Amina never imagined she'd be sewing under the supervision of a mage.
"I still don't understand what I'm looking for," she said, squinting at the seam Kael had pointed out. "This just looks like regular stitching."
"To your eyes, maybe," Kael replied, crouched beside her with his hand glowing faintly over the fabric. "But it's reacting. Watch."
He muttered something in a language she didn't recognize. The thread shimmered — not with the soft glow of silk, but with something deeper. Darker. A faint, pulsing red.
Amina jerked her hand back. "That's blood magic."
"Yes," Kael said simply. "Whoever commissioned this wanted the wearer bound. Mind, body, and will."
She felt sick. This gown was meant for someone — some noble or royal — and it would have turned them into a puppet.
"Why me?" she asked, more to herself than him. "Why not send this to a spellcrafter?"
"Because a mage would've noticed immediately," he said. "You… they thought you'd never see it. Just make it. Sew it. Be the vessel."
Amina looked at the thread again, heat building in her chest. "I hate being underestimated."
Kael raised a brow. "I can already tell you're going to be difficult."
"Good," she snapped, grabbing her needle. "Now teach me how to unstitch a curse before I stab someone."
He almost smiled.
They worked through the night.
Amina had never realized how much patience magic required — or how much sarcasm Kael had stored in one body. Every time she asked a question, he answered with half an eye-roll and a muttered explanation, yet she caught him watching her hands with quiet fascination.
"You sew like you're casting," he murmured at one point.
"I am casting," she replied. "Casting fits, mostly."
He actually laughed — low and rough, like he hadn't done it in a while. Amina wasn't sure why that made her heart skip.
By morning, they had undone three seams. Each one released a strange pressure from the air, like something exhaling.
But the last one… fought back.
The thread snapped in Amina's hand with a crack like thunder. A blast of cold shot through the room. The candles went out.
Amina hit the floor hard, ears ringing.
When she looked up, Kael was on one knee, panting, magic sparking at his fingertips.
"You alright?" he asked, voice raw.
"I think the dress hates me."
Kael nodded. "Good. That means we're close."
They both looked at the gown. It was still standing. Still silent.
But its shadow