Page 73 of Demon’s Snack

“I can do hidden.”

Her gaze travels briefly to the faint shimmer where my glamour is still struggling over my horns. “Can you?”

“I can do hidden-adjacent.”

“That is not encouraging.”

“I’ll work on it.”

She studies me, and I see the moment she decides arguing will waste time we do not have. “If you feel the hunger rising, you leave.”

“No.”

“Corin.”

“If the hunger rises because Vaerith threatens you, I am not leaving.”

“That is exactly the condition under which you must.”

“I will not abandon you to teach myself manners.”

Her lips press together briefly, and frustration flashes through her eyes. “This is not manners. This is strategy.”

“Then strategize around me being stubborn.”

“I already am.”

“Good.”

“It is inconvenient.”

“I’ve been told.”

She releases my hand and steps back, though the bond remains warm enough that the distance does not feel like a severing. Her attention returns to the folded announcement, and I watch her tuck it into the inner pocket of her cloak.

“I need to return before they notice my absence stretches too far,” she says.

“I hate that house.”

“So do I.”

The simplicity of it knocks something loose in my chest.

She hates it. She has always hated it, probably quietly, precisely, in ways no one could punish because she buried them beneath usefulness. That is not the same as being ready to flee, but it is the first clean edge of truth I have heard her offer about her own cage.

“One day,” I say, “you’re walking out of there and not going back.”

Her expression stills.

The bond warms, then tightens.

“Do not make vows you cannot keep,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“You do not know that.”

“I know enough.”