I laugh once, without humor. “That’s rich coming from the woman who kissed an infernal surge because it looked like an interesting footnote.”

“It worked.”

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

“It is the most relevant defense.”

I rub both hands over my face, then stop when my fingers brush the base of one horn. The glamour is still thin, more habit than strength, and I force it back into place with an effort that leaves a dull ache behind my eyes.

“I can’t let you stand there with him,” I say.

Her voice softens. “You do not let me do anything.”

The words hit clean and hard.

I drop my hands.

She stands beneath the weak archive lamp and the folded announcement in one hand, looking too composed for a woman Vaerith is preparing to use as bait. No, not bait. Something worse. A measuring instrument. A stabilizer. A leash he has not realized is already learning whose hand it prefers.

“I know,” I say, quieter now. “I know you choose. I’m not trying to own your feet.”

“I know.”

“I’m trying not to lose my mind because every road in my head ends with you in that courtyard and Vaerith smiling.”

Her expression shifts, and for a moment the careful analyst disappears beneath the woman who touched my face while I smoked with stolen demon essence in a rain-slick street.

“I am afraid too,” she says.

That stills me more effectively than any argument.

She does not say it dramatically. She does not tremble or reach for comfort. She simply places the truth between us, controlled and bare, and waits to see whether I am strong enough not to mishandle it.

I step closer, slowly enough that she can stop me if she wants. She does not. The bond warms as the space between us narrows, quieter than before, focused and steady beneath the fear.

“What do we do?” I ask.

She draws a breath, and I can almost see her mind sorting clauses, exits, triggers, liabilities, and probable betrayals. “We assume every reflective surface is compromised. We assume Talen or someone like him will attempt a direct provocation before the demonstration. We assume Vaerith’s stated purpose is not the true purpose.”

“And the true purpose?”

“To force a public reaction from you or expose my effect on your instability.”

I feel my face go cold. “He suspects.”

“He knows enough to test.”

“That means he’ll put you near me.”

“Or make it impossible for me to reach you while he provokes you.”

The hunger reacts violently to that image, but it hits the bond and steadies when Isolde steps closer and places two fingers against my wrist. No kiss, no full touch, nothing dramatic. Just enough contact to remind the power where it found structure.

I look down at her hand. “That still works.”