Seraphina Valdris stood outside my clinic for longer than she needed to.
I knew because I could feel it.
The wards hummed softly low, steady but there was a tension in the air just beyond the door, the kind that prickled against the skin. Not hostility. Not fear.
Indecision.
When she finally knocked, it was measured. Controlled. One precise rap of knuckles against wood.
"Enter," I said.
She stepped inside and shut the door behind her with a quiet click. The room sealed, the wards settling into place with a faint pressure change that made the air feel thicker, warmer.
She didn't move right away.
Her posture was as flawless as ever straight spine, chin level, hands relaxed at her sides but something was off. The frost that usually clung to her fingertips was thinner today, barely visible, like breath on cold glass.
That alone was enough to set my nerves on edge.
"You're early," I said.
"By two minutes," she replied. "I waited outside."
"I noticed."
That earned me a brief look sharp, assessing, then gone. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the treatment bed without being asked, back straight, knees together. Perfect control.
Too much control.
"I slept," she said.
I paused mid-reach for the diagnostic crystal. "That's… good."
"No," she said quietly. "I slept through the night."
My fingers stilled.
She watched my face closely, like she was waiting to see if that meant as much to me as it did to her.
"That hasn't happened in years," she added.
I set the crystal down untouched. "Any pain?"
She shook her head once. "No. Which is worse."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I woke up waiting for it," she continued. "The ache. The pressure. The cold." Her jaw tightened. "It never came."
That explained the tension outside the door.
"May I?" I asked, holding out my hand.
She hesitated just a fraction of a second then extended her wrist.
The moment my fingers touched her skin, the world sharpened.
Not violently. Not like before.
Deeper.
The warmth stirred in my palms without effort, like something that had already been awake, already watching. The diagnostic sense slid into place so smoothly it almost scared me.
[Patient Receptiveness: 46%]
[Curse Integrity: 85%]
[Adaptive Suppression: Compromised]
The curse wasn't dominant anymore.
It was cornered.
Seraphina inhaled sharply not a gasp, but close. Her fingers twitched under mine before she forced them still.
"That's stronger," she said, voice low.
"Yes," I replied. "But it's not overwhelming you."
She gave a short, humorless laugh. "I assure you, it is."
I adjusted my grip slightly, spreading the contact not deeper, not more intense, just broader. The warmth flowed outward in a slow wave, tracing pathways that had been frozen shut for years.
She closed her eyes.
The frost reacted immediately.
It pulled inward, retreating toward her chest like a living thing that had realized too late it was being hunted.
"There," she said, breath tight. "It tightens when you do that."
"That's the core," I said. "It's trying to protect itself."
Her shoulders tensed. "It feels like it's watching."
"It is."
That made her eyes snap open.
I didn't soften the truth. "Curses like this develop instincts. Yours has had over a decade to learn how you respond to pain."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now it's learning something new."
The warmth pressed gently—firm, steady, unyielding. Not pleasure. Not yet. Just sensation. Clean. Honest.
Seraphina's breathing went shallow.
"I don't like this," she said.
"I know."
"I don't like not knowing what my body will do."
"I know."
She swallowed. Her fingers dug into the mattress, knuckles whitening.
"Don't tell me to relax," she said sharply.
"I won't," I replied. "Just don't lock up."
"I'm not—" Her voice cut off as the warmth surged a fraction deeper, slipping past another defensive layer.
She sucked in a breath, sharp and unguarded.
[Patient Receptiveness: 52%]
[Curse Reaction: Defensive Retraction]
The frost flared violently spiking up her arm in jagged patterns before collapsing in on itself. Cold snapped against my skin, sharp enough to sting.
She gasped.
I pulled back immediately, easing the flow, grounding it before it could rebound.
"That was the curse," I said. "Not you."
She nodded stiffly, breathing hard now, composure fraying at the edges.
"I felt it fight," she said. "Like it panicked."
"Because it did."
We sat like that for a moment my hand still on her wrist, the warmth dialed low, the air heavy with the smell of clean linen and something sharper beneath it. Cold ozone. Old magic.
When I resumed, it was slower.
Mapping. Reinforcing. Teaching her body how to feel without flinching.
No peaks. No escalation.
Just reclaiming ground inch by inch.
[Patient Receptiveness: 55%]
[Curse Integrity: 81%]
By the time I stopped, sweat had gathered faintly at her temples.
She didn't notice until she reached up and felt it.
"…That's new," she said.
"Your body's working again," I replied. "It's allowed to react."
She flexed her fingers slowly, brushing them together as if testing the texture of her own skin.
"I can feel the fabric," she murmured. "Every thread."
"That will settle," I said. "Right now, everything's louder."
She stood abruptly, smoothing her uniform with quick, practiced motions.
"I spoke to the Church observer," she said.
I looked up sharply. "Alone?"
"Yes."
My stomach tightened. "What did he ask?"
"If I felt coerced," she said. "If you frightened me. If I believed your work was indulgent rather than necessary."
"And what did you say?"
She met my eyes. "I told him you never take what isn't required."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"He also asked whether I trusted you," she added.
I didn't speak.
"Yes," she said, answering the unasked question. "I said I did. In this room. In this context."
That distinction mattered. She knew it. So did I.
At the door, she paused, her hand resting on the handle.
"When the sensation fades," she said, not turning around, "it leaves something behind."
"What?"
She hesitated. "Anticipation."
I chose my words carefully. "That doesn't mean you're losing control."
She nodded once. "I know. But it means I'll have to choose when to let go of it."
She left.
The wards sealed.
The system chimed.
[Significant Progress Achieved]
[Emotional Suppression Reduced]
[Future Sessions Will Require Emotional Anchoring]
I sank back against the desk, heart still racing.
Emotional anchoring.
Not pleasure.
Not force.
Trust.
That made this far more dangerous than I'd planned.
Lyra caught me in the corridor later, eyes sharp, grin restrained for once.
"You look like someone kicked a glacier and it kicked back," she said.
"The curse is adapting," I replied. "Not hardening. Learning."
Her expression sobered. "That's the point of no return stage."
"I know."
She tilted her head. "You alright with that?"
I thought of Seraphina's breath hitching. The way she'd said anticipation like it scared her.
"No," I said honestly. "But it's necessary."
Lyra smiled, softer this time. "Yeah. That tracks."
That night, the academy felt colder.
Not because of frost.
Because something that had been locked in place for years had finally started to move.
And once ice begins to melt, stopping it only breaks things faster.