Page 106 of She Who Was Severed

“Yet,” Vale adds.

Kellen doesn’t ease off. “And he just… shows up?”

“Herpes, remember,” Vale says, flipping the knife once, then catching it by the hilt. “Can’t get rid of him.”

“Can I help you?” Kellen asks Owen directly, not polite.

“Oh, you already have.” Owen drifts toward the dragon, gaze bright. “You brought her.” He whistles low. “She’s magnificent.”

Before anyone can blink, he plucks a scale.

Just—reaches out and takes it.

The dragon’s growl isn’t decorative. It’s deep and grounded and personal. The air tightens around us like it’s waiting for a choice to be made.

Kellen steps in front of Owen fast. His hand hovers near his weapon—not drawn, not needed yet, but his eyes are locked in. Ready. Cold.

Owen holds the scale up like a trophy. “Relax. One scale. For science. I’m not going to summon anything.”

“Yet,” Vale mutters again, watching the tension brew like she’s got popcorn somewhere.

Owen turns the scale in the light. “Honestly, you should thank me. Most dragons don’t get properly cataloged.”

“Do it again,” Kellen says, voice quiet. “See how well that goes.”

Owen doesn’t blink. “Noted.”

Vale looks between the three of us and snorts. “Well, this isn’t emotionally complicated at all.”

I rub my temple. “Kellen, just… don’t kill him. Yet.”

“That’s a lot of yets,” he says.

Vale grins. “Welcome to Ashmere.”

And for one sharp second, I wish it wasn’t funny. Because it’s too true.

Too damn accurate.

Because now they all know.

Kellen, Vale, Owen—the dragon itself.

I’m not alone anymore.

And nothing about that feels safe

- x -

Kellen

The bottle is already open.

I sit with my back to the stairwell, spine pressed against the warped stone lip that rings the edge of the rooftop, and let the bottle hang from two fingers. It’s not good liquor. Not even strong. Just enough of a bite to remind me I still have a throat, still bleed like a man and not a myth.

Ashmere sprawls below me in crooked lines and slanted light. Buildings held together by stubbornness and sin. Smoke rises where the rain hasn’t won. From here, you’d think it was peaceful. Quiet. A city catching its breath after someone set fire to the gods.

I don’t feel peaceful.