The problem wasn't the darkness.
It was how easily it listened.
Aelira stood at the center of the abandoned study, breath slow, spine straight, eyes fixed on the far wall. The lantern burned low, its flame steady—an intentional choice.
No flicker.
No distractions.
"Again," Kael said.
She reached inward.
The warmth rose smoothly this time, coiling beneath her skin like a disciplined current. Shadows gathered at her feet—neat, contained, waiting.
"Hold it," Kael ordered. "Don't shape it."
Aelira clenched her jaw.
Holding was harder than shaping.
The shadows strained, tugging against her restraint, whispering for release. Her pulse quickened, a thin line of pain forming behind her eyes.
"Breathe," Kael said. "You're slipping."
"I have it," she replied through her teeth.
The shadows twitched.
The lantern flame dimmed.
Kael moved closer. "Aelira—"
"I said—" Her voice caught as the warmth surged unexpectedly, pressure building fast and sharp. The shadows lashed outward, skimming the walls, shuddering with restrained violence.
Kael swore under his breath.
"Stop," he said. "Now."
She tried.
The command echoed inside her, but the power didn't slow—it answered. It wanted more space. More hunger. More—
Pain flared.
Aelira gasped, knees buckling as the room tilted.
Kael caught her before she hit the floor.
"Release it," he said urgently, one arm braced around her back, the other steadying her wrist. "Don't fight—redirect."
"I can't," she whispered. "It's—too loud."
"Then listen to me," he said, voice low and absolute. "Anchor here. Not inside."
He pressed her palm flat against his chest.
The contact was immediate.
The warmth recoiled—confused, startled—then settled, drawn toward the steady rhythm beneath his ribs.
Aelira froze.
So did Kael.
For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed.
The shadows snapped back, collapsing neatly at her feet. The lantern flared, then steadied.
Silence crashed into the room.
Aelira's fingers curled reflexively against him, pulse racing—not from fear.
From awareness.
Kael's jaw tightened. "That was reckless."
She swallowed. "It worked."
"It could have killed you."
"But it didn't."
He eased his hand from her wrist, but didn't step away. "You can't use me as an anchor."
Her gaze lifted slowly. "Why?"
"Because," he said quietly, "next time it won't stop."
The words hung between them—warning and confession all at once.
Aelira lowered her hand. "Then teach me another way."
Kael studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once.
"We end for tonight," he said. "You're pushing too hard."
She opened her mouth to argue.
He cut her off. "That's an order."
She closed it again—then smiled faintly. "You're worried."
"I'm responsible," he corrected.
"Same thing," she murmured.
Kael stepped back, reclaiming space, control snapping firmly into place. "Rest," he said. "Tomorrow we slow down."
She met his gaze. "Tomorrow, we do better."
He hesitated. Then—"Yes."
As he turned to leave, Aelira glanced at the shadows, now calm and obedient.
They had listened.
But tonight, for the first time, they had hesitated.
And that frightened her more than losing control ever had.