Lincoln's mana settled like dust after a storm.
He didn't speak at first. Just walked until he reached the center of the room—and the gem on the table.
He didn't touch it. Didn't need to.
"You've kept it," he said.
"I thought it was useless," I replied.
"Most weapons are, until they're aimed."
He turned slightly. Just enough for his shadow to move, and for the shape behind him to step forward.
Salem didn't bow.
She knelt.
Not to Lincoln.
To me.
Ramon stiffened beside the wall, mana pulled taut like a trigger. But he didn't move. Maybe because he saw what I did—that Salem wasn't resisting. Not hiding anything. Just… still.
"I trained her," Lincoln said. "Harshly. Without pause. Until her will snapped into the gem you hold."
I stared at the outline of her—the same bone-deep pressure I felt when she nearly killed me in the pit, only now it curled inward. Like a storm in a bottle.
"You did all that from a distance?" I asked.
"Yes."
"While I was bleeding in the sand."
"Yes."
I clenched my jaw. The gem pulsed once in my palm. Not cold this time.
Responsive.
Alive.
"She wanted to serve me," Lincoln continued. "But I have no use for her right now. Not until the Devils move… she's yours."
Mine.
The word landed like ice in my stomach.
"You're giving me a servant who could tear me in half," I said quietly.
"She won't," he said. "She can't."
"Because of the gem."
"Because of you."
Salem's voice came then—quiet, but razor-edged. It didn't shake.
"I owe you my life," she said. "I know what I tried to do. What I almost did. I was wrong."
No theatrics. No plea.
Just the truth, sharp as her mana.
"And now?" I asked, before I could stop myself. "You just kneel and obey?"
"I kneel," she said, "because I choose to."
The gem throbbed again. Not in anger.
In agreement.
I turned slightly toward Lincoln. "Is she still as strong as before?"
His answer came without pause. "Yes. Only now her strength is yours to command."
I stared down at the gem.
A weapon.
A leash.
A life.
"I don't want a servant," I whispered.
"You don't have one," he said. "You have a blade."
"And what am I?" I asked, quieter now.
Lincoln's mana shifted. He didn't move.
"You're the hand that swings it."
The silence stretched again.
Then Lincoln's presence shifted—just enough to feel like the sun turned its head in my direction.
"You've done well," he said. "Both of you."
Ramon gave a low grunt that might've been gratitude, sarcasm, or exhaustion. Maybe all three.
I said nothing. The weight of Salem's presence behind me still hadn't settled.
Lincoln didn't wait for thanks.
"Salem," he said, voice cool but edged with that iron core only someone like her could feel fully. "Take care of her."
"Yes, Master," came the reply.
Not soft. Not ashamed.
Just obedient.
The word felt like a chain between us. Not around my neck. Around hers.
Then—
A snap.
The sound wasn't loud.
But the world folded like paper.
Wind bent without blowing. The ground swayed without moving.
And when it all unfolded again—
We weren't in the war room anymore.
No stone. No scrolls. No tension-wrapped shadows.
Grass. Cool. Neatly trimmed. Mana scents laced with rosewater and silk wine. Iron gates behind us. The sprawl of something rich and perfectly cared for ahead.
Saint Clair Manor.
Home.
Or what passed for it.
I blinked slowly, feeling the pull of the gem quiet for now. Salem stood to my left, unmoving. Ramon let out a breath beside me.
"You know," he said, "I was getting used to doors."
Lincoln didn't answer. He just stood still, calm as ever, like tearing the laws of space was no more effort than breathing.
Every time I saw him, I thought I understood the limits of his power.
And every time, he rewrote them.
Ramon murmured, "I don't think he walks places anymore."
"I don't think he has to," I said.
Salem remained silent, head slightly bowed. Her mana didn't spike. Didn't resist. Just waited.
My fingers brushed against the gem in my coat pocket. Cold, quiet, steady.
I didn't know what scared me more.
That she'd obey me now—
Or that I might use her.
Lincoln stepped forward once, gaze fixed ahead.
"I won't be staying," he said. "But the next part of your path starts here."
Then he was gone.
No sound.
No light.
No breath left behind.
Just grass beneath our boots.
And a mansion full of ghosts ahead.