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The third exercise was the problem.

It scaled up a notch: a larger release, meant to build her confidence with the technique. He’d run this same sequence a dozen times without incident.

Mirelle held the exercise for two seconds, and then, before she’d attempted the next step, his phone spiked. Hard. External. Not hers.

Not her.

The clearing filled with an amber-ish light. What materialized was the size and approximate shape of a golden retriever. Luminous. Ears. A tail held at an angle that defied structural logic. It blinked at Tor with eyes the size of a child’s fist, sat squarely on his left foot, and did not move.

Mirelle stared at it. Tor stared at it too. From the tree line, Drayce had stopped pretending to study the data.

“I wasn’t trying to —” Mirelle started. Tor held up one hand. Brief. Not a dismissal. Acknowledgment, eyes unwavering from the manifestation between them. “It’s on my foot.”

“I’m aware.”

The creature’s tail moved in a slow, satisfied arc. It gazed up at Tor as if it had arrived somewhere it had long been searching for and had decided it would not leave.

Tor turned to Drayce.

Drayce met his eyes. In a professional setting, he would have kept a straight face. This was not, at this moment, that situation.

“He’s laughing,” Mirelle said.

“He is not.”

“He absolutely is. It’s in his shoulders.” Tor’s attention went to Drayce. The data folder now hid his face, doing its job. The shoulders, however, were a problem.

“Drayce.”

“Reviewing the data.” The folder stayed where it was.

The creature on Tor’s foot sighed. He had no category for the sound — the warm, gusty exhale of a large dog settling in for a nap, rendered in amber light and the honey-warm scent of summoned magic. Mirelle pressed her hand over her mouth.

“Don’t.” She pressed harder.

The creature’s tail moved again. Tor glanced down at it. It tipped its head back — enormous eyes, no apology. He stood there as it sat on his foot like it owned the space, as Mirelle made sounds that were not quite laughter and Drayce reviewed the data folder with his face buried in it, and the forest carried on, indifferent.

It left on its own, eventually, without drama. One moment there, next moment not, taking its tail and its warm amber glow with it, still unapologetic.

Mirelle did not seem sorry. “I am sorry.”

Tor kept his voice steady. “That wasn’t you. It spiked before you did anything. Something outside is pushing on your magic. This wasn’t a failure.”

She met his eyes, that directness at full strength. “You’re sure.”

“Yes. Your technique was correct.”

“How often is that going to happen?” Her eyes swept the clearing.

“Until I find the source, I can’t say.”

Chin up. Hands still. She didn’t like it and was not going to pretend otherwise. “Okay.” Same word. Same weight.

He wanted to find whoever was doing this. Badly. Past any procedure required of him. “We go again. Shorter this time. If it spikes from outside, we stop, mark it, start over. We are learning, not grading.”

Mirelle glanced at where the creature had been. Back at him. “Is there a version of this where your foot doesn’t end up under it?”

“Ideally.”