The manor was too quiet.
Elma had learned to read Vale House like a predator's den—when it was loud, when it was laughing, when it was pretending. Tonight, it was listening. The silence pressed on her ears like a hand over her mouth.
She walked beside Calista down the marble corridor, the leash pulsing faintly under her collar like a second heartbeat. Two guards followed, boots tapping in perfect rhythm, their expressions blank.
"Why is it always midnight with him?" Elma muttered under her breath.
Calista didn't answer. She was pale in the moonlight, her posture perfect but stiff. The ring on her finger glimmered faintly—a symbol of power and chains alike.
When they reached the double doors of Nitron's study, the guards swung them open without knocking.
Nitron sat at his desk, surrounded by candlelight and maps spread like battle scars. He didn't look up at first. His hand moved lazily across a sheet of parchment, dipping his quill in ink, signing something with a flourish.
"Come," he said finally.
The leash tightened at the word, pulling Elma forward like she was on a string. She grit her teeth and obeyed, bowing her head.
"Sit," Nitron said, this time looking up.
His eyes flicked to Calista, cold and assessing. She didn't flinch, only glided to her usual seat across from him. Elma stayed standing, jaw tight.
Nitron leaned back, swirling a glass of deep red wine. His expression was unreadable, but the silence stretched long enough to make her skin crawl.
"Two donors pulled their funding this week," Nitron said casually. "Both citing… 'new alliances.'"
Calista's mask didn't crack. "Markets shift."
"They do." Nitron's smile didn't reach his eyes. "But these markets shifted in your favor, didn't they?"
Elma's stomach twisted.
Nitron set the glass down with a soft clink. "You've been busy, wife."
Calista folded her hands, her tone calm. "Everything I do is for this house."
Nitron chuckled softly, the sound low and sharp. "Of course." His gaze slid to Elma. "And you, pet? What do you fight for?"
Elma's breath hitched as the leash constricted suddenly, like a snake tightening. Pain shot down her spine, sharp enough to make her vision blur. She didn't answer fast enough.
"Speak."
"For the house," Elma rasped.
Nitron tilted his head. "For me?"
The pain spiked, white-hot. Elma's knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the desk to stay upright.
"Yes, Master," she managed, teeth gritted.
Nitron smiled faintly, lifting the glass to his lips. "Good girl."
Calista's fingers twitched against her lap, the only sign of her fury.
Nitron set his drink down and reached across the desk. His hand hovered near Elma's face, not touching her but close enough to feel his heat. The leash pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
"You've grown strong," he murmured. "Too strong."
Elma's jaw locked.
"Power without loyalty," Nitron said softly, "is just a weapon waiting to be turned."
He brushed a finger against the collar at her throat. The magic flared, making her gasp. She wanted to rip his hand off, to bite it, to—
"Breathe," Calista said sharply, her voice cutting through the haze.
Elma forced herself still.
Nitron's smile curved, amused. "Always so protective, wife."
He let go, stepping back. "You'll prove your loyalty to me tomorrow. Both of you."
Neither woman moved.
"In the garden," Nitron continued. "Wear black."
The leash pulsed once, a warning.
"Do not disappoint me."
He turned away, dismissing them as if he hadn't just ripped the air from the room.
They left in silence. The guards followed at a distance.
When they were finally alone in a side hall, Elma leaned against the wall, gasping. The leash's burn still lingered like a brand.
Calista grabbed her wrist, eyes flashing. "He's pushing you too far."
Elma smirked bitterly, though her hands shook. "What's new?"
Calista's hand trembled where it touched her. "I thought he'd kill you in there."
"Not yet," Elma said. "He likes to make it slow."
Calista's composure cracked. She cupped Elma's face, thumb brushing her cheek. The leash pulsed, but softer this time.
"I won't let him do this to you," Calista whispered.
Elma's breath caught. For a moment, the pain faded.
"Then help me kill him," Elma said softly.
Calista's eyes burned with something sharp and dangerous.
"I already am."
That night, Elma lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her chamber. The shard pulsed faintly under her pillow, whispering in a language she couldn't understand.
The leash throbbed in response, like it knew.
She closed her eyes, breathing through the pain, and whispered back:
"Not much longer."
The shard hummed, almost like laughter.
And somewhere deep in Vale House, Nitron Vale smiled in his sleep.