He felt it before she did.
Not like before—a conscious twitch, a misalignment he could correct.
This time, it came as a shiver of power he didn't command, a flicker he couldn't fully contain.
Small. Tiny. Almost laughably insignificant.
Except…
Every pulse through the bond landed on her.
A shock of heat in her chest, a tightening of her ribs. A fluttering in her stomach as if gravity had shifted for a heartbeat.
She staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the wall.
"Don't," she whispered.
He froze, hands curling at his sides, eyes narrowing as he fought the micro-leak.
But it wasn't enough.
A second, stronger pulse surged, and she doubled over slightly—not in pain, but in the weight of the inversion fully landing on her.
He hissed quietly, throat tight. "I… I have it."
"No," she said, breath shaking. "Not fully. You're… losing it—just a little—and I feel everything."
He swallowed. Partitioning, channeling, rerouting. Every measure he had built in meticulous precision began to strain under its own rules.
The system was watching.
No voice. No warning. Just subtle environmental shifts: a draft against his neck, uneven light bending, air density fluctuating by micrograms.
Designed to see how far the cage could hold before the anomaly cracked.
And cracks were appearing.
He clenched his fists, teeth gritted. Micro-tremors ran up his arms. A breath caught slightly off-rhythm.
She reached out, almost instinctively, hand hovering near his forearm.
The bond reacted immediately. A flicker of energy escaped containment—a pulse too faint to harm him, but enough to press on her chest like iron bands.
Her vision blurred slightly. Heart hammering.
"You… can't stop it all," she said quietly, voice trembling. "The system will push. And you… you can't catch everything."
He exhaled sharply, trying to swallow the tension, the failure he couldn't admit.
"I can," he said, voice tight, clipped, but not steady.
Another pulse hit, this one stronger. Not fully destructive, not fully uncontrolled—but enough. A reminder that the cage, his masterpiece, was no longer invulnerable.
She fell back a step, pressing a hand to her chest. The inversion pressed hard. The strain landed fully on her.
He staggered slightly, just a fraction, but enough that the system's presence seemed to hum in response, approving the test.
And she knew, grimly:
This was only the beginning.
The first real slip of his micro-control.
Soon, the pulses would grow.
Soon, she would feel the full weight.
And soon, the system would push him to the edge of containment —whether he was ready or not.
She stared at him, feeling every tremor, every pulse, every micro-failure.
"You're going to break," she whispered. Not accusation. Not fear. Fact.
He met her gaze, eyes sharp, jaw tight, hiding more than he admitted even to himself.
"Not yet," he replied.
But the bond fluttered again, betraying the truth.
Not all can be contained.
Not all can be controlled.
And when the cage finally falters…
It would hit her first.