Tess didn't give them a bed.
She gave them a cellar.
Which, honestly, was smarter.
The dressing room would've been searched first. The stage second. The costumes third.
No one thought to look under the floor where the beer barrels used to sit.
Tess led them through a trapdoor behind a rack of masks and down a ladder that creaked once before Mireya stole the sound out of it.
The cellar smelled like damp wood and old apples. There were shelves lined with jars—pickled things, dried things, things Tess had probably stolen from richer kitchens.
A single lantern hung from a hook, flame low.
Tess pointed at the floor. Then at them. Then made a chopping motion.
"Sit," she said.
Stellan lowered himself onto a crate like his ribs were still arguing with him. Mireya sat across from him, back straight, hands in her lap like she was attending an interrogation.
Tess perched on a barrel between them, elbows on knees. She looked at their faces like she was reading a script only she'd memorized.
"You're both tense," she said. "It's boring."
Mireya's eyes narrowed. "We're being hunted."
Tess shrugged. "Everyone's being hunted. Most people still sleep."
Stellan looked at Tess. "You said you've seen bonds before."
Tess's smile went thin. "I said I've seen weird magic. Don't put words in my mouth."
Mireya's tone went sharp. "Why are we here, Tess?"
Tess lifted both hands, palms up, and made a motion like passing something invisible from one hand to the other.
"Handoff," she said.
Stellan's jaw tightened. "We don't control that."
Tess tapped her temple. "Not yet. But you're going to."
Mireya didn't react. Her face stayed blank.
But Stellan heard it anyway.
The hitch in her breath.
The tiny shift in her pulse.
Fear.
Not of Tess. Not of the Ministry.
Of control she didn't own.
Mireya noticed Stellan noticing. Her eyes flicked up, sharp.
"Don't," she said.
Stellan lifted his hands a little. "I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to," Mireya replied.
Tess watched them, delighted. "That. That's your problem."
Mireya ignored her. "You want us to practice?"
Tess nodded once. "Safely. Down here the walls are thick. The noise is normal. If you pass out, you won't crack your head on a palace floor."
Stellan muttered, "Comforting."
Tess pointed at him. "You. Pulse-boy. You said you see magic. Like beats."
Stellan's eyes narrowed at the nickname, but he nodded.
Tess turned to Mireya. "And you steal sound."
Mireya's mouth tightened. "Silence."
"Sure," Tess said. "Silence. You two already share senses."
Mireya's gaze went cold. "We know."
Tess leaned forward. "Do you know how to aim it?"
Stellan's voice stayed blunt. "No."
Tess snapped her fingers. "Then we start small."
She held up two fingers. "Two seconds. No heroics."
Mireya's laugh came out thin. "That's rich, coming from you."
Tess's eyes gleamed. "Coming from me is always rich."
Mireya didn't smile.
Tess pointed at Stellan's eyes, then at Mireya. "You try to give her sight. On purpose."
Stellan stiffened. "That's not how it works."
Tess tilted her head. "Try."
Stellan's jaw tightened. "Everyone keeps saying that."
Tess spread her hands. "Because it's true."
Mireya crossed her arms. "And what do I do?"
Tess pointed at Mireya's throat. "You—don't panic. You don't yank. You take what he offers and you put it down when I say."
Mireya's eyes narrowed. "You think I can't control myself?"
Tess's smile sharpened. "I think you're terrified you won't."
Mireya went still.
The bond flared. Not nausea yet. Something like pressure behind Stellan's eyes.
He swallowed. "Okay. How?"
Tess tapped her own wrist twice, then pointed at Stellan's chest. "You pull inward. Not outward."
Stellan frowned. "My Pulse reads things out there."
Tess shrugged. "Then stop reading the world and read yourself."
Stellan stared at her like she'd asked him to lift a mountain.
Mireya's voice was quiet, cutting. "Street theatre giving Warden training. That's new."
Tess's grin returned. "I'm full of surprises."
Stellan closed his eyes.
He breathed once, slow.
Pulse-sight wasn't a switch. It was a muscle he'd trained for years. It always reached outward, searching for wrong beats.
Now he forced it inward.
His own heartbeat. His own breath. His own pain.
His ribs pulsed, sharp reminder.
His forearm still burned where the fox had sliced him.
He held that pain like a marker.
Then he pictured Mireya.
Not her face first—too complicated.
Her Silence.
That cold, clean absence that moved like a blade through noise.
He focused on it.
"Don't pull," he warned quietly, eyes still shut. "If you yank, it'll—"
"I'm not yanking," Mireya snapped.
Tess pointed at her. "Don't lie."
Mireya's jaw flexed. She stayed quiet.
Stellan exhaled. Slow. Then he pushed.
Not hard.
A small shove of intent.
Here. Take this. Two seconds.
The bond snapped like a taut string.
Mireya's breath hitched.
Stellan's stomach lurched.
Nausea rolled through him like a wave. He gripped the edge of the crate to keep from falling off it.
His ears filled with a sound that wasn't in the cellar.
Not footsteps. Not voice.
Heartbeat.
Fast. Close. Too clear.
Mireya's heartbeat.
It hammered in Stellan's ears like it had moved into his chest.
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
Mireya's gaze was unfocused. Her pupils had blown wide. For a heartbeat, she wasn't in the cellar.
She was somewhere else.
Seeing through him.
Stellan's mouth went dry.
Because hearing someone's heartbeat like that didn't feel like information.
It felt like a confession no one meant to make.
Tess held up two fingers. "One…"
Mireya swayed.
Stellan's ribs flared in protest and Mireya flinched as if the pain had jumped into her bones. She clenched her jaw hard enough to make her cheek twitch.
Tess's voice stayed crisp. "Two."
Stellan pulled back.
The bond recoiled.
Mireya sucked in a breath—too loud—and immediately stole it, embarrassed by the sound.
Stellan leaned forward, elbows on knees, fighting bile. His vision narrowed at the edges.
Mireya pressed two fingers to her throat, swallowing hard. "That was disgusting."
Tess looked pleased. "Good. That means it worked."
Stellan forced his voice steady. "It didn't feel safe."
Tess shrugged. "Nothing about you is safe."
Mireya's eyes cut to Tess. "We're not doing that again."
Tess blinked. "Oh, you are."
Mireya stood abruptly—then staggered, vertigo catching her.
Stellan's hand shot out on instinct.
He stopped himself an inch short of touching her.
Mireya noticed.
The bond tightened.
Stellan hated that his body wanted contact like it would fix anything.
Tess watched the near-touch and smiled like she'd just seen the best part of the play.
Mireya steadied herself against the wall instead. "Fine. Again. But smaller."
Stellan nodded once. "Smaller."
Tess lifted a finger. "And this time, she gives you something back."
Stellan frowned. "She can't give sight."
"She can give silence," Tess said. "Two seconds of quiet so your Pulse can focus."
Mireya's voice went flat. "You want me to put Silence in him."
Tess nodded. "You already did once in the menagerie."
Stellan's shoulders stiffened at the memory—absolute Silence like pressure in his skull.
Mireya glanced at him. "Warn me if it hurts."
Stellan's mouth tightened. "It will."
Mireya's expression barely changed. "Then try to survive it."
Stellan huffed once. "Yeah."
Tess held up two fingers again. "Ready. Two seconds."
Stellan braced his hands on his knees.
Mireya lifted her chin and tightened her Silence—not wide, not violent. A thin thread of it, aimed.
Careful. Controlled.
Stellan felt it enter him like cold water.
His ears went wrong.
Not quiet—pressured.
The world muffled. His own breathing vanished. Even the lantern's tiny crackle seemed far away.
It hurt.
Not blood pain. Not muscle pain.
Head pain. Pressure. Panic without sound.
Stellan clenched his jaw and held on.
And in that forced quiet, his Pulse-sight sharpened.
Not outward.
Inward.
He could feel the bond itself—taut, alive, too eager.
Tess's voice came through, muffled but clear enough. "One…"
Mireya's Silence wavered. Stellan's head throbbed.
"Two," Tess said.
Mireya released it.
Sound rushed back in like air into lungs.
Stellan sucked in a breath too hard and immediately tasted Mireya's satisfaction—tiny, unwilling, like she'd won something.
Mireya blinked fast. "Okay," she said, voice tight. "That one… worked."
Stellan wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah."
Tess leaned back on her barrel, satisfied. "So. You can hand off. In bursts. With cost."
Mireya glared at her. "You enjoy this."
Tess's smile widened. "I enjoy competence."
Stellan swallowed against lingering nausea. "We need rules for it."
Mireya nodded once. "Two seconds. Maximum."
"And no surprise," Stellan added.
Mireya's eyes flicked to him. "Agreed."
Tess clapped once, quiet. "Look at you. A couple."
Mireya's gaze sharpened. "Don't."
Tess held up both hands, mock innocent. "Fine. Not a couple. Just two people tied together like a curse."
Mireya's jaw clenched.
Stellan's ribs pulsed again and Mireya flinched—small, involuntary. Her eyes flashed anger at him like it was his fault.
Stellan didn't rise to it. "We should move before daylight."
Tess nodded toward the trapdoor. "You should. Someone's asking after you."
Mireya's spine straightened. "Who?"
Tess's eyes slid to Stellan. "Not your friends."
Stellan stood, slow, careful. His Pulse-sight flickered up without him meaning it—habit.
He pushed it down again.
He didn't want to be blind, but he didn't want to overload.
Mireya stepped toward the ladder.
Then the bond yanked.
Her vision snapped into Stellan's eyes—unasked, sharp.
Not the cellar.
Outside.
A slice of daylight-gray sky. A hill crest beyond the river quarter. Road dust in the air.
A rider crested the rise.
Straight-backed posture. Warden cloak. Hair cropped close.
Stellan's stomach dropped.
He knew that silhouette.
He knew that discipline.
Bram Kydan.
His former partner.
And Bram was riding toward the playhouse like he already knew where to look.