The Abyss split them on purpose.
Seris realized it the instant Mason's grip vanished—not torn away, not violently severed, but removed with surgical precision. One heartbeat he was there, shadows tight around her like a second spine, and the next there was a hollow where his presence had been.
She gasped.
"Mason—!"
Her voice echoed once, then fell dead.
The Abyss had swallowed sound.
Not silenced—isolated.
She stood alone on a narrow obsidian platform suspended over nothing, darkness stretching infinitely in every direction. The silver mark at her collarbone burned sharply, the bond straining—not broken, but stretched thin, like a wire pulled taut across a void.
He's still here, she told herself.
I can feel him.
Barely.
Panic threatened, hot and instinctive, but she forced it down. This—this—was exactly what the predator had warned her about.
Restraint would be tested.
"You did this," she said aloud, steadying her breath. "Didn't you?"
The shadows shifted.
The entity emerged without ceremony, coalescing from negative space rather than moving through it. Its form was sharper now, less fluid, as though proximity to the Abyss's core had forced it into greater definition.
"Yes," it said. "I needed to observe you without interference."
Her jaw tightened. "You mean without Mason."
"Correct."
The bond flared angrily at his name, silver light cutting briefly through the dark.
"You underestimate him," Seris said.
"No," the entity replied calmly. "We understand him perfectly."
Cold spread through her chest.
"You are not the threat," it continued. "He is."
She laughed softly, without humor. "You should have seen the gods."
"We did," the entity said. "They were loud. Predictable. Obsessed with hierarchy."
Its attention sharpened on her.
"He is obsessed with you."
The word landed like a blade.
"And that makes him dangerous," it finished.
Seris stepped forward, shadows responding cautiously now—no longer surging at her command, but awaiting direction.
"You're afraid of what he'd do if I were threatened," she said.
"Yes."
"And you think separating us will prove something."
The entity inclined its head. "It already has."
Her pulse pounded.
Somewhere—far, far away—she felt Mason.
Fury.
Terror.
Control straining to breaking.
He was fighting the Abyss itself.
Not to escape.
To reach her.
"You think you've removed him," Seris said quietly. "But you've only shown me how tightly we're bound."
The entity did not react.
"You talk about restraint like it's weakness," she continued. "Like allowing uncertainty invites predation."
The silver mark flared brighter.
"But restraint isn't absence of power," Seris said. "It's precision."
The Abyss stirred.
The platform beneath her feet expanded slightly, shadows thickening—not violently, but intentionally.
The entity stiffened. "You cannot anchor what you do not control."
Seris lifted her hand.
"I'm not anchoring you," she said. "I'm anchoring myself."
The bond surged—not outward, not reaching for Mason, but inward—locking her presence into place with terrifying clarity. The Abyss responded, stabilizing around her, compressing space until the void felt… smaller.
Closer.
The entity took a step back.
"You adapt too quickly," it said.
She smiled faintly. "You should have separated us sooner."
The shadows surged—not as weapons, but as walls—folding space inward, limiting the entity's ability to slide, to half-exist.
"You wanted to see me without interference," Seris said. "Now you are."
The entity tilted its head, studying her anew.
"And what will you do?" it asked.
Seris felt the weight of that question.
She could crush it. Overwrite it. Force it into coherence and tear it apart.
She did not.
Instead, she stepped closer.
"I will not destroy you," she said. "And I will not allow you to test me through harm."
The Abyss pulsed in agreement.
"But I will define the boundary you're not allowed to cross."
The silver mark flared blindingly bright.
Reality set.
The entity froze—not imprisoned, not bound—but excluded. Its presence flickered, struggling against a limit it could not circumvent without fully manifesting.
"You restrict variance," it said.
"Yes," Seris replied. "That's what anchors do."
The entity regarded her for a long moment.
Then, slowly, it receded—forced back into the spaces between probability where it belonged.
"This is not over," it said quietly. "Others will test you differently."
"I know," Seris replied.
The moment it vanished, the Abyss released its hold.
Sound rushed back.
Space expanded.
And Mason was there.
He appeared beside her like a shadow torn free from the dark, eyes blazing silver-black, control hanging by a thread. He caught her shoulders, hands gripping too tight—then loosened instantly, as though afraid to hurt her.
"Are you—" His voice broke. "Did it touch you?"
She grabbed his wrists, grounding him.
"I'm here," she said firmly. "I'm fine."
His breath was ragged. "You vanished."
"No," she corrected softly. "I was tested."
His jaw clenched. "I should have been there."
"And you weren't," she said gently. "That was the point."
He searched her face, shadows coiling anxiously around him.
"You held," he said quietly.
"Yes."
Something in his expression shifted—not relief.
Respect.
And fear.
"You didn't call for me," he said.
"I didn't need to," she replied.
The words landed between them, heavy with meaning.
For a long moment, Mason said nothing.
Then he pulled her into him, holding her with fierce restraint—arms tight, but not caging. His forehead rested against her hair, breath finally evening.
"I hate this," he admitted hoarsely.
"I know."
"But I see it," he continued. "What you're becoming."
She closed her eyes. "Do you?"
"Yes," he said. "And it terrifies me."
She tilted her head up. "Because you can't protect me from everything."
His grip tightened briefly.
"Because one day," he said quietly, "you might not need me to."
The Abyss pulsed—steady, watchful.
Seris held him tighter.
"I will always choose you," she said. "But I won't disappear into you."
Mason swallowed hard.
"And I will always want to consume the world for you," he said. "But I will not consume you."
The space between them—dangerous, necessary, alive—settled into place.
Some threats had teeth.
Others taught you how to bite back.