Valos poured without asking.

  Ashroot Vintage. A finger’s worth into a chipped glass, shoved toward Lysara. He hesitated, then poured a second and set it closer to Kayden.

  “Don’t get ideas,” he said. “This isn’t hospitality. It’s thinking fuel.”

  He turned back to the table, already clearing space with a sweep of his forearm. Parchment slid. Vials clinked. Something shattered on the floor and stayed there.

  “All right,” he said. “Again. Slower.”

  Lysara straightened. This part she knew.

  “The wolf was corrupted,” she said. “ It tracked. Waited. It didn’t rush.”

  Valos grunted. “Late-stage behavior with early restraint. That’s been showing up more.”

  She nodded. “When it moved, I acted.”

  He waved a hand. “Skip the obvious.”

  She did.

  “I felt the empty space first,” she said. “Like something thinning. Then the heat behind my eyes. That’s normal.”

  Valos’s pen scratched once against the parchment.

  “And then,” she continued, “the fog came out. Not like mana. Poisonous. Like breath.”

  She paused, choosing her words.

  “It moved when I pushed. And when I tried to push it all out, it recoiled.”

  Valos stopped writing.

  “Back into you?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He leaned back in his chair, wood creaking under the shift. Scratched his beard. Thought.

  “Are you sure it was poison?” he said finally. “Corruption doesn’t retreat in. It accumulates. It twists. Or it kills what it’s in.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He looked at her, eyes sharp now. “Are you sure it wasn’t mana?”

  “I didn’t call it out,” Lysara said. “But, for a moment it felt like I could shape it. It was strong, stronger than my mana. I just… refused it.”

  He pushed to his feet and crossed the room, rummaging through a cabinet that looked one collapse away from ending him. He pulled out a bundle of dried plant matter and tossed it onto the table.

  “Fog-adjacent growth,” he said. “You’ve seen these?”

  Lysara leaned in. “Yes. Near the forest edge. They thrive where mana readings are unstable.”

  “Wrong,” Valos said. “They thrive where structure is unstable. Mana just reacts afterward.”

  He separated the bundle into two piles with a practiced hand.

  “These curl inward,” he said, tapping the first. “Pressure builds. No release.”

  He tapped the second. “These fracture outward. Always near disturbed remains.”

  “The graveyard,” Lysara said.

  Valos nodded once. “Improper handling leaves residue. Not mana. Not rot. Something else.”

  He glanced at Kayden. “You smell it?”

  Kayden didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Sour-metal under decay. Not natural.”

  Valos’s mouth twitched. “Good. Not just me, then.”

  He turned back to Lysara.

  “Here’s what we know,” he said. “And here’s what we don’t.”

  He lifted one finger.

  “We know corruption isn’t random. You’ve confirmed that.”

  A second.

  “We know it can express without mana first. That’s… inconvenient.”

  A third.

  “We know it can be displaced.”

  He lowered his hand.

  “What we don’t know how poison ties in.”

  Silence settled.

  He crossed back to the table and pulled out a narrow glass strip, its surface faintly clouded with age.

  “This won’t measure mana,” he said. “Which is why it’s useful. It measures response.”

  Lysara studied it. “You want my blood.”

  “Yes,” Valos said. “Quietly. No stress. No provocation.”

  Kayden shifted slightly.

  Valos’s eyes flicked to him. “Relax. I’m not draining her.”

  He paused. Looked closer.

  “You’re not human,” he said.

  Kayden met his gaze. “Beastkin.”

  Valos’s interest sharpened immediately.

  “Which line?”

  “Wolf.”

  Valos’s eyebrows rose. “Hmph.”

  He turned fully toward Kayden now, reassessing. “Then I want yours too.”

  Kayden blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “For comparison,” Valos said. “Baseline sensory resilience. Structural tolerance. Don’t look offended — I’d ask the same of a Shea if I had one that stood still long enough.”

  Kayden glanced at Lysara.

  She nodded once.

  “All right,” Valos said, already moving again. “We’ll start small. No rituals. No activation. Just response.”

  He scribbled quickly on a scrap of paper, then folded it and handed it to Lysara.

  “Miranda,” he said. “She’ll know where the old logs are buried. Anything marked inconclusive. Anything that didn’t fit.”

  Lysara took the note. “And after that?”

  Valos looked at her for a long moment.

  “After that,” he said, “you don’t do it again.”

  She held his gaze.

  He turned back to his table, already dismissing them.

  “Get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow, you need to leave.”

  He paused, then added without looking up:

  “And Lysara?”

  “Mind your footing.”

  Lysara could not help smiling, “only you just packed your rogue away.”

  “Off to bed with you, and you boy you sleep down here.”