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I shrug, wings rustling. “It might kill a lesser being who attempts to use it. For me, it might just cause side effects. For you… well, let’s not find out.”

She chews her lip but nods. “So we get the amulet, sneak into the city, find this archivist, and hope we don’t run into half the elven guard?”

“Precisely,” I confirm. “Before that, you’ll need more training—real fights, not illusions or a one-sided tussle with me. The city is no kinder than my fortress. If we’re cornered, you have to defend yourself without expecting me to bail you out every time.”

Her eyes flick with determination. “I’m ready.”

I find myself inclined to test her right here, to see if she can stand against lesser demons in a controlled environment. But the memory of the contract’s flare warns me not to push too hard again. Another moment of near-physical closeness, and who knows what might happen. The tension between us gnaws at my composure.

She steps closer, narrowing the distance. “We can start now, can’t we? Unless you plan to keep me caged until dusk.”

I hold her gaze. My tail flicks behind me, scraping the stone. The corridor’s tight enclosure heightens the awareness that we’re alone. Again, I sense that magnetic pull, a dangerous spark crackling in the air. I keep my voice steady. “Trust me, you’renot caged. But if you want to prove your readiness, we’ll proceed carefully.”

She lifts her chin. “Careful is overrated.”

A snort of dark amusement escapes me. “Is that mortal bravado or foolishness?”

“Maybe both,” she says softly, the corner of her mouth quirking.

We stand there, locked in a tense hush. The corridor’s flickering light dances across her features: the bruises, the defiant gleam in her silver eyes, the smudge of residual illusion-stress etched in the faint lines at her brow. My wings shift, stirring the air, drawing her hair away from her face.

I recall that moment in the courtyard—her back pressed against me, the near kiss that was more tension than desire. But I can’t deny the thread of attraction that hums under my skin, rebellious and inescapable. It conflicts with every vow I’ve made to keep a safe distance from mortals. She’s not just any mortal, though. She’s a threat to the contract. She’s also a reluctant partner in my quest for freedom.

I take a deliberate step back, ignoring the whisper in my mind that wonders what it would be like to close that distance, if only for an instant. “Follow me,” I say, voice taut. “We’ll fetch the amulet from the lower vaults. Then we’ll see about a practical training regimen.”

Her shoulders drop a fraction, as if she expected something else. “Lead the way.”

Without another word, I pivot and stride down the corridor. She falls in line behind me. The fortress resonates with the shifting of wards—perhaps sensing the unresolved friction that lingers between us. If we’re both wise, we’ll ignore it. If we’re not, we risk something more dangerous than illusions.

We descend a spiral staircase that grows colder the deeper we go. The basalt walls glisten with patches of obsidian, anoccasional wisp of purple vapor seeping through cracks in the stone. My Soz’garoth lineage shaped these chambers long ago, forging vaults to store artifacts and contraband. The zone is labyrinthine, a puzzle of hidden chambers and locked passageways.

At the base of the stairs, we reach a broad hallway lined with stout iron doors. Each door has a unique sigil etched into the metal. I stop at the fourth on the right, its sigil a coiled serpent biting its own tail. Chaos runes glow faintly around the edges.

“This is it,” I say, placing my palm on the door. “Keep your distance while I break the seals. If they misfire, you don’t want to be close.”

She steps back, dagger at the ready, though I doubt it’ll help if the wards explode. I channel a trickle of chaos flame, letting it seep into the etched lines. A series of arcs ripple across the surface, forcing the door’s magic to yield. The metal groans, then swings open in a rush of stale air.

Inside, the vault is a cramped stone cell. Shelves crammed with battered scrolls and sealed wooden crates line the walls. A single pedestal in the center holds an object covered by a tarnished silver cloth. The air tastes of dust and ozone, hinting at old spells. I approach, carefully lifting the cloth. Beneath it lies a twisted amulet fashioned of obsidian and bone, a jagged crack running through the center. Runes wind across its surface in an alien script, partially incomplete.

Valentina steps closer, eyes flicking between me and the amulet. “That looks… ominous.”

I let out a low grunt of agreement. “It is. This was supposed to siphon off the contract’s energy, weakening it enough for me to break free. But the final stage was never finished. The risk is that it might backfire.”

She grimaces. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I run a claw along the crack. Sparks leap in response. “It could kill me. Or surge with chaotic backlash that levels half the fortress. Hard to say.”

Her face pales. “And you plan to wear it anyway?”

I close my hand around the amulet, feeling its latent power hum against my palm. The threat doesn’t deter me. “Freedom is worth the risk. This might buy enough time for us to consult the archivist. Perhaps your blood’s peculiar nature will help complete the missing runes.”

She doesn’t answer at first, a flicker of something—apprehension, maybe concern—flashing over her expression. Then she inclines her head. “Then let’s do it. The sooner we figure out how to finish that thing, the better.”

I tuck the amulet into a pouch on my belt. “Agreed.” Stepping away from the pedestal, I glance around the vault. Various trinkets rest on the shelves—old tomes, shards of demonic horns, a sealed jar containing swirling black fluid. I sense her curiosity but offer no explanation. One crisis at a time.

We exit, and I reengage the door’s wards. Once back in the hallway, I lead her through another passage that loops around to the fortress’s training hall. It’s a cavernous space with a cracked floor, weapon racks along the walls, and a scattering of battered dummies meant for lesser demons to practice. Torches line the perimeter, their flames tinted green for improved visibility in the gloom.

Valentina eyes the racks. “Real weapons?” She grips her dagger, glancing at the variety of axes, spears, and short swords with battered hilts.