Page 135 of Problematic

“I asked whether you were attacked.”

“I was.”

Vale’s expression went dangerous.

I tilted my head. “Just not tactically.” I adjusted my jacket over the bloodstain.

Vale stared. “Don’t pretend that hid anything.”

He was right. People had stopped walking. That was the problem with a city full of demons. Self-preservation only worked so long as no one smelled blood. The first wave had scattered when my nightmares snapped across the sidewalk, but the second wave had slowed and heads were turning. Phones lifted from pockets with smooth, stupid confidence.

One demon across the street had already started recording. Vale’s hand was still under my elbow. My hand clenched against the sidewalk.

A demon whispered into her phone, voice shaking with excitement. “I think it’s Draven. He’s bleeding.”

A third stepped halfway out of a boutique doorway and angled his camera toward my left shoulder.

Lux Draven on one knee.

Lux Draven bleeding.

Lux Draven vulnerable.

Vale’s fingers closed around my sleeve before I could do something educational.

“No,” he said.

I looked at him.

His face had changed. Most people thought Vale was paperwork in a suit. My right hand. My logistics man. My head of PR, which sounded harmless to anyone who had never watched him ruin a bloodline with three leaked dinner photos and a fake engagement announcement.

That was their mistake. Vale was not harmless. He was a chaos demon. He fed on rumors, misinformation, bullying, and obsession. All the ugly violence people did with their mouths before they found weapons. He had adapted beautifully to the modern world. Social media had done for him what open war had done for me.

It kept him fed.

The phones lifted higher, and Vale smiled.

A sharp pulse snapped outward from him, invisible until it hit metal, glass, signal, and spellwork. Screens went black. Wards sparked along cases. A glamour-camera burst in a shower of blue light. One by one, devices died.

“My phone!”

“It burned me!”

“I lost everything!”

Vale inhaled. It was subtle, controlled, and discreet as hell. But I felt the power move into him. Felt the block’s fear, frustration, embarrassment, and outrage feed him in one quick rush. He drank it down like coffee.

Then he straightened his cuffs.

“Public recording of Lord Draven is a safety violation,” he said calmly to everyone.

A woman near the curb tried to back away with her dead phone clutched to her chest. Vale glanced in her direction, and the device flickered once, displaying a clean black screen with white text.

TEMPORARY SIGNAL FAILURE DUE TO WARD MAINTENANCE.THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

Every other dead phone lit with the same message.

I looked at him. “Ward maintenance?”