The threshold showed itself the way a bad secret does—caught in a mirror when you’re not trying to look. A rain-black split opened in the heart chamber wall, night tearing just wide enough to leak New York into the court. Not the postcard version. This one came with subway grit, wet concrete, hot brakes—city breath pressing into the iron-and-mint room. Under the borrowed cloak, my thorn-mark beat once. Again. The court answered with its own count, not from any clock or bell. The stone kept time the way teeth keep pressure. Kevin Nguyen hovered half a step behind me, shoulders drawn up, jaw tight enough to grind. The threshold’s glare flashed off his glasses and vanished. Rafe Nash anchored the far edge of the chamber, a hand near his sword without committing. Beatrice Pemberton stood by a lectern that looked coaxed out of wood instead of built, her fingers folded so precisely it made my skin itch. A line of humans waited beside the seam. People I’d dragged out of rooms, cages, and paperwork. Bruised wrists. Hollow cheeks. They drew breath like the air might change its mind and leave. Between us and that rip in the wall stood Thorne Ashworth-Blackwood’s face. Same clean bones. Same mouth built for turning sentences into restraints. But behind the eyes: something old, something watchful, a heat kept buried under stone. An avatar wearing him like a borrowed coat. “Your route is open,” it told me, voice slick and even. “You may take it now, Sofia Reyes (Sofi).” My name landed like a claim. The bracelet warmed, cooled, warmed again—undecided whether it wanted to comfort me or bite. I stepped forward anyway. Wire-thin briar-thorns shifted under my boots, rasping at the soles as if listening for a confession. “No.” The word came out flat. Clean. “Not like that.” Kevin’s breath caught behind me. He didn’t touch. He stayed close enough to catch me if I fell, far enough to keep his promise not to shove me into a choice. The avatar’s gaze slid over the human line and returned to me. “The terms are generous. You depart. The collateral remains. This court continues.” “Collateral.” I rolled the word around until it tasted like copper. “They’re people. Patients. And I’m not crossing alone.” The stone’s counting sharpened, each beat closer to a snap. The briars tightened underfoot, their weave pulling like a net. The avatar’s expression barely moved. That was the point—threats delivered like forecast. “Provided that you refuse your clean exit,” it said, “the treaty clause may be satisfied by an alternative structure.” Bea’s posture cracked at the shoulders, just a fraction. Rafe’s eyes went harder. Kevin edged his voice forward carefully, like he was stepping onto ice. “Alternative how?” The avatar didn’t bother to look at him. “Collateral is a category. Categories may be preserved by replacing the container.” My stomach twisted. My fingers curled inside my palm, nails finding tender skin through the bandage. “Say it plain.” Chin up. Feet planted. “What happens if I insist they go?” A pause, not from uncertainty—just arithmetic. “Then the collateral becomes uncounted,” it said, “and the clause-bearer becomes counted instead.” Cold crawled up my spine. The briars rose a fraction, eager. “You mean me.” My voice didn’t lift at the end. No question. “The clause must have an anchor.” Polite. Almost gentle. “You have proven… durable.” Durable. Like a chair. Like a tool. Kevin let out a sound that tried to become a laugh and died halfway. “That’s—no. That’s not an exit. That’s a trap with better manners.” The avatar finally turned its eyes on him. Measured. Dismissive. “You are not a party to this bargain.” Kevin’s hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling as if he could squeeze the logic until it broke. “I’m standing here. That makes me a witness.” Something flickered across the avatar’s face—gone so fast it might’ve been the threshold’s light. Irritation. Contained. I used it. “Confirm the terms.” My EMT voice slid into place. Clear. Commanding. “If I go alone, I’m free. If I demand all of them, you bind me as the clause. Yes?” “Correct.” “Then say what it does.” The bandage cut into my palm as I tightened my fist. Pain steadied my head. “What happens to their names?” The stone’s counting pushed louder, as if the room didn’t want the next part spoken aloud. “They will be recorded as favors fulfilled,” the avatar replied. “Identities dissolve into ledger.” Bea swallowed, throat working dry. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look away either. Kevin’s voice came out thin. “Corrupted file. Like… overwriting metadata.” I didn’t let my eyes move toward the seam. Didn’t let them drift to the trembling line of bodies. The avatar wanted me reactive. Wanted me sloppy. “Okay.” One nod. “So this isn’t mercy. It’s a cage.” “A cage preserves what is valuable,” it said, like it was explaining gravity to a child. Heat climbed along my nerves. I kept my face still. “Then here’s my offer.” The briars went quiet. Listening. “I’ll give you one thing only.” My throat tightened around the next words, but I forced them out anyway. “My testimony. My story. Every call I’ve ever run. Every death I couldn’t stop. Every life I did. Conditional.” Kevin sucked in a breath like he’d been punched. He knew what story cost in a place built on it. His eyes pinned to my mouth, like he could hold the words back. “Testimony is a human indulgence,” the avatar said. “No.” I kept it clipped. “It’s a resource you can’t fake. It needs consent. Mine. Voluntary. And you don’t get it unless you release them first. Immediate. Witnessed. No edits.” The briars shifted under my boots, offended by the delay. The court liked binding. It hated waiting. Rafe’s voice cut in, blunt. “She’s right. Binding requires consent.” The avatar’s gaze slid to him. “Captain Nash. Your loyalty is noted.” Rafe didn’t blink. “My loyalty is to order. This will break it.” Bea lifted one hand, small and exact. The air around the lectern tightened, as if she’d braced against a wind nobody else could feel. “The old law permits conditional exchange,” she murmured. “Provided the terms are stated in a single utterance.” The avatar’s smile arrived without warmth. “Indeed. And exhaustion often causes… carelessness.” Something shifted under my ribs, a drop like a missed stair. Not in the room—inside me. A siren rose in the distance. Not through the threshold. Not outside the court. In my skull. It started as the familiar wail, then stretched into a single violin note held too long, vibrating my teeth and gums until it felt like my bones were humming. My hands remembered antiseptic before my brain did. That sting rubbed into skin after a bad call. Cold sweat pooled under my collarbones. The cloak clung. The avatar stayed still, and the illusion crowded in anyway. Flashing lights. A stretcher. Someone shouting from behind a curtain. “Sofi—” Elena Kowalski’s voice. Too sharp. Too real. My throat cinched. The answer jumped up automatically, a reflex like compressions. Kevin’s hand landed on my forearm—light, not grabbing. Just contact. Heat. Reality. “Hey.” His voice stayed low. “That’s not—look at me. It’s not her.” The note strained, trying to multiply. The siren wanted to become a chorus. I forced my eyes onto Kevin’s face. Glasses slightly crooked. The cut on his brow pale against his skin. Pupils blown wide, fear held behind careful words. “Breathe,” he told me. “Count. Do the EMT thing. In. Out.” The avatar watched us the way you watch a flame to see what it takes to snuff it. My nails dug deeper into my palm. Pain. Mine. My breath snagged, then came back. One. Two. Three. The chamber steadied inch by inch, slow as water wearing down stone. The illusion didn’t vanish. It tried to bargain. A bus crash. Glass everywhere. Blood slicking my gloves. A teenager staring up at me, eyes wide, waiting for the seconds I’d once lost. My jaw locked. “No.” Louder. “You don’t get to use that.” The avatar tilted its head. “It is not use. It is reminder.” “It’s coercion.” I raised my hand, palm out. The bandage had bled through again, red spreading like a warning light. “You want my yes. You want me careless. So ask clean, and I’ll answer clean.” It didn’t ask. It didn’t need to. It waited, like patience was another law it owned. Fine. I slammed the terms into the air. “Here’s the exact language. Release every human held as collateral in the Briar Court. Restore their names and memories as recorded. Open a threshold to New York City that they can cross safely. Only then will I give voluntary testimony to be recorded without alteration. Confirm.” Kevin’s breathing rasped behind me. Bea’s lips pressed thin, like she wanted to correct grammar and couldn’t afford it. “Without alteration is an impossible condition,” the avatar replied. “Then you don’t get it.” My palm stayed raised. “Confirm my conditions, or say no.” The briars hissed. The stone’s counting hammered. The avatar’s gaze sharpened, edged and bright. “If you insist upon every captive, Sofia Reyes (Sofi), then you will become the clause-bearer. You will remain. The others will depart unburdened.” Unburdened. Like trash being dumped. One of the humans sobbed—a sound that curdled into something like laughter. The line shifted, bare feet scraping stone. Kevin’s voice cracked. “That’s not unburdened. That’s you taking the hit.” I didn’t look at him. If I turned, the avatar would read it like an entry in a file. “Say it plain,” I told the avatar. “You’re offering me freedom if I abandon them.” Silence. Not refusal. Reluctance to be pinned. Then it slipped the blade in soft. “Yes.” Air expanded my ribs too far. My vision darkened at the corners for a beat, like curtains trying to close. I forced the breath back down. “Then my answer’s no.” The avatar didn’t flare. It didn’t rage. The heat in its eyes sank deeper, banked tight. “Mercy,” it said, “can be refused.” The room changed. A sooty sweetness bloomed, like candles snuffed in a room nobody mourned. Iron-and-mint slid under it, cloying. The humans beside the threshold blurred—not their bodies, but their faces. Features smeared, sliding away like wet ink. Paper-rustle filled the chamber, like someone riffling files in a drawer. A faceless silhouette lifted its head toward me. My fingertips went numb. Pins and needles crept in at the edges. “They will fade peacefully,” the avatar murmured. “No pain. So no fear. A gentle unmaking.” Kevin made a raw sound. “No. No, that’s—Sofi, that’s—” “Quiet.” Not cruel. Just sharp. I needed my voice whole. The avatar extended a hand, palm up, like it was offering me a gift instead of a shackle. “Accept the clause. Be the anchor. Let them pass. You will save them from dissolution.” My body leaned forward a fraction on instinct. Not want—training. A lifetime of stepping into danger because someone had to. I stopped myself. Nails into palm again. Blood warmed my fingers, slick and real. One breath. Two. Then I started saying names. Not court labels. Not ledger tags. The names I’d stolen back in whispers. “Maria.” The first captive who’d cried when I brought her water. “James. Devon. Talia.” The silhouettes rustled, paper shifting. Kevin’s whisper joined, shaky but stubborn. “Eli. Nora.” Rafe’s voice cut through, quiet and brutal. “They are not numbers.” Bea’s lips parted. For a heartbeat she looked ready to add her own. Then she swallowed it down, eyes shining with something like fury—at the avatar, at herself, at the whole machine. The avatar’s hand stayed out, patient. Like a cage door left open just to prove the animal chose it. “Third option,” I rasped. The violin note still worried at the edges of my hearing. “The clause dissolves. No replacement.” The avatar’s small smile returned. “Anarchy.” “Consent.” The word came out clean. “No binding without true consent. That’s your rule.” The briars stirred under my boots, irritated. The avatar held my gaze. “You would carry their loss back to your world and claim righteousness.” “I’d carry your choice.” I stepped closer, just enough to make it feel like a challenge. “Say it clean. You choose to erase them unless I become your keystone. Yes or no.” The counting hit a peak, the room pressing its ear to the exchange. The avatar’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes.” Kevin squeezed my forearm once, then let go. He didn’t speak. Let the word sit in the air and rot like it deserved. I nodded slowly. “Good. That’s the truth.” One silhouette stepped forward. No face. No eyes. The posture begged anyway. My throat tried to close. My body tried to fold into sacrifice because that’s what “good” people did. I swallowed hard, spine going straight. “I’m not your clause.” The avatar’s eyes narrowed. “Then they will—” “Stop.” The word snapped out of me. “You don’t get to put that on me. You did this. You keep doing it. You keep taking humans as collateral because it’s convenient.” The room thickened, as if the court leaned in to savor the fight. Kevin’s voice came low, steadier now. “Think of it like version control. You can’t force a commit with invalid permissions.” The avatar flicked its gaze to him with faint distaste. I took one step toward the threshold and stopped on purpose, turning my body away from it. Rain and subway dust brushed my cheek, close enough to taste. My bracelet throbbed like it had a pulse of its own. The thorn-mark burned once under the cloak, warning heat. My back went fully to the exit. The chamber went still. “Release first,” I said. “Then testimony. That’s the only exchange.” The avatar’s voice dropped. Colder. “You would deny your own freedom.” “I would deny your theft.” My mouth tasted like blood and mint. “And I’m not crossing alone. Not now. Not ever.” Something snapped like zip ties. Briars erupted from the floor—black-green whips lashing toward the captives. Not to pierce. To block and funnel, trying to split them from the seam. Rafe moved. Fast. He threw himself between thorn and human, sword flashing. He didn’t strike bodies; he hacked vines, shoved with his forearm, took scratches that smoked where sap hit skin. “Move.” His voice stayed flat. “Toward the seam. Now.” The faceless shapes hesitated. Fear survived even when the court stole the reasons. Kevin darted to the nearest one, hand out—then stopped short. Touch could bind. Touch could trigger. He swallowed hard. “Follow my voice,” he told them instead. “Okay? Just—one step at a time.” The avatar lifted two fingers, poised like it could sign my name into the floor. Heat flared across my shoulder, sudden and vicious. Nettle-burn dragged over skin. The cloak slipped, and the thorn-mark burned through fabric, trying to brand deeper. A gasp tore out of me. Knees dipped. The room tilted half a degree—just enough to steal rhythm. “Accept,” the avatar murmured. “It will stop.” My teeth clamped. Jaw screaming. “No.” I forced myself upright. Nails into palm again. Blood slicked my fingers, a rope back to my body. Bea stepped away from her lectern at last, hands lifted as if she could hold law in the air and not let it fall. “By old law,” she said quietly, “a mark attempted without consent is invalid.” The avatar’s gaze snapped to her. “Archivist Pemberton. You overstep.” Bea raised her chin a fraction. “I have spent centuries watching words become cages. I will not watch it again.” Celia Castellano wasn’t here. That absence pressed like a bruise. The briars lunged again, trying to close the route. Rafe carved space with his body and blade, breathing hard through his nose, refusing to give the room even one sound of complaint. Kevin’s voice sharpened. “Sofi—your terms. Repeat them. Lock it in.” Right. The vow. This time we used the court’s own tools against it. I faced the avatar, shoulders squared, pain skittering under my skin like trapped fire. “Speak it,” I said. “Twice. Identical. ‘No more humans taken. All humans held as collateral released with names restored. Safe threshold to New York opened now.’ Say it.” The avatar’s mouth tightened. “You presume authority.” “I presume rules.” My voice stayed even. “Say it, or admit the court runs on coercion, not law.” The counting stuttered, as if the stone itself didn’t like hearing the truth in its own language. The avatar glanced at the seam—calculation flicking like a quick hand over a blade. Thorne’s face held steady, self-control welded into place. Underneath, something pressed hard, desperate, like a palm against bars. Finally: “No more humans shall be taken as collateral by the Briar Court. All humans held as collateral shall be released with their names restored. A safe threshold to New York City shall be opened now.” The briars hesitated. The silhouettes trembled, paper-body shivering. “Again.” My voice didn’t shake. My body did. I made it behave. The avatar’s eyes held mine, heat banked so tight it turned cold. “No more humans shall be taken as collateral by the Briar Court. All humans held as collateral shall be released with their names restored. A safe threshold to New York City shall be opened now.” The chamber let out something like a breath. Faces returned in a rush—eyes, mouths, freckles, scars. Hands flew up, people touching their own cheeks like they couldn’t trust themselves to still be solid. A woman sobbed, loud and animal. A man laughed once and clapped a hand over his mouth like he’d bitten himself. The threshold widened. Rain breath rolled out, mixed with subway dust and the greasy sweetness of frying oil from a cart somewhere around a corner. Home. Not safe. Home. “Go,” I told them. Low. “Go now.” They moved, stumbling at first like newborns, then faster as the seam’s pull caught them. Rafe held briars back with blade and shoulder. Kevin guided with his voice, repeating, “You’re okay—keep going—don’t stop—” The avatar watched the procession like it was watching inventory leave the shelf. I didn’t move toward the seam. Not yet. The thorn-mark pulsed harder, resentful. Heat crawled from shoulder to throat, trying to climb into my mouth and hijack my words. “You have done what you wished,” the avatar murmured. “Cross.” “Not until they’re all through.” My breath came tight. “Count them.” Its gaze narrowed. “You mistrust the vow.” “I mistrust you.” Kevin’s voice cut in, strained. “Sofi, last one’s—okay, okay, they’re—” A limping man crossed and vanished into rain. The line emptied. Only me, Kevin, Rafe, Bea, and the avatar remained in the iron-mint chamber. The counting slowed a fraction, like the court recognized it couldn’t claw them back without breaking its own binding. Relief tried to crash into me. I caught it by the throat. Not yet. The avatar moved. Not toward the threshold—toward me. A blur of dark sleeve, a hand reaching for my shoulder, for the mark. A last-second rewrite. Rafe lunged, too late. Bea sucked in a sharp breath. Kevin’s voice broke. “Sofi—” I twisted away hard. Fabric tore. Pain ripped across my shoulder, hot and bright, like someone had peeled skin. The mark didn’t sink deeper. Because I didn’t give it permission. The avatar’s fingers hovered a breath from my skin, then stopped, arrested by the rule it had invoked. Its eyes met mine, and something like frustration leaked through. “You would leave the court to collapse,” it said softly. “You would let borders bleed.” “That’s not on me.” My voice came hoarse. “You don’t get to make me your patch for a system that hurts people.” Its lips pressed thin. “Thorne Ashworth-Blackwood would offer you gratitude.” Thorne’s name struck like a spark. Heat rose in my chest—wrong and right at once. “Thorne Ashworth-Blackwood doesn’t get to bargain with my life anymore.” My words came out steady anyway. “Not like that.” The avatar’s gaze sharpened. “And yet you speak his name with care.” Kevin shifted closer, not touching. His eyes flicked to the avatar, then to my shoulder, then away like watching it hurt made him sick. Bea’s voice stayed soft, precise. “The vow is spoken. The release executed. The threshold remains open. The court cannot lawfully hinder her departure.” The avatar smoothed itself back into calm. “Lawful. Always your word.” “It is the only shield I possess,” Bea replied. Quieter still. “I have learned what happens without it.” The avatar’s gaze lingered on Bea a heartbeat too long. Then it stepped back, darkness swallowing the movement. “Go, Sofia Reyes (Sofi). Carry your stolen victory home.” Its voice softened, and that softness made my skin crawl. “Provided that you remember what you owe.” My bracelet went cold, metallic, sudden. The counting in the stone aligned with my pulse—too perfect, too intimate. A clause tucked into a heartbeat. Kevin leaned close, whisper meant only for me. “We go. Now. Before it… before it tries again.” I nodded once. Blood and mint coated my tongue. “Move.” Rafe’s voice hit like a shove. I stepped into the threshold. Rain slapped my face, cold and honest. The air changed—thinner, dirtier, alive. Subway dust stuck to my wet eyelashes. Sirens wailed somewhere far off, real sirens, not that violin note chewing at my skull. Kevin followed. His shoulder brushed mine by accident, and the contact jolted through me—too intimate for the moment, too human to ignore. The seam snapped shut behind us like a door slamming on fingers. Darkness gave way to an alley’s weak streetlight and wet asphalt glittering like broken glass. The humans huddled near the mouth of the alley, shivering, crying, staring at brick walls like they were miracles. My knees threatened to fold. I locked them. Not yet. Stabilize first. Kevin crouched by an older man on the curb, hands open, voice calm. “Hey—hey. You’re in the city. You’re okay. What’s your name?” The man blinked hard. “James.” The word cost him. “James.” Kevin nodded like it was oxygen. “Okay, James. Good. Stay with me.” My throat tightened, not from magic this time. A figure shouldered through the cluster, moving fast, squared up like she was about to swing. Rain plastered her hair flat. Her eyes looked wild with the kind of focus you get after running on panic for too long. “Elena Kowalski,” I breathed. The name came clean. No smear. No blank space. She stopped three feet from me, chest heaving. “Sofia Reyes (Sofi).” My name cracked in her mouth like she’d bitten down too hard. “You look like hell.” A laugh tried to rise and turned into a choke. My hands shook, and I shoved them into the cloak to hide it. Leni’s gaze flicked to Kevin, to the strangers, back to me—questions stacking up so fast I could almost hear them. “You bring friends?” Her tone went sharp, like sarcasm was the only thing holding her upright. “Patients.” My voice scraped. “Long story.” She stepped closer, and the alley shrank. For a second she didn’t touch me, hovering like she didn’t trust contact not to make me vanish again. Then her hand closed around my wrist, firm, grounding, bone on bone. “Don’t you dare disappear,” she snapped, fast and furious. “Don’t. I’m not doing that again.” “I’m here.” My voice hitched. “I’m here.” Only when she squeezed harder did the words start to feel real. Marcus Washington’s voice carried from behind the cluster, steady and controlled. “We need to move. Cameras’ll show. Cops too. Ambulances.” He stepped into the light, rain darkening his coat. His face held that tight, courtroom kind of anger—the one that doesn’t waste energy. “Sofia Reyes (Sofi),” he said quietly. “You came back.” “Yeah.” I nodded toward the huddled group. “And I didn’t come back alone.” Marcus’s eyes moved over them, counting without making it obvious. His jaw tightened. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. We get them safe. Then we talk.” Kevin stood and wiped rain off his glasses with the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled. He looked at me like he was afraid to blink. “You did it,” he said. My throat pinched. I swallowed hard. “We did.” His gaze dropped to my shoulder. “You’re bleeding.” “Later,” I started automatically. “Not later.” Soft, but firm. “Soon.” Leni snorted. “He your new supervisor? ’Cause I’ve got notes.” Kevin’s mouth twitched once, then fell serious again. “No. I’m—” He cut himself off, glancing at the others. Wrong time. “I’m nothing. I’m just here.” “Not nothing.” The words jumped out of me before I could sand them down. Kevin’s eyes snapped to mine. Rain slid down his cheek like a tear he refused to own. Marcus clapped his hands once—quiet, commanding. “All right. Anyone who can walk, we’re moving. Stay together. No one wanders.” Rafe stood at the alley mouth a beat longer than anyone, eyes scanning shadows like he expected briars to crawl out of brick. Then he stepped back into the rain and the city, posture loosening in a way that looked almost reluctant. He didn’t look at me. “Order holds,” he said. A pause. “For now.” The words hit like a warning. We moved. * * * The shower came later, in a bathroom Marcus cleared like a safehouse—no windows, cheap tile, a lock that clicked too loud. The room smelled like bleach and old steam. Normal. Almost sacred. I shut the door and leaned my forehead against it until the world stopped tilting. Clothes hit the floor in damp, heavy piles. The borrowed cloak stuck to my shoulder where the mark had burned through, and peeling it off felt like prying tape from raw skin. The mirror above the sink offered me a stranger for a second. Hollow eyes. Split lip. Bruises blooming along my collarbones. Bandage grimy with dried blood. “Okay, Sofi,” I whispered, like I was talking to a patient trying to bolt. “Vitals.” Pulse: fast, steady. Breath: shallow, then deeper when I forced it. Fingers: tingling, still mine. I turned on the water. Hot and loud, hammering the tile with a steady rhythm that made my muscles unclench by degrees. Steam rose fast, beading on my skin. The heat sank into knots that had been braced for days. My knees tried to fold anyway. I stepped under the spray and let it hit my shoulder. Pain flared. Then eased. Then flared again, the thorn-mark answering the heat like it wanted attention. Soap waited on the ledge—bitter herbs and eucalyptus, sharp enough to punch through congestion. Leni’s pick, obviously. I worked it between my hands until the scent cut through the iron stink of the court, then scrubbed my arms, neck, face. Blood, sap, fear—thin red-brown ribbons spiraled down the drain. The water ran cold for one sick second. Metallic. Penny-taste in the air, like the court had slid a finger through the pipes. My breath locked. The thorn-mark jabbed, sharp and warning. No. Not here. I pressed my palm flat against the tile wall. Cold ceramic. Real. I counted breaths—slow, stubborn—until my lungs remembered how to move. The water warmed again. Steam returned. The penny tang faded. Careful now, I washed around my shoulder. The mark sat under the skin like a thorned vine pressed into flesh, not ink. It throbbed with my pulse like it had filed paperwork on my heartbeat. I tipped my head back and let the hot water pound the base of my skull until my eyes burned. Something broke loose—half laugh, half sob—and bounced off the tile too loud. Hands still shaking, I shut the water off. A rough towel wrapped around me like a bandage. Another towel swallowed my hair. I studied bruises in the mirror the way I’d read a chart—yellowing here, new purple there. The shoulder mark stayed angry red, edges raised like it wanted to climb. “Tomorrow,” I told my reflection. The word came out both promise and threat. “Tomorrow we figure out how to cut you out.” A knock tapped the door, soft. Kevin’s voice, muffled through cheap wood. “Sofi? You okay?” My throat tightened. I reached for the lock and hesitated anyway. “Yeah,” I called. “Give me a second.” Silence. Then, careful: “I’m not leaving. Just… so you know.” Heat rose in my chest that had nothing to do with steam. I cracked the door a few inches, towel tight, fog spilling out. Kevin stood in the hall in damp clothes, hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes stayed on the floor like he didn’t want to take more than I offered. “Hey.” My voice came small. He looked up. Wrecked in a quiet way, like he’d been holding himself together with string. “You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” I tightened my grip on the towel. “I didn’t.” His throat worked. A sharp nod. “Yeah. Right.” The house creaked around us, settling. Somewhere downstairs, Leni swore at someone in a rapid-fire stream that sounded like love disguised as violence. Kevin’s voice dropped. “When you turned your back on the threshold… I thought you were gonna—” He swallowed hard and tried again. “I thought you were gonna stay there.” “I almost did.” The truth scraped out and left my tongue raw. His gaze flicked to my shoulder, then away so fast it was practically a flinch. “That mark—” “Yeah.” Dry mouth. “It tried to keep me.” His hand lifted like it wanted to touch, then stopped midair. He let it fall. “I hate this,” he muttered. “I hate that it keeps asking you to pay.” My pulse hammered against the hidden thorns. “I’m done paying,” I said. “I’m done being the clause.” Kevin’s breath shuddered. “I don’t know how to be useful in a fight like that.” “You were.” I held his gaze. “You kept me from saying the wrong thing.” A quiet sound escaped him, not quite a laugh. “By telling you to breathe. Groundbreaking.” “By staying,” I corrected. “That’s not nothing.” His shoulders dropped a fraction, like a hinge finally loosening. The hallway felt too narrow. The air between us held a charge that had nothing to do with fae law—just human risk, bad timing, the kind of want you try to lock away because it gets people hurt. Kevin’s voice went softer. “When we get through this—when you’re home—what happens?” Not a demand. A question with teeth hidden behind it. My fingers flexed on the towel edge. The mark pulsed once, irritated. “I’m going to bring them home,” I said. “All of them. The ones we got tonight, and the ones still missing. I’m not letting anyone become paperwork.” Kevin nodded slowly. “And you?” My chest tightened. I could’ve dodged, could’ve turned it into triage and logistics. Instead: “I want you there.” The words came out small, sharp. “Not as a witness. As… you.” Kevin went still. Lips parted like language had slipped out of reach. “You’re saying that now?” His voice shook, just a little. “I’m saying it now.” My pulse kicked hard. The mark stung. “Because I almost didn’t get to say it.” Rainwater dripped off his sleeves onto the floor, steady as a leak. He stared at me, then nodded once like he’d just stepped off a ledge. “Okay,” he said rough. “Okay. I’m in.” My shoulders dropped for the first time in days. One slow exhale. Downstairs, Marcus’s voice carried up, steady and tight. “We’ve got movement outside. Two cars. No lights.” Rafe answered, flat. “They are not police.” Kevin’s gaze snapped toward the stairwell. The air changed. Thin again. The thorn-mark pulsed hard, synced to something that wasn’t my heartbeat. A faint counting started to crawl through the house’s walls. Kevin’s voice tightened. “Sofi… do you hear that?” I didn’t answer. My hand went to my shoulder, fingers pressing the raised vine under skin. The court hadn’t followed me through the doorway. It had followed me into my body. Outside, in the rain-dark street, shadows shifted like they’d learned our address.