Chapter 264: Depth and Distance

Christopher

The ground slopes unevenly beneath my boots, stone worn smooth in places and broken sharp in others. The Shadow Realm opens wide around us, pillars half-collapsed, their shadows stretching long across the clearing. The air is cool and somewhat calm, which is odd to say about a realm inhabited by demons. Allison stands a few steps away, watching me and waiting patiently. I inhale deeply and draw the magic up. It answers immediately. I pull from it and draw two blue fireballs into my palms. I hold it there for a moment, feeling the weight of it, the way my hand adjusts without conscious thought. Then her siphon brushes against it. The pull is light and controlled. If I didn't know she was doing it, I'd probably think I got a chill down my spine. My magic doesn’t resist. It moves toward her, recognising her. In her hand, the same blue flame blooms, identical in colour and shape. She looks at it, then back at me.

“Ooh,” she says, a wicked glint lighting her eyes. “Fun.”

I smile before I can stop myself. I turn toward one of the broken pillars, its stone split down the middle, its cracks running deep. “Third crack from the left,” I say. “Chest height.”

She follows my gaze. “You go first.”

I shift my stance and throw. The fire arcs clean and fast, striking stone just off-centre. Close enough to feel right, but wrong enough to matter if it were life or death. Allison doesn’t comment. She raises her hand and throws. Her fire hits dead centre, splitting the crack wider with a sharp sound that echoes through the clearing. She lowers her hand and looks at me, calm and focused, not a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

“Again,” she says.

We repeat it. My throws land closer each time. I'm beginning to learn that my depth pulls slightly to one side. I adjust, I adapt, I trust the correction. When I miss, I reset and throw again. Allison mirrors everything. She doesn’t rush me, but she doesn’t soften it either. When something works, she smiles. When it doesn’t, she just waits. Between throws, she... plays with my magic. She tries a short teleport, a flicker of movement. She reappears a little too close to me and laughs, breathless and bright.

“Sorry,” she says, still smiling.

“It’s fine,” I tell her.

It is. She throws again, then pauses, studying the fire in her palm like she’s deciding what else it could be. She reshapes it, pulling it thinner and sharper. It collapses into sparks before it reaches the ground. She laughs again and tries once more. I watch her without looking away. The way her focus sharpens when she lines up a target. How she grins when the magic obeys. The ease of her movement, as if she trusts the space she’s standing in with me. I throw again, and this time the fire lands true.

She nods, approving, and steps a little closer. “Trust yourself,” she says. “Don’t fight it.”

I do, and the next throw hits clean again. We move into distance checks after that. She teleports without warning, and I pivot to track her, testing how quickly my eye catches up. At first, I lag a fraction behind. Then less. Then not at all. She siphons from me again, mirroring my movements as I adjust. It feels strange to feel myself echoed back through her. It is a strangeness I like. She overreaches once when excitement steals her focus. When she reappears, her footing slips. She tips sideways with a sharp breath. I teleport faster, just in time to catch her before she falls. My hands find her waist without thought, and she laughs softly and straightens, patting my arm.

“Nice catch,” she says. “I think that one’s on me.”

Her hand lingers for half a second longer than necessary before she steps back, and we keep going. By the time we pause, my muscles hum with effort, and my magic feels settled into its new alignment. Allison watches me for a while. I can feel her gaze on my back as I throw just a few more fireballs to be sure.

“I think your aim’s pretty good, Chris,” she says softly.

My name slides off her tongue and sends my brain into overdrive. I nod back because I don't think I can do words when all the blood is flooding away from my brain. The clearing stays quiet around us, shadows long and patient, the sky above already beginning its slow shift toward dusk. It's almost time. Allison notices it at the same time I do. She lifts her gaze toward the horizon, then looks back at me.

“We’re close,” she says.

I nod. My hands are steady, my breathing is even. The magic under my skin feels aligned, like it’s found its place after being nudged sideways. She studies me for a moment, really looks this time, then steps closer.

“Are you ready for this?” she asks.

I know she's not asking about my ability to fight. She's asking if I'm ready to face the person we need to fight. I don’t answer right away. I watch the way the shadows move around her boots, the way the light catches in her hair, and then I nod.

“I am.”

She hesitates, just for a moment, then reaches for my hand. Her fingers slide into mine softly, like she’s giving me the choice to pull away. I don’t. I won't. Never again will I pull away from a chance to have her touch.

“Even though he’s a terrible person,” she says quietly, “he’s still your father. I’d understand if this is hard for you.”

I lift her hand and press my mouth to the back of it carefully. I'm testing the waters like a man already drowning for her, but I need to be sure she is okay with every move I make. I won't scare her, and I don't want to hurt her. I will move at whatever pace she allows, and I will take anything she is willing to give and cherish it. She doesn't pull away; she lets me kiss her hand, her skin soft on my lips. When I look up, her eyes lock onto mine.

“He tried to kill my mate,” I say.

My voice doesn’t shake.

“For that alone, he will die.”

Her grip tightens around my fingers slightly. We stand there like that as the light finishes fading, taking this one last moment before everything moves again.