Chapter 28 #2
Her hand on my jaw in the yard. Her voice insisting that choice must be shared. Her fury when I withheld the terms of my sacrifice. Her trust rebuilding itself with deliberate care, stone by stone, after I gave it reasons to crack.
I should tell her.
The thought arrives cleanly, annoyingly righteous.
Then the fear follows.
If I tell her, she will hear more than Corin has changed.
She will hear that the ritual we chose together may have stolen something from her brother without consent.
She will see another life altered because of our bond, our power, our desperate attempts to survive.
She will think of his mortality as something taken in the blast radius of loving me.
Perhaps she will be right.
Corin sees the answer before I give it.
His smile returns, but it has no warmth. “Ah.”
“Do not.”
“Very well. I won’t say the obvious thing about secrets, demon. You seem fond of learning lessons the hard way.”
“I am not hiding this to control her.”
“Intentions are lovely little cushions. They do not soften the fall as much as people hope.”
My temper stirs. “You hid it.”
“Yes,” he says. “Because it is mine.”
“That distinction will not comfort her.”
“No. But it is real.” He looks toward the house, and for the first time, the affection in his face is naked enough to be painful. “She has had enough stolen from her. I wanted to understand what I was before I gave her something new to mourn.”
The anger drains out of me, leaving something heavier.
“You should have told me,” I say.
“I just did.”
“No, you waited until I found it.”
“And you waited until she was not in the yard to look.”
We stand there with the accusation shared fairly between us.
Corin turns back to the target and raises the iron rod. “For the moment, I will continue training. You will continue lurking like a decorative threat. We will both pretend this is strategy rather than cowardice.”
“I am not fond of being called cowardly.”
“That explains your expression.”
He strikes the target again.
The blow lands hard enough to split the central stake.
I watch him continue. Each movement confirms what essence sight revealed: increased speed, improved recovery, a pulse carrying infernal echo, blood quickened by power it did not ask to receive. He says nothing else. Neither do I.
By nightfall, the secret has weight.
It follows me through the house, up the stairs, into the warmth of our room where Sable sits near the lamp with her legs tucked beneath her and papers spread across the bed.
Her hair is loose, ink smudges one finger, and the sight of her should ease whatever the day has left in me. It does, for one breath.
Then she looks up.
“Well?”
The word is simple. Direct. Trusting.
I close the door behind me. “Well?”
“Do not ‘well’ me. You watched Corin train.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
I cross the room with more care than distance warrants. The lamplight gilds the edge of her cheek, catching in the faint place where the burn used to be. The bond warms as I near her, open and steady, which makes the thing I am about to do taste worse.
“He is stronger,” I say.
She waits.
I remove my coat and lay it over the chair. “His recovery has improved. His coordination as well.”
“Rhazek.”
I look at her.
She knows I am choosing words. That is the trouble with equality. It removes hiding places.
“Did you find anything?” she asks.
The truth stands ready.
I feel its shape behind my teeth.
Instead, I say, “Not enough to name.”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
It is not quite a lie. That does not make it clean.
“Not enough,” she repeats.
“I need more information before alarming you.”
“Interesting phrasing.”
“Yes.”
“Because it sounds like something is alarming.”
I sit across from her on the edge of the bed, leaving a careful space between us that she notices immediately. Her gaze flicks to it, then back to my face.
“I am being cautious,” I say.
“You’re always cautious when you’re trying not to admit you’re worried.”
“Worry without knowledge is noise.”
“That sounds like something Corin would say to avoid a conversation.”
“I am insulted.”
“No, you’re not.”
She sets the papers aside. The mattress shifts as she turns fully toward me. “Did you see gold?”
My silence lasts too long.
Her expression changes.
Damn me.
“I saw traces,” I say.
“Traces of what?”
“Resonance.”
“What kind?”
“Sable.”
“What kind?”
The bond tightens, not unstable, not angry yet, but alert. She deserves the full answer. I know that. Every lesson of the past weeks has been carved into me with fire, blood, and her hands dragging me out of self-destruction.
Yet I see the path too clearly: her face when she realizes Corin’s mortality may have been altered by proximity to us; the guilt she will swallow because she will believe she should have prevented it; the old fear returning to her eyes just when peace began to look possible.
So I choose a smaller truth.
“Infernal-adjacent,” I say.
She draws in a slow breath. “That sounds like a name.”
“It is a category.”
“Rhazek.”
“I will investigate further.”
She studies me for a long moment. The lamp flame trembles slightly, though no draft enters the room. Her power brushes mine through the bond, not probing exactly, but listening.
I let her feel concern.
I do not let her feel the full shape of my fear.
The omission sits between us, quiet and poisonous.
Finally, she nods once. “Fine.”
The word has sharp edges.
“Sable—”
“No. You said you need more information. Get it.”
“I will.”
“And when you have it, you tell me.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes remain on mine. “All of it.”
The promise catches in my throat before I force it out. “All of it.”
She looks away first, gathering the papers with more care than necessary. I watch her hands move, the ink on her finger, the pulse at her wrist steady beneath skin that no longer ages by ordinary rules. My chest aches with the cowardice I dressed as caution.
Outside the window, the yard lies silver under moonlight.
Somewhere below, Corin continues his evening drills, iron cutting the air in measured strokes as if nothing has happened.
The sound rises faintly through the floorboards, steady, disciplined, and wrong enough that I cannot stop hearing the second rhythm underneath it.
Sable sits beside me, close enough to touch and far enough to feel the space I have made.
The secret hangs in that space, breathing softly.