The photograph of Ellis's mother lay face-down on the shelf.
Ellis stood in the brownstone's entryway, keys still in hand, and stared at the overturned frame. Ellis's mother always faced forward—had faced forward for eight years since her death, watching over the space like a sentinel. Ellis walked past that photo every day. Knew its exact position, the way afternoon light caught the glass at three PM, the small chip in the corner from when Ellis had knocked it over during a grief spiral three months after the funeral.
Someone had been inside Ellis's home. Someone had touched Ellis's things.
Ellis moved through the brownstone room by room, cataloging violations. Living room: couch cushions rearranged, not obviously but subtly—the worn corner that always faced left now faced right. Kitchen: coffee mug moved from its spot by the sink to the opposite counter. Treatment room: meditation cushions switched positions, the one Ellis always used now where clients sat.
The bedroom made Ellis's skin crawl.
Furniture repositioned. Closet door open when Ellis always kept it closed. Dresser drawers not quite flush, as if someone had rifled through them then failed to close them completely. And on the mirror, written in red lipstick that wasn't Ellis's shade:
I've been inside your home. I've touched your things. How does it feel to be violated?
Ellis pulled out her phone with shaking hands, dialed.
Dominic answered on the second ring. "Ellis?"
"She was here. In my house. She—" Ellis's voice cracked. Stopped. Tried again. "Can you come over? Now?"
"I'm already on my way."
Dominic arrived eighteen minutes later carrying an overnight bag.
Ellis opened the door and saw the grief-rot first—black tendrils had climbed past Dominic's collar, spreading across his jaw toward his cheek. Four days without cleansing had turned the artificial condition aggressive, eating Dominic's face the way it had consumed his torso. Dominic's eyes looked hollow, skin stretched too tight over bones.
"Jesus." Ellis stepped aside, let Dominic enter. "You look—"
"Terrible. I know." Dominic set the bag down in the entryway, gaze sweeping the space like checking for threats. "Show me."
Ellis led Dominic through the violations. Dominic studied each rearrangement with architect's precision, noting angles and positions, building some mental map of Thea's movements through the space. In the bedroom, Dominic stopped at the mirror, read the message, and something dangerous crossed his face.
"She wants you to feel unsafe." Dominic's voice came out flat. "Wants to take away any place you can retreat to."
"It's working." Ellis sank onto the edge of the bed. The sheets smelled wrong—not bad, just different, like someone else had been in them. Ellis's stomach turned. "I don't want to sleep here tonight."
"You won't have to." Dominic turned from the mirror, met Ellis's eyes. "I'm not leaving you alone. She's escalating."
Ellis wanted to argue. Wanted to insist on independence, on not needing protection, on maintaining some boundaries between cleanser and client even as those boundaries dissolved. But the truth sat heavy in Ellis's chest: Ellis felt safer with Dominic here. The violation of Ellis's space made the brownstone feel like enemy territory, and having Dominic present was the only thing keeping Ellis from completely falling apart.
"Okay." The word came out small. "Thank you."
"We should secure the place." Dominic's gaze tracked to the window, the door, calculating entry points. "New locks at minimum. Cameras if we can get them installed today."
Ellis nodded. Dominic pulled out his phone, started making calls—locksmiths, security companies, speaking with calm authority that made people respond quickly. While Dominic arranged for installations, Ellis stripped the bed and started laundry, needing to reclaim the space through action. Couldn't fix the violation but could wash away the evidence.
The locksmith arrived first. Older man named Vernon who asked no questions about why someone needed emergency lock changes. Just removed the old hardware and installed new deadbolts, solid and heavy, the kind that would slow down anyone trying to break in. Wouldn't stop Thea—nothing would stop someone that calculating—but the weight of new locks made Ellis breathe slightly easier.
Security cameras took longer. Two technicians spent hours mounting equipment, running cables, syncing everything to Ellis's phone. By the time they finished, it was dark outside. The brownstone now had eight cameras covering every entrance and main room. The technicians left, and Ellis and Dominic stood in the living room surrounded by boxes and instruction manuals.
"This feels like locking the barn after the horse escaped," Ellis said.
"Maybe. But next time she comes, we'll have footage." Dominic picked up a manual, scanned it. "Better than nothing."
They spent the next hour testing cameras, adjusting angles, making sure nothing had blind spots. Working together, brushing past each other in the narrow hallway, reaching around each other to check connections. Every accidental touch sent electricity through both—hands grazing while holding the same camera, shoulders pressing together while examining the feed on Ellis's phone, Dominic's breath on Ellis's neck while pointing at a monitor setting.
The attraction built like pressure, undeniable and dangerous.
Ellis stepped back from a camera adjustment, collided with Dominic's chest. Dominic's hands caught Ellis's waist, steadying. The contact lasted three seconds too long. Ellis felt Dominic's heartbeat against Ellis's back, felt the grief-rot pulsing beneath Dominic's skin, felt the psychic bond pulling them together like gravity.
Ellis turned. Faced Dominic. Six inches between them.
"Sorry." Ellis's voice came out hoarse. "Didn't mean to—"
"I know." Dominic's hands hadn't moved from Ellis's waist. "Me either."
The moment stretched. Dominic's green eyes held questions neither wanted to ask. Are these feelings real? Are we choosing this? Or is Thea choosing for us?
Ellis stepped away. Dominic let go. Both pretended the moment hadn't happened.
Midnight found Ellis unable to sleep despite exhaustion.
Ellis lay in the guest room—couldn't bring herself to sleep in the violated bedroom—staring at the ceiling. The brownstone made unfamiliar sounds now that Ellis was listening for threats. Every creak became footsteps. Every settling groan became someone breaking in. The cameras were supposed to provide security but instead made Ellis hyperaware of every shadow moving past sensors.
Ellis gave up on sleep, pulled on a sweatshirt, padded downstairs.
Found Dominic in the living room, standing at the window, staring out at the empty street. Dominic still wore jeans and a t-shirt from earlier, no sign of having attempted rest. The grief-rot on Dominic's face looked worse under the dim lamplight—black spreading like infection, consuming what used to be handsome features.
Ellis sat on the couch, didn't announce her presence. Dominic turned anyway, as if feeling Ellis arrive through the bond.
"Can't sleep?" Dominic asked.
"Can you?"
"No." Dominic moved from the window, sat in the armchair across from Ellis. "Keep thinking about what Silas said. That someone has to die to break the bond."
Ellis had been thinking about it too. Obsessively. Three points on a triangle: Thea, Dominic, Ellis. Eliminate one, the bond shatters. But which one? Kill Thea—becomes murder. Kill Dominic—unthinkable. Kill herself—leaves Dominic bonded to his wife's ghost, puppet to her will.
"There has to be another way," Ellis said.
"What if there isn't?"
The question sat between them like a bomb. Dominic leaned forward, elbows on knees, exhaustion written in every line of his body. The grief-rot wasn't just visual—it was systemic, eating Dominic from the inside. Without regular cleansing, Dominic would deteriorate until the rot reached something vital. Heart. Brain. Whatever kept a person alive despite their body decaying.
"How long can you go without cleansing?" Ellis asked.
Dominic looked at his hands, at the black spreading up his wrists. "Dr. Simmons estimated maybe three weeks before the rot becomes irreversible. That was before we knew it was artificially induced. Now? Could be faster."
"We're at day four."
"Yeah."
Ellis did the math. Three weeks minus four days. Seventeen days before Dominic's condition became fatal. Thea's text had given them two weeks before the bond completed. Different timelines, both catastrophic.
"I should cleanse you," Ellis said. "The rot is getting worse."
"That's what she wants. Every cleansing strengthens the bond." Dominic met Ellis's eyes. "We're damned either way. Let you cleanse me, the bond grows. Don't let you cleanse me, I die. Either way, Thea wins."
"Then we choose the option that keeps you alive." Ellis stood, moved toward Dominic. "I'm not letting you die because we're afraid of giving her what she wants."
Dominic stood too, and suddenly they were close again, that same six inches from earlier. The bond hummed between them—Ellis felt Dominic's fear and determination and desperate want. Felt how much Dominic craved cleansing, not just for the healing but for the connection, for the dissolution of boundaries that came with Ellis's hands on Dominic's skin.
Ellis felt the same craving. Had been feeling it for days, withdrawal making Ellis's hands shake and Ellis's chest ache.
"Tomorrow," Ellis said. "I'll cleanse you tomorrow. We'll deal with whatever consequences come."
Dominic nodded. Then, before either could think better of it, Dominic reached out and took Ellis's hand.
The jolt hit harder than before. Through the bond, Ellis felt everything Dominic was feeling—gratitude and fear and guilt and something deeper, warmer, more dangerous. Want. Need. Connection that went beyond cleanser and client, beyond victim and ally.
"Whatever happens," Dominic's voice dropped to something raw, "I'm glad I met you. Even like this."
Ellis should pull away. Should say something professional and distant. Should maintain the boundaries that had already dissolved.
Instead, Ellis threaded fingers through Dominic's, held on.
They sat together on the couch, hands clasped, not speaking. Through the bond, words were unnecessary. Ellis felt Dominic's fear matching Ellis's own. Felt Dominic's determination to fight. Felt the growing attraction neither wanted to name because naming it meant confronting whether it was real or manufactured.
Outside, the street stayed empty. Inside, two people sat in darkness, bound by magic they didn't choose, feeling things they couldn't trust.
Dawn came slowly, creeping through windows, turning shadows gray then gold.
Neither had slept. Both were still holding hands.
Dominic looked at their clasped fingers, then at Ellis's face. "Do you think it's real? What we're feeling?"
Ellis had been asking the same question since Thea's text. By all means, fall in love. It will make destroying you both so much more satisfying.
"I don't know," Ellis admitted. "But real or not, it's what we've got."