The spell took hold at dawn.
Lina woke to sunlight spilling across unfamiliar walls, her head heavy with the dull ache of a dream that refused to take shape. For a moment, she lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the city beyond the window, grounding herself in the ordinary.
Her room.
Her bed.
Her life.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples. Something felt… off. Not wrong exactly—just incomplete, like a sentence that ended too early.
Lina glanced at her phone.
Six missed calls from an unknown number.
Three unread emails from Foxworth Corporation.
She frowned.
Foxworth?
The name meant nothing.
---
Across the city, Damien Foxworth stood bound in foxfire.
Chains of ancient magic wrapped around his wrists and torso, burning cold and bright, each sigil carved with laws older than language. The Council chamber pulsed with restrained power, its stone walls etched with the names of fox sovereigns long turned to ash.
"You violated Distance Law," Elder Kaien said, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You revealed yourself to a human. You protected her openly."
"I stopped a threat," Damien replied, his voice steady despite the fire searing through him. "That is my duty."
"Your duty," Kaien snapped, "is restraint."
Images flared above the circle—Lina in the alley, Damien between her and the shadows, nine tails blazing. The Council watched in silence as the moment replayed.
"You could have erased her memory immediately," another elder said. "Instead, you hesitated."
Damien said nothing.
Because it was true.
"You allowed proximity," Kaien continued. "Allowed emotion. That is how disasters begin."
Damien lifted his gaze. "She did nothing wrong."
"Neither did the humans who died screaming in past wars," Kaien said coldly. "And yet their foxes burned the world for them."
The chains tightened.
Pain lanced through Damien's core, foxfire flaring instinctively before being crushed back down.
"Punishment will be enforced," Kaien declared. "Your power will be sealed in stages. Your influence restricted. And the human—"
"She will be safe," Damien said sharply.
"She will forget," Kaien corrected. "Completely."
Damien's breath hitched—just once.
"Erase the memory," Kaien said. "Of you. Of the company. Of the fox."
The Council raised their hands.
Damien closed his eyes.
---
Lina stared at the email on her phone, confusion knotting in her chest.
Subject: Welcome Back — Orientation Reminder
Dear Ms. Hart,
We noticed you did not attend your scheduled orientation at Foxworth Corporation. Please confirm whether you intend to proceed with your application.
Application?
Her stomach dropped.
She scrolled through her calendar.
No Foxworth.
No CEO assistant role.
No brutal first days. No glass office. No man with amber eyes.
Her bank account confirmed it—no paycheck. No deposit.
"Did I… imagine it?" she whispered.
The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
She showered, dressed, and went about her day, but the feeling followed her like a shadow. She passed a glass building downtown and slowed without knowing why. Her chest tightened, breath catching for reasons she couldn't explain.
That night, she dreamed of fire.
Not destructive fire—controlled, luminous. Of golden eyes watching from behind glass. Of warmth at her back in the darkness.
She woke with tears on her cheeks and no memory to justify them.
---
Damien knelt alone in his penthouse, power sealed tight beneath layers of binding sigils. The city outside felt distant, muted, as though seen through water.
He could still feel her.
Not clearly. Not consciously.
But in the quiet moments, something tugged at the edges of his awareness—an echo where her presence had been.
"She doesn't remember," he murmured to the empty room.
Fox Law demanded relief.
Instead, it left a hollow ache.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Damien returned to work, colder than before. Sharper. More distant. The company ran flawlessly under his command, but something essential was missing from the rhythm of his days.
He avoided the executive floor where her desk had been.
Avoided the hallway where she had stood her ground.
Avoided the faint scent of humanity that still lingered like a ghost.
"You're distracted," Kaien observed during a follow-up summoning. "Unwise."
"I am contained," Damien replied.
"Not entirely," Kaien said. "Your attachment persists."
Damien's jaw tightened. "She remembers nothing."
"And yet," Kaien said softly, "you still circle her life from afar."
Damien said nothing.
Because it was true.
---
Lina found a new job two weeks later.
Smaller office. Smaller pay.
Normal.
She told herself she preferred it that way.
And yet, every so often, she felt watched—not in a threatening way, but like someone standing just out of sight, making sure she arrived home safely. Streetlights flickered when she passed. Shadows shifted subtly at her back.
Once, late at night, she paused beneath a lamppost and turned suddenly.
No one was there.
Her heart raced anyway.
"Get a grip," she muttered.
But some nights, she dreamed of a man who looked at her like she mattered in ways she couldn't name.
---
Damien watched from the edge of the city, presence masked, power restrained.
He never approached.
Never spoke.
Never interfered—unless necessary.
When a foxling from a rogue clan followed Lina home one evening, Damien erased its memory and banished it without a sound. When a curse drifted too close to her apartment, he burned it away before it could settle.
Protection without proximity.
That was the compromise Fox Law allowed.
And yet—
The longer he watched her laugh with her roommate, struggle through late shifts, curl up with books about magic she didn't remember believing in—the thinner his control became.
"She would have understood," he whispered once.
The words shocked him.
Understanding was irrelevant.
Desire was dangerous.
---
The breaking point came on a rainy evening.
Lina slipped on wet pavement, twisting her ankle hard enough to cry out. Before she could catch herself, strong arms steadied her.
She gasped.
Amber eyes met hers.
Time stuttered.
"Are you all right?" Damien asked, his voice carefully human.
Something clicked inside her.
Not memory.
Recognition.
Her breath came shallow. "I… know you."
Damien froze.
Fox Law screamed.
"No," he said gently. "You don't."
Her brow furrowed. "Then why does it feel like I do?"
Rain fell between them, the city holding its breath.
Damien released her slowly, stepping back. "Be careful," he said.
As he turned away, Lina's hand shot out—grasping his sleeve.
The contact sent a jolt through them both.
"I don't remember you," she said, voice trembling. "But my heart does."
The world seemed to tilt.
Damien looked down at her hand on his arm, then at her face—open, confused, unafraid.
In that moment, protection crossed into something else.
Desire.
Dangerous. Forbidden.
Unavoidable.
He gently removed her hand.
"Stay away from me," he said quietly.
Lina watched him disappear into the rain, her chest aching with a loss she couldn't name.
And far above, fox laws cracked—just slightly.
Because memories could be erased.
But bonds?
Bonds were written deeper than the mind.