Astra's throat burned.
Stewardship. A word that sounded kind until it sat on your spine.
Kael went very still. "Acknowledge."
Lyra's smile sharpened. "They want your mouth, Hound."
Kael's jaw clenched, murderous. "Shut up."
Lyra only looked more pleased. "No."
Heat flared low in Astra's belly—ugly jealousy, sharp temptation, the power-play of being fought over in a room that smelled like perfume and sweat.
Astra used the heat to take control.
"Kael," Astra said, voice flat, "look at me."
Kael's gaze snapped to hers instantly.
"Consent," Astra asked, low and deliberate, "to you not speaking any 'acknowledgement' phrase unless I say so."
Kael's throat worked. "Yes."
Astra's chest tightened—relief, fear, both.
"Say it clearly," Astra pressed. "For the system."
Kael's eyes burned. "I will not acknowledge anything unless you say my name and ask."
Astra's interface flickered, then recorded it like a small shield made of words.
Orin exhaled. "Good."
Lyra smiled like she'd just watched someone bleed loyalty into the air. "Pretty," she murmured.
Astra's gaze cut to Lyra. "Not pretty. Necessary."
Lyra's eyes glittered. "Same thing."
The countdown ticked.
00:10:56.
Astra forced her mind back to tactics.
"They want us in Sanctum 9," Astra said. "Closed. Controlled. Witnessed."
Orin nodded once. "You said you choose the room."
Astra's mouth tightened. "They don't care what I say. They care what they can enforce."
Lyra lifted a brow. "So enforce back."
Kael's hand hovered near Astra's waist, asking. "Consent to me holding while you decide."
Astra's pulse kicked. "Yes."
Kael's arm settled at her waist, warm and steady. The closeness was brutal—comforting and dangerous at once—because the Guardian link still made him her anchor, and she hated needing an anchor shaped like a man.
Lyra watched the contact with a faint smile. Predatory-soft. Knowing exactly how to make the room feel smaller.
Astra ignored her and stared at the paper again.
Sanctum 9. Sponsor Dorian. Witness sealed.
Astra's interface offered Underchain options like it sensed the pressure.
ADMIN (LOCAL): ROUTE SPOOF — AVAILABLEUNDERCHAIN MASK: ACTIVE (TEMP)NOTE: GUILD LOCKDOWN OUTSIDE UNDERCHAIN JURISDICTION
Meaning: if the Guild tried to lock her, she needed to be inside a jurisdiction the Guild didn't fully own.
Underchain.
Lantern District's quiet economy had Underchain veins.
So did the Guild—because money and crests always met somewhere dirty.
Astra's mind clicked.
"We don't go to Guild Hall," Astra said.
Orin's shoulders eased slightly. "Good."
"We go to a Guild annex," Astra continued, "one that sits on Lantern ground. Mixed jurisdiction. Enough Underchain presence that lockdown isn't clean."
Lyra's smile widened. "Now you're speaking my language."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Do you know one."
Lyra tilted her head. "Of course I do."
Orin's eyes narrowed. "And what does it cost."
Lyra's smile stayed soft. "Everything costs."
Astra looked at her. "Name it."
Lyra pushed off the wall slowly, predatory-soft, and stepped closer until she was inside Astra's space—too close, on purpose. She didn't touch Astra's throat. She didn't touch her collar. She let her perfume do the touching.
Kael's arm tightened at Astra's waist.
"Consent?" Kael asked, rough, immediate.
Astra's pulse kicked, heat flaring. "Yes—hold. Don't threaten."
Kael held, steady, jaw clenched.
Lyra's gaze flicked to Kael, amused. "He's tense."
Astra's eyes stayed cold. "So are you."
Lyra's smile sharpened. "I want one more permission."
Astra's stomach dropped. "No."
Lyra's eyes glittered. "Not permanent. Not ownership. A mask extension. Long enough to walk into the annex without House scent catching you."
Orin muttered, "That's debt."
Lyra nodded. "And I know where to pay it."
Astra's throat burned. The Underchain had already sunk hooks into her bones. A mask extension sounded like survival—also like deeper obligation.
Kael's voice went low. "Astra, don't let her keep buying pieces of you."
Lyra smiled at him. "I'm not buying. I'm investing."
Astra's jaw clenched. "I don't belong to your economy."
Lyra's voice softened, almost honest. "No. You belong to theirs." A glance, sharp as a blade, at the House seal. "I'm offering you a different market."
Astra hated that it made sense.
She hated that she wanted it anyway.
She stared at Lyra for a long beat, then spoke with deliberate clarity.
"Consent," Astra said, "to a mask extension only. No new delegation. No command storage. No touching my modules beyond the mask."
Lyra's smile widened. "Agreed."
Astra didn't trust "agreed" unless it clicked.
She opened her UI—PERMISSIONS, Underchain layer—and felt the cold, hungry attention of chain debt.
Kael's arm tightened at her waist.
"Consent?" Kael murmured, rough.
Astra's breath shook. "Yes."
Heat flared anyway—because his voice in her ear sounded like a promise he refused to let turn into a leash.
Astra authorized the extension.
Pain wasn't sharp this time. It was weight—chain debt settling deeper, satisfied.
Her interface updated:
MASK: EXTENDED (TEMP)CHAIN DEBT: +1DEBT TOTAL: 5
Orin swore softly. "Five."
Juno's hands shook around her disks. "Astra…"
Astra's mouth tasted blood. "We'll pay it down. Later."
Lyra's eyes glittered. "If you survive."
The countdown ticked.
00:08:02.
Kael's breath warmed Astra's cheek. "Astra," he murmured, rougher now, "if we walk into any Guild room, they'll try to use my mouth."
Astra's throat burned. "I know."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Then give me an anchor stronger than command."
Heat slammed through Astra, sharp and dangerous, because she knew what he was asking without him saying it.
She looked at his mouth. At the tension in his jaw. At the way he kept asking instead of taking.
Lyra watched, still, like she could taste the moment.
Orin looked away, irritated. Juno pretended not to see but couldn't stop listening.
Astra stepped closer to Kael until she was inside his breath.
"Consent," Astra whispered, low and explicit, "to a kiss as anchor. Not a vow. Not ownership. Just… mine."
Kael went very still, eyes dark like bruises.
"Yes," he rasped. "I consent."
Astra didn't let herself hesitate.
She kissed him—hard, controlled, nothing soft about it. A claim without ownership. A spark without surrender. Kael's breath hitched, then he answered like he'd been starving and refusing to admit it, his hand tightening at her waist as if he needed the contact to stay human.
Astra broke it before it could become anything the system could counterfeit.
Kael's forehead hovered near hers, breath shaking.
"Black water," Astra whispered against his mouth.
"Black water," Kael rasped back.
The words landed between them like a private lock.
Lyra's smile sharpened, something hungry and wounded flickering behind it—then she masked it with charm.
"Cute," she murmured.
Astra's eyes cut to her. "Move."
Lyra's gaze glittered. "Yes, Astra."
Orin cracked the door seam and listened. "Street's clear enough."
Juno swallowed hard. "Where's the annex."
Lyra tilted her head. "Two streets west. Lantern registry office. The Guild uses it for 'discreet verifications' when nobles don't want to be seen."
Astra's stomach tightened. Of course.
Discreet meant dirty.
Dirty meant survivable—if you knew where to step.
They slipped out of Silk & Steam and into the Lantern backstreets again. The mask held. House "scent" didn't snap toward Astra. Eyes slid past her. But Kael still drew glances—military posture, Guardian signal leaking through any disguise.
Astra felt the Guardian link tug now and then, like it wanted to respond to Rusk even through the Underchain hush.
She held Kael's waist with one hand—human contact—because she wanted the system to understand one thing clearly:
If it tried to pull him away, it would have to pull through her consent.
Kael glanced down at her hand. "Consent?" he asked, rough, breathless in the rain.
Astra's pulse kicked. "Yes."
They moved fast.
Lantern District's registry office sat behind a curtain of red silk and polished lanterns—pretty lies again. A bronze plaque read: Crestwright Liaison — Discreet Services.
Lyra didn't knock. She used a side door, tapped a pattern, and the lock clicked like it recognized her.
Inside, the air smelled of ink and perfume and expensive wax.
A corridor led to a small waiting chamber with velvet chairs and a low altar-table—Guild style pretending to be church style. A Crestwright clerk looked up, eyes sharp.
Then his gaze flicked to the House seal in Astra's hand.
His face went pale.
"You're late," the clerk whispered.
Astra's interface flickered.
00:02:11.
Astra stepped forward, voice cold. "I choose the room."
The clerk swallowed. "You don't—"
A door behind him opened.
And Astra's blood went ice.
Marquis Dorian Veyrn stepped into the annex chamber like he owned the air.
Not smiling. Not rushing. Silk-dark coat, perfect cuffs, eyes calm as a blade that had never been denied.
He didn't speak to Astra first.
He looked at Kael.
At Kael's wrist.
At Kael's mouth.
Then Dorian's gaze slid to Astra's throat wrap with proprietary patience.
"Good," Dorian said softly. "My Guardian arrived on time."
Astra's interface flashed a new line in bright, cruel text:
AUDIT PHRASE REQUIRED (PRIMARY HOLDER): "I ACCEPT STEWARDSHIP."