Page 122 of She Who Was Severed

“I saw.”

“And you stayed.”

“I needed to make sure.”

“I didn’t need to.”

That gets a slight nod. He doesn’t offer comfort. Doesn’t expect any, either.

The Chain shifts across my spine. Not alarmed. Just active. Like it’s reading him the same way I am.

“It listens to you now,” he says.

I drag in a breath through my nose. My ribs don’t like it. “No. It watches. Trying to decide if I’m worth what I cost it.”

He thinks about that longer than I expect him to. “And are you?”

I don’t answer right away. My hand finds the path manual inside my cloak, thumb resting against the edge where the leather’s worn smooth. The Chain doesn’t move.

“Not yet.”

He exhales slow. Always through his nose first. Controlled even in disappointment. Kellen was raised to be a weapon for a system he burned to the ground. He hasn’t quite figured out what that makes him now.

“You didn’t just survive in there,” he says. “You looked… reforged.”

I glance over, one brow arched. “Lucky Owen chose a forge then.”

Kellen doesn’t bite. Doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’m serious, Freya.”

His voice shifts—quieter now, but not softer.

“I can’t lose you.”

That pulls me up. Not because I doubt him. Because he doesn’t say things like that unless something in him is already bracing for it.

He turns, just enough to meet my eyes. The Chain stays still, but my ribs tighten like something underneath heard it too. Kellen doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze like he’s already started counting the cost.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“That war’s already started.”

I nod once. “Then we prepare Ashmere.”

“It won’t stop what’s coming.”

“No,” I say. “But we’ve stopped worse.”

His jaw clenches. “I’m not sure we have.”

That lands harder than anything before it. Not loud. Just real.

He shifts, bracing his palms against the edge of the roof. His fingers flex once against the stone. The tension isn’t from fear. It’s choice. Something in him wants to move. Something else doesn’t let it.

“I’ve been thinking about Solenn,” he says.

My spine straightens. He sees it, doesn’t comment.

“The name still opens doors,” he says. “I just don’t know if I’d like what walks through them.”