Kessler did not fight me. That was the first thing that broke through the panic.
Even with my fingers locked around his throat, even with the pressure tightening under something that was no longer fully mine, he did not strike, did not pull away, did not waste movement on resistance that would cost him control.
He watched me. Only me.
“Mabel.” My name came out rough, strained by the pressure, but steady in a way that cut through everything else.
“Look at me.” I tried. I forced my focus up, dragging it away from the tightening grip, away from the second presence pressing against my thoughts, away from the quiet, deliberate intent that was not mine.
“I am” My voice fractured. Kessler’s hands came up, not to break my hold, but to take control of it, his fingers closing around my wrist, a
