The Abyss shivered.
Not with sound. Not with movement. But with recognition. Something had slipped into the edges of its dominion—an anomaly it had tolerated, but now could no longer ignore.
Seris felt it before Mason did. A prickle along her spine, a faint tug at the bond—a presence older than the Abyss, more patient than the gods, and infinitely more dangerous.
"They've come," she said quietly, the words heavy on her tongue.
Mason's posture tightened instantly, shadows coiling around him like living blades. "Where?"
She didn't answer immediately. The predator was not obvious. It didn't announce itself. It didn't need to. Its proximity was a weight in the air, pressing at her chest, curling along her nerves. Every instinct screamed its presence, yet its form remained impossible to define.
Mason stepped closer, hand resting near hers—but he did not touch her. "Describe it," he demanded. His voice was low, sharp. "I need to know what I'm fighting."
Seris swallowed, eyes narrowing. "It isn't a thing you fight, Mason. Not with shadows, not with claws, not with the Abyss."
A laugh escaped him—dry, humorless. "Great. Then it's my kind of enemy."
"No," she said firmly. "It's my kind of test."
The predator had come for her. Not for Mason. Not for the Abyss. For her.
And the Abyss itself trembled in acknowledgment.
It was closer now, a ripple in the darkness that resisted definition. If she reached out, she could sense it threading around the edges of the realm, probing, testing, considering—not violence, not threat, but intent.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered.
Mason's shadows flared violently. "Yes. And I want to cut it in half."
She shook her head. "You can't. That's not how this works."
Mason's jaw tightened. "Then let me die trying."
Seris tilted her head, watching him carefully. His obsession, his desire to consume the world for her, flared like a live wire in the darkness. But even that would not be enough. She could feel it. This predator wasn't something he could conquer with power. It didn't react to force—it reacted to will, perception, to subtle alignment.
"Then we need another approach," she said. "One that doesn't rely on you being able to obliterate it."
Mason exhaled slowly, shadows loosening slightly. "You have a plan?"
"I have a choice," she corrected. "A way to anchor myself without losing you. But it will cost me."
He stared at her, fear flickering across his eyes. "What kind of cost?"
She didn't answer immediately. The predator drew closer, and she could sense the pressure of it testing her boundaries, challenging the limits of the Abyss's protection. The moment was delicate, fragile. One misstep, one sudden surge of power from Mason, and the predator would vanish—or worse, react violently.
She met Mason's gaze. "I may have to step beyond what you can follow. I may have to face it alone."
A flash of panic crossed his face. "Alone? No. I will not let—"
"You will not need to," she interrupted firmly. "But you must trust me."
The bond pulsed violently, reacting to the tension. Mason's shadows surged instinctively, but she reached out and touched his chest. The moment her hand made contact, the bond shifted. Not in surrender, not in command—but in alignment. A shared pulse, acknowledging trust, restraining instinct.
"You're testing me," he whispered, voice tight.
"Yes," she admitted. "And I'm testing us. You don't get to fight every battle. Sometimes the test is restraint."
He gritted his teeth, then exhaled. "This is going to kill me."
"Then survive with me," she said softly. "Not for me, not for him, not for the Abyss—but with me."
The predator's ripple sharpened, like a knife sliding between reality and void. Its form became slightly perceptible—a towering silhouette of negative space, edges jagged, undulating, almost humanoid, but impossibly wrong.
Seris stepped forward, raising her hand. The Abyss pulsed around her, folding in protective arcs, but she forced herself to release Mason's hand. His silver-black gaze met hers, torn between desire to intervene and the necessity of restraint.
"I can't fight it," he said hoarsely, "and you can't either, not fully."
"Maybe," she said softly, "but I can contain it. Temporarily. Long enough for it to understand that I am not prey."
The predator paused, sensing the resolve radiating from her. It tested the space, slithering closer with intent—probing her will, her bond with the Abyss, the silver mark, and Mason's presence lingering at the edge.
Seris inhaled slowly. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to demand Mason step in, to unleash the shadows.
She ignored it.
The predator lunged—not physically, but mentally, probing her essence, seeking a flaw. And Seris met it, anchoring herself firmly, calling on the Abyss to recognize her autonomy, to stabilize her presence without aggression.
Mason tensed, shadows flaring, ready to tear through the predator's intrusion.
"Do not interfere," she whispered fiercely. "Not now."
The predator recoiled slightly, surprised at the barrier. Its form shivered. The Abyss shifted subtly, locking the predator's edges into stasis.
"You are… resilient," it hissed. "But fragile. Tethered."
Seris held her ground. "Yes. And I am anchored by choice, not by fear. Not by need. And not by you."
The predator hesitated. Then, slowly, it withdrew, retreating into the void, leaving only the faintest ripple in the Abyss where it had probed.
Seris exhaled shakily. The silver mark pulsed, bonding her to the Abyss and to Mason. She reached for him, and this time, he did not hesitate. He drew her close, holding her tightly, shadows curling protectively around both of them.
"You could have been taken," he whispered, voice thick with restraint and unspent fury.
"I wasn't," she said softly, pressing her forehead to his. "Because I didn't need saving."
He exhaled, just a fraction of his tension leaving him. "You terrify me," he admitted.
"And yet you stay," she said, voice gentle, deadly.
"Yes," he said, tightening his hold. "Because no one else has your right to."
The Abyss pulsed around them, calm again—but not idle. Watching. Waiting. It knew the predator would return, as it always did.
But it also knew: restraint had a cost, obsession had a limit, and choice had forged a bond far stronger than anything predation could break.
And Mason—relentless, obsessive, infinitely dangerous—would endure that cost alongside her, even if it frayed him to his core.