She woke screaming.
Not from a dream—but from memory that refused to stay contained.
Her body jerked violently, fingers clawing at nothing as pain tore through her spine like a living thing, sharp and merciless. For a moment she didn't know where she was. The world came back in fragments—stone, dim light, the metallic tang of blood.
And then—
Hands.
Strong. Steady. Real.
"Hey. Hey—look at me."
His voice cut through the haze, low and urgent.
She sucked in a breath that burned all the way down. Her chest felt too tight, as if something inside her had been pulled, twisted, rewired.
"You're here," she whispered.
"Yes." He didn't let go. "You're safe. For now."
Safe was a generous word.
They were no longer in the court.
The space around them was narrow—some kind of service tunnel carved deep beneath the strata. The walls pulsed faintly with residual energy, veins of light flickering irregularly, like a system struggling to stabilize after a surge.
She tried to sit up.
Pain flared instantly.
She gasped, collapsing back with a strangled sound.
His grip tightened. "Don't."
"What—what's wrong with me?" she asked, panic creeping in.
He didn't answer immediately.
That terrified her more than the pain.
"You interfered with the bond," he said carefully. "Not instinctively. Intentionally."
"I know," she said weakly. "I felt it."
"You didn't just resist it," he continued. "You redirected it."
Her heart stuttered. "Is that bad?"
"Yes."
She swallowed. "How bad?"
He met her gaze.
"Bad enough that the system noticed," he said. "Bad enough that it will try to correct the imbalance."
Her fingers trembled against the stone.
"So… this is the cost."
"Yes."
The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on her chest. Not awkward. Not empty.
Grieving.
She stared at the faintly glowing wall beside her. "I didn't do it to be reckless."
"I know."
"I didn't do it for power."
"I know."
"I just—" Her voice broke. "I couldn't let them punish us for feeling."
Something in his expression shifted.
A fracture.
"You think this is about feeling," he said quietly.
She turned to him. "Isn't it?"
He exhaled slowly. "No. It's about authorship."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You didn't just defend the bond," he said. "You asserted control over its meaning."
Her breath caught.
"That bond," he continued, "was designed to be reactive. Conditional. A leash that tightens when emotion spikes."
"And now?"
"And now," he said, "it responded to intent."
The weight of that settled painfully in her chest.
"I changed it," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Can it be undone?"
He shook his head once. "No."
Fear flared hot and immediate. "Then what happens to me?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached for her hand.
The moment their skin touched—
Pain surged.
Not the sharp agony from before, but something deeper. He winced, jaw tightening, breath hitching.
She yanked her hand back. "It hurts you."
"Yes."
Her throat tightened. "I'm sorry—"
"Don't," he said sharply. "This is not your fault."
"But I did this."
"You chose," he corrected. "And choice always carries weight."
She shook her head, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "I didn't know it would hurt you."
His voice softened. "Neither did I."
That frightened her more than anger ever could.
"Then why aren't you angry?" she asked.
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Because for the first time," he said, "the pain isn't corrective."
She blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means the system isn't punishing us," he said. "It's… struggling to adapt."
The tunnel shuddered faintly, as if responding.
WARNING: BINDING INSTABILITY
FEEDBACK LOOP: UNRESOLVED
The words appeared briefly along the wall, glowing harshly before fading.
She wrapped her arms around herself. "So now what?"
"Now," he said, "we see how much the system is willing to break to put things back in order."
Her stomach dropped. "And if it can't?"
A humorless smile touched his lips. "Then it will try to break us."
The implications rippled outward.
"I don't regret it," she said suddenly.
He stiffened.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm in pain. And I don't know what I've turned myself into."
She met his gaze, voice trembling but firm.
"But I don't regret choosing."
Something in his eyes burned brighter—dangerous, reverent, unguarded.
"Good," he said softly. "Because the system will test that resolve."
She swallowed. "How?"
He looked past her, down the length of the tunnel, where the faint hum of energy was beginning to change pitch.
"By making you choose again," he said. "And this time, it won't ask politely."
A distant tremor echoed through the stone.
Not collapse.
Approach.
She took a shaky breath.
Then, despite the pain, she sat up straighter.
"Then next time," she said, "I won't just answer."
He turned back to her.
"I'll decide," she finished.
For the first time since the bond had formed, he smiled—and it was not gentle.
"That," he said, "is exactly what terrifies them."
The lights along the tunnel flared violently.
Somewhere above, the system recalibrated.
And in doing so—
Marked her as a threat.