Zubair took the pressure in his chest, the heat in his hands, and shoved it out. Not at the walls, not at the door, but along the line Psycho had briefly made.
Like pouring fire down a live wire.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then there was an explosion that rocked his world and changed everything that he ever thought he knew.
He felt her, and it was so much clearer this time. Not a flash. Not a vague pressure.
Her.
It wasn't a picture. It wasn't a voice he heard with his ears. It was awareness brushing directly against his own. Thick. Heavy. Calmer than he expected.
And behind it—something that might have been her creature—teeth and darkness and river-water, amused and ancient.
You're loud, it commented, in a texture that wasn't quite words. But that's to be expected. Fire always is.
Zubair's creature flared in answer. You're late, it shot back.
