I stand before the rune-etched stones under the blood moon's light, the leather strap coiled in my hand like a promise I both fear and need. Emery yields inside the circle every time I call her to it, and her magic is the key to the power I must claim without losing myself to it.

The binding demands my command wrap the straps around her throat and wrists, binding her magic to mine in the eternal rite. The leather finds her skin with each order I give. She takes every one and waits for the next, and the sigil flares brighter each time the circle closes on us. I have stopped pretending that any of this is only duty.

If the circle closes without the bond sealed, everything we are dissolves into nothing, and I cannot face what that would mean for the control I pretend to hold.