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The summoning chamber was silent. Only the rhythmic drip of water echoed, a cold counterpoint to the thrumming magic in the air. Lindsey’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a wild bird trapped in her chest.

Justin’s form solidified, his spectral body becoming increasingly opaque. The edges of his silhouette sharpened until he seemed almost solid, a physical presence demanding space and attention. She could see every detail now: the faint, ancient scars crossing his forearms, the precise, forgotten stitching on his dark armor, the raw fury burning behind eyes that glowed like starlight trapped in ice.

“What have you done?” His voice was not loud. It was worse than loud. It was inevitable, a low rumble that vibrated through the very stone beneath her feet. An avalanche beginning its descent, unstoppable.

Lindsey straightened her spine, fighting the desperate urge to step backward, to cower. “I saved a child.”

“You enslaved us both.” He turned away, his form flickering between solid and translucent. His shoulders were rigid with tension, radiating an unseen pressure. She saw the moment he decided to leave, the way his edges began to blur and scatter like smoke, a desperate attempt to return to the void from which she had pulled him.

The anchor mark on her palm burned. A searing pain blossomed, not just on her skin, but deep within her, a primal scream of connection.

Justin cried out. It was not a sound of pain but of rage, of something deeper than pain, something that spoke of centuries held back. Eight hundred years of solitary duty compressed into a single, violent refusal. His form snapped back into terrifying solidity, and he fell to one knee, his hand pressed against his chest as if the mark burned him from the inside, consuming him.

“What is happening?” Lindsey took a hesitant step toward him, her concern warring with her instinct to flee.

“Do not.” His command was absolute, a mental shout that froze her in place. His glowing eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her gut clench with cold dread. “Do you understand what you have done? The ritual you performed was not merely forbidden. It was prophesied to destroy this city. To destroy everything.”

Lindsey swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Then why did you answer?”

“Because you left me no choice.” His voice was low, dangerous. It wrapped around her, a silken cord threatening to constrict. “This bond, this anchor you have forced upon me, it is a chain neither of us can break. I can feel you breathing. I can feel your heartbeat. I can feel your fear, and it is...” He closed his eyes, his spectral features tightening. “It is a constant, maddening presence.”

Lindsey glanced down at her palm. The anchor mark was glowing faintly, a spiral of silver light beneath her skin. As she watched, it pulsed with a soft, rhythmic beat, and Justin flinched as if struck by an invisible blow. A shared agony.

“It connects us,” she said, understanding beginning to dawn with a chilling clarity. “Physically?”

“Spiritually. Physically. Every way that matters. We are bound now, Scribe.” He rose, his movements stiff with barely contained fury. “For as long as you live, I am tethered to your existence. I cannot leave this city. I cannot dissipate into the void where I belong. I am trapped, just as surely as you have trapped yourself in this chamber.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “The child would have died.”

“And thousands more will die now.” He moved to the far wall, his spectral hand pressing against the ancient stone as if he might push through it, desperate to escape her, to escape this bond. “This is what always happens when mortals meddle with forces they do not understand. They save one, and lose a hundred. The scales of fate are rarely balanced by a single life.”

A shriek ripped through the chamber’s silence. It was not human. It was not animal. It was a violation of the air itself. The wraith attacked from the darkness above.

It dropped through the ceiling, a shrieking thing of tattered flesh and hunger, its limbs too long, its mouth too wide. Its presence brought a stench of rot and ancient despair. Lindsey's breath hitched, a gasp caught in her throat.

Justin moved before thought could complete. He was between Lindsey and the wraith in an instant, his form radiating power so raw it burned the air. The wraith lunged at her, its hollow eyes fixed on her, and Justin grabbed it by the throat. His spectral fingers passed through its ethereal form momentarily before solidifying enough to hold it, to stop its horrific momentum.

“It knows what you are,” he snarled, not to Lindsey but to the thing he held, his voice a low, guttural growl. “It will hunt you forever.”

The wraith thrashed, a desperate, clawing thing. Justin realized he could not kill it in this state. He was too newly solid, too tethered to this mortal plane, his strength still fragmented by the unwanted bond. The wraith was dissolving in his grip, but slowly. Too slowly. If it reached Lindsey, it would drain her soul in seconds, leaving her an empty husk.

He made a decision. A terrible, intimate one.

“Do not move,” he commanded, his mental voice sharp enough to cut, forcing her to absolute stillness. “Do not scream. Do not fight. Close your eyes, Scribe, and trust me.”

Before she could protest, before she could even process his words, Justin turned himself inside out. His spectral form flowed through her body, not like liquid starlight, but like agonizing cold, a violation and protection at once. Lindsey gasped, her entire being seized by a sensation she could not name. His ancient power sang through her bones. She felt his loneliness then, vast and crushing, eight hundred years of solitary duty pressing against her mind like a weight that might never lift.

Her mind reeled, assaulted by the raw, untamed force of him. It was an invasion, a desperate melding of essences that stole her breath and left her dizzy with sensation. She felt him destroy the wraith from the inside, burning it away with ancient power and cold, relentless fury.

When he reformed, he stood behind the now-dissolving wraith, fully corporeal, his hand driving through its center. It dissolved into ash that fell like snow in the chamber’s darkness, leaving nothing but a lingering scent of ozone and decay.

Silence returned to the chamber, thick and heavy. Lindsey was shaking, unable to speak, unable to move. The sensation of him passing through her was fading, but the memory of it would not. She could still feel him, his icy presence, his immense power, his desperate, ancient sadness. It was an imprint on her very soul.

“This is our curse now,” he said, his voice hoarse, ragged with exhaustion. He reached out, his hand surprisingly solid, and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his glowing gaze. “You will not leave my sight. You will not attempt to escape me. You are my anchor, Lindsey Swinston, and I am bound to protect you whether I wish to or not.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. The raw emotion of the encounter overwhelmed her.

“That is the only reason I have not already destroyed you.” His hand dropped from her chin, breaking the fragile contact. “But know this, Scribe. Every choice you make now costs me. Every moment of fear you experience, I experience tenfold. You have made yourself my responsibility, and I do not take that responsibility lightly.”

He turned away, his form still unstable, flickering faintly with the strain of maintaining his corporeality. The cost of remaining solid was visible, draining his reserves with every passing moment.

“We must leave this place,” he said, his voice flat. “The ritual has drawn attention. Before dawn, they will come looking for you. And I have nowhere near the strength to fight them, not yet.”