When I awake, Master is still wrapped around me.

  Bonded Soul has leved up, level III

  -The psychic bond is now reduced to 5 ft from level II's 10 ft due to heightened dependency.

  -Innate Tracking, Aliza now subconsciously monitors Master's heart rate, scent, muscle tension, and bodily intentions at all times as baseline instinct.

  -Real-Time thought Echo, Aliza can now hear Masters thoughts in real time without checks however still requires a wisdom throw to see his memories.

  I don’t move, not at first. My tail flicks, gently, curling around his thigh, not just for comfort, but because I have to, the impulse not even a choice anymore. Every part of me is aware of him, hyper-aware, as if all my other senses have gone numb to make room for the flood of information from the Bond. I can feel his heartbeat, slowed with sleep, not quite calm, the pace of someone who rests like a soldier, always one breath from the next fight. I smell his sweat, the lingering traces of blood and deer hide and old rain on his skin. I sense the tension wound through his muscles even in repose, the way his fingers twitch, half-dreaming of knives, of loss, of control. I can feel the tiny movements of his breathing, the way his chest expands and contracts, the way his ribs flex when he exhales too sharply, the faintest tremor in his jaw as he grinds his teeth against some silent threat in his dreams.

  More than that... I HEAR HIM

  Not with ears. With something deeper, something inside me now, fused into every synapse. His thoughts drift into mine, an endless undercurrent of calculation, suspicion, sharp little asides, the running commentary of a mind that never truly rests.

  How many bolts left? Seventeen. Never trust Mireclaw, never trust anyone. That rat hole was too convenient, trap, always a trap. Next time, clear the route myself. Aliza, alive, good, must reinforce boundaries, keep her close, too close. The Bond however feels different, shorter. Feels like a leash now. Like she’s clinging harder. Or am I?

  His thoughts are sharp, angular things, full of worry and the slow-burning certainty of someone who never truly trusts peace. I shiver, not from cold, but from the intimacy, the certainty that I am no longer beside him, but INSIDE HIM.

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  I want to purr, but I don’t. Too vulnerable. I tuck my face against his chest, breathing him in, letting the Bond quiet my nerves and hush the trembling that still lingers from the cold, the fear, the humiliation of being dragged, helpless, through hell.

  I could stay like this forever. But forever isn’t real. The world is already scratching at the door, hunger in its claws, violence in its eyes.

  He stirs slowly, reluctance painted in every line of his body. One eye cracks open, ice blue and bloodshot, cutting straight through the gloom to me. His thoughts spike, flicker, then smooth, the practiced calm of a man putting on his mask before the city can see what’s underneath.

  “You’re awake,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep and old cynicism, but softer than anyone else would ever hear. “Good. We’re not dead. That’s something.”

  I tighten my grip, nails digging into his side, not to hurt, but to remind him, and myself, that we are still alive, still together. My tail wraps around his waist, locking us together in a way that is less comfort and more declaration of territory.

  I can feel the hunger rising behind my teeth, that possessive, gnawing need. “I’m not leaving,” I breathe, words muffled against his chest, more threat than promise. “Not now. Not ever. Mine.” The Bond thrums in agreement, every part of me singing with it, desperate and unashamed.

  He smirks, a tired, crooked little thing. She’s clingier than ever. Good. Never let go. Never let anyone between us. Mireclaw’s probably already plotting. If she survived. But I still have my wife. Still have my shadow. That’s all that counts. For now.

  He pushes himself up, slow and stiff, untangling from me only enough to get his bearings. I don’t let him go, not fully, fingers locked into his tunic, eyes half-wild. I feel every calculation in his mind, the weighing of risk, the tick of options, the old paranoia that’s saved us both more than once. I bask in it, letting the current of his intentions guide my own, our instincts no longer parallel but truly fused.

  The world outside the sleeping roll is colder, harsher, but I don’t care. As long as I can feel his pulse, his thoughts, his scent, I can take anything. I’ll kill for him. I’ll die for him. I’ll burn the world down for him, and laugh in the ashes, so long as he’s by my side.

  The bond is smaller now. More desperate. But it’s unbreakable. The distance between us is a prison, but it’s a prison I would die in gladly. Five feet. That’s all the world will ever get. The rest belongs to me.