Page 134 of She Who Was Severed

“You were Severed,” I say. “Weren’t you?”

Poor kid was probably cut five years early, maybe more. I’m surprised he’s still breathing.

His chin dips. Just once.

“And it didn’t end well.”

This time, no nod. Just a breath. Sharp. Like swallowing glass.

He presses the dead chain-link closer to his chest.

“Me too,” I whisper. “But I didn’t die from it. And neither did you.”

He looks up. This time, really looks.

And the moment stretches.

Not holy. Not quiet.

Just… seen.

Something in the Chain shifts.

I feel it curl low behind my spine.

Protective.

Like it recognizes this boy’s damage.

Not as weakness.

As kin.

I reach out—slow, open-handed—and gently touch the edge of the rusted link in his lap.

It doesn’t react.

But the Chain hums once.

Just enough to warm the air.

And the boy doesn’t flinch this time.

Vale mutters something obscene under her breath and crouches next to me.

“We’re not adopting him,” she says. “I draw the line at orphans.”

“You are an orphan.”

“Yes, and look how well that turned out.”

I ignore her.

“Hey,” I say to the boy. “I’m Freya. This is Vale. You want food?”

He stares.

Then nods.