Page 65 of Bound to the Marak

He crossed the room in two strides. “What does this mean? Is your search impeded?”

“I need to get online,” she said, voice tight. “If I can log into my socials, I might find a lead on Alfie. Maybe someone posted about him.”

“Use one of your strange glass panels to summon the information, then.”

“I can’t. Mine’s gone.”

She hesitated. “I’m going to try my neighbor. I think she’ll let me use her laptop.”

“No,” Karian said instantly, stepping in front of her. “You are not leaving my sight.”

“They’ll panic if they see you,” she said softly. “Please. It’s just across the hall. I’ll be quick.”

He stared down at her, his illusion hiding the storm of instinct roiling beneath. Her presence so close, her voice so soft—and yet the danger outside these walls unknown.

But she was resolute.

He stepped back, jaw clenched. “Ten minutes. No longer.”

She nodded and touched his chest in thanks. That gesture—such a small, human thing—made something flutter inside him.

She slipped out the door.

He waited until her footsteps faded, then turned back toward her living space.

The room was silent again, save the distant murmur of street noise. He moved slowly, examining more of her world.

A collection of square photographs was pinned to a board. Her, smiling. With other humans. Holding a small creature—the dog,likely—its tongue lolling from its mouth.

A cup still sat on a side table, half full of what he guessed had once been liquid. There was a tattered blanket over the couch. He sat, slowly, sinking into the old velvet cushions, and the scent of her enveloped him.

None of it made sense.

And yet it all did.

It was ugly. Imperfect. Cluttered and vulnerable.

And it washers.

He picked up a tiny, molded ceramic figure shaped like an animal with large ears. It served no purpose. Yet it had a place of honor on the shelf.

All around him were artifacts of a life he could not have imagined. Memories in fabric. Attachments in glass and paint and wool.

And he had taken her from this.

He clenched his fists in his lap.

If anyone touched her out there…

If anyone made herafraid…

He would not intervene with mercy.

He would remind this strange, chaotic world that she washis.

Forty-Six

The hallway hadn’t changed, but everything about it felt different. Dimmer. Closer. As if her building had aged without her, exhaling dust and memories with each step she took.

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