Page 139 of She Who Was Severed

And gods help me—I don’t look away.

I hear my own voice before I feel my mouth move.

Burn her. She’s tainted. Let the Chain take her.

Except it’s not me. It’s younger. Sharper. Crueler. I’m not alone in the body. I’m in the crowd. I’m the one screaming.

I try to move. Try to look away.

I can’t.

I’m stuck—half in the spiral, half inside this memory the Chain’s stuffing down my throat like it wants to see what happens when I gag on someone else’s truth.

In the chamber, my knees give. Hands hit stone. I can’t breathe.

Owen doesn’t help.

Of course he doesn’t.

This isn’t his moment. It’s mine. And the Chain? It’s not interested in comfort. It’s here to see what I do when no one pulls me out.

My chest locks up. Feels like something’s carving into it—deep, hot, like metal dragging through bone. The Chain tightens its grip. Not to hurt me. Not exactly. It’s pushing. Seeing what I’ll do.

Can I carry what isn’t mine?

Can I hold the pain that belonged to someone else?

Can I get back up after?

I want to scream. Honest-to-gods, full-body scream.

But instead, one word scrapes out of me. Ragged. Honest.

“Freya.”

Not because she’s here. Not because she can help.

Because she’s why I’m here. The only thing solid enough to hold on to.

And the Chain feels it. Responds.

Not with pain.

With purpose.

It tightens—not like a noose, but like a brand. Like it’s making sure this moment doesn’t vanish when I wake up.

Something in me breaks open. Not skin. Not thought.

Something deeper. A wall I didn’t know I built.

And behind it?

Heat. Weight. Something old. Something with teeth.

Then the ground disappears beneath me.

Not fainting.