I didn't even change my coat.
No tea. No wards. No prep.
Just a flash through the mirror, boots hitting pavement outside Diana's apartment building like thunderclaps.
I had twenty-six seconds.
That's how long it took the initial resonance between a supernatural pair to flare. The first spark—harmless. The second? Soul-snap. And if it reached the third?
Bond.
Irrevocable.
"Move," I snapped at a nosy dryad loitering on the steps. She scurried, wisely.
Inside, the warded stairwell resisted me—Diana must've reinforced it, probably with that damned little heart-shaped charm she'd gotten from her last suitor. It fizzled against my aura as I pushed up, two steps at a time.
I could feel it pulsing already—something electric and too familiar. The pull.
They were already in the living room.
My stomach churned.
He was early.
Mate #2.
Kade Vellin.
Noble-born. Half-elf. Touch-telepath with a tragic backstory and a jawline sculpted by moonlight and bad decisions. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a romance novel's angsty fourth act. He'd been Diana's second in two timelines before this—both ended with fire. One literal.
And she was about to smile at him.
The door was locked. Warded.
So I broke it.
It exploded open with a burst of forced-entry magic that made the windows rattle and Diana shriek.
Kade turned sharply, hand half-lifted in instinctive defense. His magic flared gold-blue.
Too late.
I threw a spell faster than thought—an aura disruptor, no words, just shape and force.
It hit like a bell ringing through their link. The invisible tether between them snapped—not broken, but yanked away from anchoring.
Diana gasped.
Kade staggered, blinking like he'd been slapped through a dream.
"Gray?" Diana demanded. "What the hell are you—"
"You're welcome," I said, striding in, wind still clinging to my coat like a storm cloud.
Kade opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked at Diana, confused.
It had worked.
The soul resonance was gone.
Temporarily, at least. I'd derailed the bond just before it rooted.
"You just kicked down my door," Diana shrieked, pointing furiously. "You could've knocked!"
"Could've. Didn't. You're about to imprint on a man whose future involves arson charges and three restraining orders."
"I like arson," Diana snapped.
I ignored her and turned to Kade. "Sorry for the whiplash. Not really. But I'd strongly suggest you leave before you say something charming and ruin the rest of your life."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're interfering with a natural bond."
"I'm interfering with a disaster."
"I felt something," he said slowly. "Something strong."
"You feel that every time someone makes eye contact with you. It's called 'being dangerously attractive.' Not soulbonding."
He bristled. "Who are you to—"
"She's my cousin," Diana said, slumping onto the couch, arms crossed. "And she's completely unhinged."
"Thank you, Diana."
"I didn't mean it as a compliment!"
Kade stared between us, expression shifting from confusion to wariness.
He could feel it. The interference. The forced fracture. I hadn't severed the thread between them—but I'd knotted it. Made it unstable. Fragile.
If he pushed it now, it would snap before it bonded.
If he walked away…
It might dissolve entirely.
He looked at Diana. Really looked.
And what he saw wasn't soul-deep connection.
It was chaos in glitter and heels.
"I… need to go," he said finally.
"Smart boy," I muttered.
He left without another word.
Diana hurled a pillow at my head.
"You're unbelievable."
I caught it. "You're welcome."
"You ruined it!"
"I postponed a mass casualty event. Same difference."
"You're insane."
"Only on Thursdays."
She screamed into another pillow.
I sat beside her and patted her head. "You'll thank me later."
"Or haunt you in the next life."
Yes.
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Diana peeled her face off the pillow, makeup smeared, eyes glistening with frustration and just a hint of embarrassment.
"You're not funny," she muttered.
"I am," I said. "You're just slow to appreciate it."
She glared at me, but didn't throw anything else. Which meant I had approximately thirty seconds before her next tantrum. Less if I breathed wrong.
So I leaned back, arms folded, gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling of her overpriced apartment, and spoke before I could regret it.
"Look, Diana. You're going to do what you always do—rush into something pretty because it sparkled, and ignore the sharp edges until you're bleeding in designer shoes. That's your pattern. You fall fast. You love harder. And then you cry because it hurts like hell."
She turned her head slightly, watching me. Quiet for once.
"So I'm going to tell you the best life choice you can make."
She sat up.
I met her eyes.
"Slow. The fuck. Down."
She blinked.
"Take a breath. Take two. For once in your damn life, look at what you're about to bond with before you fuse your soul to it like a glitter-crazed magical raccoon. Because these men—they don't love you for you. They love the idea of you. And you? You love the fantasy."
Her mouth opened, closed. "You don't know that."
I raised an eyebrow. "I know what comes next. Every time. I've seen it."
The air in the room shifted.
Diana swallowed.
"Is that why you stormed in like a lunatic?"
"No. I stormed in because I'm dramatic," I said. Then added, more softly, "And because I don't want to watch you die. Again."
A long pause settled between us.
Finally, she said, "You hate me."
I stared at her. "I do. I hate you for a lot of things."
Her lips thinned.
"I hate how you make a mess and leave me to clean it up. I hate how the aunts compare me to you like your disaster circus is something to aspire to. I hate how you smile like the world's yours and believe it, and most of all, I hate that you get chance after chance after chance and still throw yourself off cliffs like it's a competitive sport."
Diana turned away slightly, shoulders stiff.
"But."
She looked back.
"I do want the best for you."
Her expression cracked, just a little.
"I want you alive. I want you happy. I want you to find something real—not just another magic-fueled soulbond with some walking heartbreak factory in tight pants. Because believe it or not, you matter to me. And I'm tired of burying people I almost cared about."
Diana blinked fast. "Gray…"
"Don't get sentimental," I said quickly. "I've hit my emotional quota for the month."
She let out a snort.
Then silence.
But this time it was different. Calmer. Quieter. No more curses or flung pillows. Just two very complicated girls sitting in the ruins of yet another broken bond.
For a second, I let myself believe maybe—just maybe—she was hearing me.
Or at least, trying to.
And that? That was a start.