Reverian lifted his hands and ten lances grew—dark silk drawn into spear-points, each one a promise shaped like mercy. They didn't whistle. They arrived early, sliding into the places I would be if I got greedy.
I wasn't. First touch bites. Shortest line holds. Exit clean.
Valeria nudged my palm. "Low, then rise."
I dipped the first, skimmed the second on a line thinner than pride, rose through a third that tried to herd me into a corner. No sound. No flare. The Reef held true under my Harmony; Luna's quiet support made the ground an honest floor in a lying room.
Reverian stepped with me, cloak moving like night shaken from a sleeve. His Lust Gift tightened, not like a wall—like curtains being drawn. Stars above came a finger closer. The regolith under my boots wanted to remember it was a couch.
"Finish, then rest," I told myself, and the Reef echoed the sentence back.
