Eira's wings twitched. A tiny crystalline flinch.
"Tell him what's coming. Who's plotting. Where the danger is. Help him avoid the trouble before it finds him instead of letting him walk in blind and scramble his way out bloody every single time."
The fairy's head tilted. One degree. Two. Slow. Deliberate.
"The reason for my existence," Eira answered, voice sweet and musical, yet edged underneath with something far colder than her own Void-Ice, "is to indeed assist my Master. To serve him. To obey his orders."
"But?"
The single word hung in the car like something with actual mass.
"But even I am shackled."
The word shackled settled heavy between them, thick enough to taste.
