The Master Suite of the Agro-Capital was supposed to be my fortress. My sanctuary. The one place where the "Big Boss" could finally kick off her reinforced leather boots, ignore the fluctuating mana-crystal markets, and face-plant into five-hundred-thread-count silk without a care in the world.
Instead, I was marching through the double mahogany doors with a 10,000-year-old personification of "Bad Decisions" gliding right behind me like a shadow that refused to be uninstalled.
TUG.
The Soul-Tether gave a little rhythmic jerk at my sternum the moment Malphas stepped over the threshold. It was like an invisible bungee cord made of violet-gold energy, reminding me that if he stayed in the guest wing, I'd probably wake up as a literal prune.
