Page 92 of Demon’s Snack

The flame thins.

The hidden lines finish burning away in front of everyone.

As the last containment mark ignites, the glamour over Vaerith’s demonstration collapses completely. The decorative circle vanishes, exposing the true ritual geometry beneath: demon-binding compression marks, directional backlash channels, and a release path aimed through the so-called expert witness position where I had been placed. Several dark elf clerks recognize enough of the structure to step backward. Lady Syrenya’s voice rises somewhere in the crowd, cool and carrying.

“That is not a projection lattice.”

Another noble answers, audibly unsettled. “Those are containment lines.”

“And bait channels,” Syrenya says.

The guards hesitate.

That hesitation saves Corin’s life.

Spears remain leveled, but the certainty behind them falters. Enchanted blades lower by inches as their wielders glance between the exposed runes, the cracked pedestal, Vaerith, and the hybrid who just used controlled flame to reveal what the ritual had hidden.

Vaerith recovers quickly, but not completely.

“An expected containment response,” he says, voice amplified again, though the words ride a little too smoothly over the fracture in the moment. “Remain calm. The hybrid’s interference destabilized⁠—”

“No,” I say.

This time, my voice carries.

The amplification runes around the exposed circle are damaged, but enough of them still respond when I speak from within the burned geometry. My word rings across the courtyard, sharper than I intended, and faces turn toward me with collective disbelief.

I still do not look at Vaerith.

Corin’s glow has begun to dim, molten gold retreating from the outer edges of his eyes. The horns remain visible, and smoke still rises from his shoulders, but his stance has steadied. His hand lowers slowly. Beneath my fingers, his pulse remains hot, fast, and alive.

“Isolde,” Vaerith says, warning wrapped in silk.

I ignore him and keep my gaze on Corin.

“Again,” I say softly.

His mouth tightens around effort, but he follows me.

In.

Out.

The last black-gold flame gutters from the runes.

The circle stands exposed and ruined, its deception burned into visibility for every witness present. The demon is gone. The crowd is silent enough now that I can hear rain ticking from the edge of the nearest canopy onto stone.

The weapons around us hover in uncertainty.

I finally lower my hand from Corin’s sternum, though I remain close enough for the bond to hold the rhythm between us. He has something dangerously tender moving behind the fading glow in his eyes.

“You all right?” he asks, voice rough enough to scrape.

“In front of half the district, after publicly contradicting my employer and weaponizing you against his ward lattice?”

His lips part slightly, and despite the danger surrounding us, a breathless laugh almost escapes him. “That sounds like no.”

“It means I am busy.”