“Stop.”

Howl’s voice did not rise. It didn’t need to. Magic exploded outward in a silent surge. The air warped. The chandeliers trembled. Every object in Madame Suliman’s guest chamber—glass shards, splintered wood, even drops of spilled ink—froze midair as if time itself had choked.

The attendants halted too, their hands suspended inches from you. Howl stood at the center of the distortion, emerald eyes glowing faintly beneath lowered lashes.

On the marble floor, you were on your knees. Blood traced a thin line down your temple. Another drop struck the floor. Howl saw it. Something in the room shifted.

Madame Suliman lifted a single hand, elegant and controlled. Her attendants immediately stepped back. “How unexpected,” she murmured smoothly. “Have you changed allegiances, Wizard Howl? Standing so boldly on the enemy’s side?”

Howl’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly who you were. Sister to the man who ignited the war. A name whispered in strategy meetings. A liability. But not the architect.

He had read the reports. He had heard your testimony. He knew you had no hand in your brother’s ambition. His magic hummed dangerously. “I’m not on her side,” Howl said evenly. “She made it clear she knew nothing of her brother’s plans.”

He stepped forward, the suspended debris trembling as if reacting to his restraint. “She is not your enemy.” Madame Suliman studied him carefully. Then she looked at you—disheveled, bloodied, but unbroken. A faint smile curved her lips.

“Very well,” she said at last. Her fingers interlocked beneath her chin as she leaned forward slightly. “Then you will be responsible for her.”

The frozen objects dropped gently back into place as Howl’s magic thinned—but did not vanish. “She will remain under your supervision,” Madame continued. “You will ensure she does not escape. You may handle her however you deem appropriate.”

A deliberate pause. “She remains in your care… until her dear brother attempts something foolish.” Silence settled between them. It wasn’t a request. It was a test.

Madame Suliman’s gaze sharpened. “Well, Wizard Howl?” she prompted softly. “Do you accept?” Howl did not look away from her. But his peripheral vision tracked you. Blood. Bruises. Breath uneven. His expression did not change. “Fine,” he replied calmly. But the air around him felt colder. “She’ll be under my protection.” The word lingered. Protection. Not imprisonment.

Madame Suliman’s smile deepened—subtle, calculating. “Of course.” The unspoken tension remained thick in the chamber. Howl stepped toward you at last, coat brushing across shattered glass that no longer dared to cut. He did not touch you yet. But his shadow fell over you like a shield. “Get up,” he said quietly. The magic in the room had settled. His hadn’t.