Chapter 112
The fog lifts.
Like a sigh through silk, the last remnants of snow peel off Emmaline's boots as she steps through the glimmering edge of the spirit realm. She doesn't notice the soft flash at her wrist, the faint shimmer of an ethereal tether binding itself to her pulse.
She just yawns.
Her arms cradle a small bundle of fluff—white, icy, and absolutely content with being held. The kitten-like creature makes a soft, rumbling sound. Not quite a purr. Not quite a growl. Somewhere between a blizzard's hush and a winter storm's static.
"You're warm," she murmurs absently.
The spirit is not.
It's freezing cold to anyone else. But to Emmaline, it hums gently against her chest, quiet and smug, tucked into the fold of her scarf like it had always belonged there. The other spirits had scattered the moment she laid a hand on it—whispering and twinkling as they disappeared into the air like vanishing snowflakes. She hadn't asked for a contract. She didn't even think about one.
