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“And four others.”
“Right. Five. I’m an overachiever.” She crossed her arms. “So, what’s the fix?”
“Stop sitting on it.” He studied her face. “Let it out in small amounts, and it doesn’t blow the lid off.”
“So, the cure for accidentally summoning magical raccoons is to feel my feelings more.”
“Less suppression.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s a technique, not a therapy session.”
“Tor. You told me the cure is to feel my feelings. Own that.” From the tree line, Drayce made a sound. Small. Not a laugh. Tor did not dignify that with a glance.
The first exercise was breath-and-ground, the magical equivalent of making sure the floor would hold before you started moving furniture. He guided her through it. Mirelle followed with precision: feet planted, hands loose, eyes closed. She was good at stillness. He’d expected that. The trouble came when she stopped choosing stillness and the current beneath started moving. The reading on his monitoring app ticked up, then settled. He would have to explain that app at some point.
“Good.”
She opened one eye. “That’s the most positive thing you’ve said to me.”
“You’ve only been here twelve minutes.”
“Still a high bar you’re setting.”
“Close your eyes.” She obliged. The ambiance settled further. Tor noted it and moved on to the second exercise: intentional release. Small, managed, directed. This one was harder. The first attempt produced nothing. The second produced a brief flicker of light at her feet that lasted two seconds before going out.
“Was that one?” she asked.
“Half of one.”
“Half a creature.”
“The intention was there. The follow-through was not.”
“My feelings,” she decided, “have commitment issues.”
“Try again.”
She reset — feet planted, hands loose, shoulders set the way they got when she decided to do something and meant it. He was studying her technique. He was also tracking her hands, how they went still when she concentrated, and the small breath she took before trying an exercise she wasn’t sure about but had decided to try. Professionally speaking, he was studying her technique. The third attempt worked. One of the small creatures materialized at her left foot, glowing softly, then sat down. Clean. Controlled. Better than he’d expected. Mirelle lowered her eyes to it. “One. And I did that on purpose.”
“You did.”
“Huh.” She crouched, and the creature’s glow brightened. “Hello again.” She glanced up at him. “Does it go away?”
“Not until your state shifts.”
“So, it stays as long as I’m —” She gestured at herself.
“Honest. Yes.”
“That’s the most judgment I’ve ever received delivered as a fact.”
“It’s not a judgment. It’s the mechanic.”
“You say that like those are different things.”
From the tree line, Drayce’s data folder had become engrossing. Tor suspected this was deliberate.
