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Her mouth curves faintly. “Into masonry?”

“Among other things.”

“Fascinating. Has the wall confessed?”

“Not yet, but I’m wearing it down.”

She turns her head then, and the full force of her attention lands on me through the narrow opening.

The bond warms.

It does not explode this time. It settles lower, deeper, still dangerous but less frantic, like a flame finding a lamp instead of racing across spilled oil. I keep both hands visible on the sill, because if she has any sense at all, she should be afraid of me.

She studies my face, lingering briefly at my eyes, then the distortion above my temples. “Your glamour is better tonight.”

“Comforting to know yesterday was memorable.”

“It was disruptive.”

“That sounds less flattering.”

“It was accurate.”

Her voice does not tremble. That, more than the open window, nearly undoes me.

“What are you?” she asks.

The question should offend me. It does not. There is too much genuine inquiry in it, too little disgust.

“Still figuring that out,” I answer.

“That is not a very stable classification.”

“No, but it has the benefit of honesty.”

She considers me through the gap. “You are hybrid.”

I swallow. “That is one word for it.”

“Contract-born?”

My fingers tighten on the sill. “You ask dangerous questions.”

“I live in a dangerous house.”

“I noticed.”

Her gaze flicks toward the door the dark elf used. “Then you understand why you should leave.”

“I tried that.”

“And?”

“It did not take.”

The faint curve of her mouth returns, but her eyes remain serious. “The bond pulled you back.”

Hearing her name it aloud sends heat through my chest. “You feel it too.”