Bruce woke to the pale, bruised quiet of the morning.
He didn't move immediately. He turned his attention inward to the thread. It was warm, present, and distinctly settled. He listened, holding the line open without pushing, and within seconds the familiar heat bloomed in his chest. It lingered for eight heartbeats before receding. Bruce let it go. He had already decided today was a push day—three days since the last one—but he would do it tonight, when his soul-body was exhausted and his defenses were down, leaving him entirely open to whatever crossed the void.
He sat up.
Kael was already outside in the small courtyard. The low, concussive rhythm of displaced air vibrated through the stone walls. The demon was holding larger flames for longer durations, the sheer thermal mass of his D-rank architecture demanding more space than the room could offer.
