Stellan's eyes stayed fixed on the dark gap between two mausoleums.
His face didn't change.
That was how Mireya knew it was bad.
"Say it," she whispered.
Stellan swallowed once. His Pulse-sight was still up—reading the cemetery like a wound.
"It's moving," he said. "Toward us."
Wind slid through ironwork. A lantern flame guttered. Somewhere deeper in the graves, stone clicked—small, wrong, like something had brushed a marker and kept going.
Mireya shifted back a step, putting the catacomb stairs at her shoulder.
Choke point. Cover. Options.
"Guards?" she asked.
Stellan shook his head. "Not human."
"Helpful," Mireya muttered.
Stellan's jaw tightened. "Two beats. One presence."
Mireya felt cold crawl up her spine. "Grafted."
"Or worse," he said.
The bond tugged as if it agreed.
Mireya tasted old blood at the back of her throat—her own. She'd been bleeding longer than she wanted to admit. She forced herself not to cough.
Stellan's gaze flicked to her mouth, then away. Effort. Consent.
Good.
"Down," Mireya said.
Stellan didn't argue. He moved with her, quick and quiet, into the shadow of the stairwell. Their shoulders almost touched.
Almost.
Proximity hit like a wave.
Mireya's stomach rolled. Her vision sharpened too hard. For a second she saw the cemetery twice—once from where she stood, once from Stellan's angle, as if her eyes couldn't decide who they belonged to.
She gripped the stair stone until the nausea eased.
Stellan exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. I feel it too."
"Don't sound proud," Mireya murmured.
He didn't smile. "Not proud."
Silence stretched. Not magic silence. Real silence—earned because neither of them wanted to make the first mistake.
A scrape.
Soft.
Gravel shifting somewhere behind the angel statue.
Mireya froze.
Stellan's shoulders went taut. His hand slid to his blade.
Mireya's own hand tightened around her stolen kitchen knife. Cheap steel. Better than nothing.
Then the sound stopped.
Nothing followed.
Mireya waited a beat longer anyway. Then another.
"Fine," she breathed, barely moving her lips. "We're not doing this blind."
Stellan glanced at her. Close enough that she could see the pale line of exhaustion under his eyes.
"Doing what?" he asked.
"This," Mireya said, and lifted her chin at the graveyard, the wards, the darkness, the bond that kept trying to crawl under her skin. "Being… this."
Stellan's mouth twitched once. Not amusement. Agreement.
Mireya kept her voice low. "Pact."
Stellan's brow rose a fraction. "You like rules."
"I like surviving," Mireya shot back.
He let that land, then nodded once. "Okay. Pact."
Mireya counted on her fingers like it was a contract.
"One. We find who set off the blast. The real one."
Stellan's voice stayed blunt. "Agreed."
"Two. We sever this bond."
Stellan's jaw flexed. "If we can."
"We will," Mireya said, sharper than she meant. Her throat protested. She swallowed it down.
Stellan didn't call her on it. He just said, "Try."
Mireya hated that word on his mouth. Like he thought effort was a spell.
"Three," she continued, "we disappear. Separate. No heroic nonsense."
Stellan's eyes narrowed. "Heroic nonsense."
"You know what I mean," Mireya snapped.
He didn't raise his voice. He never did. "I know what you want."
The bond flared.
Not magic light—something uglier. Mireya's stomach dipped. A taste flooded her mouth: bitter, metallic, like fear pretending to be anger.
She hated that Stellan could taste it too.
She heard it, too—her own breath catching, small and traitorous, in the back of her throat.
Stellan's gaze went steady. "You're scared."
Mireya's eyes sharpened. "Don't."
"I'm not judging," he said.
"Stop listening to me like you're—" Mireya cut herself off before the word mine could appear between them.
Stellan's shoulders shifted, a restrained shrug. "Can't help it."
"Yes, you can," Mireya said. "You can stop acting like this is a sermon."
His eyes flashed, just once. "And you can stop acting like everyone's trying to own you."
Mireya laughed softly, without humor. "That's because they are."
Stellan held her gaze. "Not me."
Mireya's throat tightened. The bond tugged again, like it wanted that sentence to matter more than it should.
She forced herself back to the point. "You said the palace was wrong."
"It is," Stellan replied. "I saw it. The fox. The way it beat. The way the wards—"
"'Beat.' 'Pulse.' 'Wrong.'" Mireya tipped her head. "You talk like everything's a heartbeat."
Stellan's mouth went tight. "Because it is."
Mireya leaned in a fraction. "Even me?"
The question came out sharper than she intended. Too close to a dare.
Stellan didn't answer fast. He never did when the truth would hurt.
Then he said, quietly, "I don't know yet."
Mireya felt a strange relief and hated herself for it.
"Good," she said coldly. "Don't decide you understand me. You don't."
Stellan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not trying to own you, Mireya."
Mireya almost told him not to use her name.
Almost.
Instead she said, "Then stop trying to save monsters."
Stellan's gaze snapped hard. "They're people."
"Some of them used to be," Mireya corrected.
Stellan's voice dropped. "That's the point."
Mireya scoffed. "Honor won't keep you alive."
Stellan's jaw clenched. "Neither will poisoning everyone who gets close."
Mireya's fingers tightened on her knife. "I didn't poison you."
"You tasted it," Stellan said, and his tone went rough around the edges. "So don't tell me it's not close."
The bond surged with it—rage on one side, fear on the other—until Mireya's vision swam.
For a second she saw the cemetery through Stellan's eyes even with her own eyes open. A double exposure of stone and shadow.
She swallowed bile.
Stellan steadied himself against the wall, breath controlled. "It's getting worse."
Mireya's lips pressed into a thin line. "Good."
Stellan blinked. "Good?"
"If it's a curse," Mireya said, voice low, "it should hurt."
Stellan stared at her like he couldn't decide if she was brave or broken.
Mireya didn't care which one he picked.
A sound cut through them.
A faint chitter.
Too soft for a normal beast. Too close to laughter.
Stellan's head turned sharply.
Mireya felt the pull in her bones as his Pulse-sight lifted again.
"Where?" she whispered.
Stellan didn't answer. He went still, listening with his eyes.
Then the world snapped.
Mireya's vision yanked sideways—into his.
She was looking down the graveyard aisle from Stellan's height. Lantern glow. Mausoleums like teeth. Shadows pooled too thick between stones.
And on top of a low tomb, half-silhouette against the lantern light, stood a shape made of smoke and bone-thin elegance.
A fox.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Spectral.
Its eyes were too bright. Its body flickered at the edges like it couldn't decide how solid it wanted to be.
The Shadow-Fox from the menagerie.
It turned its head slowly.
Not toward Stellan.
Toward her.
Mireya felt her stomach drop.
Because through Stellan's eyes, she saw the fox's nose lift.
Sniffing.
Tracking.
And it began to move—silent as a thought—along the line that led straight to Mireya's hiding place.