Page 143 of She Who Was Severed

Freya doesn’t respond. Just watches him like she’s already measuring what kind of hole to bury him in.

I cross my arms. “Then what the hell does that make you?”

Owen taps his own chest like he’s checking for a heartbeat. “Ah, me. Well. Once upon a regrettable time, I was a high priest with access to restricted relics, far too much confidence, and a stunning lack of adult supervision.” He smiles brightly. “I bonded the Chain, yes—but not cleanly. Not like her. Not with consent or ceremony. More like… I picked the lock, let myself in, and bled until it got curious enough to stay.”

He spreads his hands, half-apologetic. “Which is why I’m technically functional. And medically inadvisable.”

I blink. “You really sold that like a résumé.”

“Thank you,” he says brightly.

Freya shifts slightly, the Chain still draped over her shoulder like it belongs there. “So you two burn things.”

Owen’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And you decide what walks through the fire.”

Freya presses her palm to the Chain. The links stir, then wrap her fingers one by one, like they’ve been waiting.

The air thickens.

I watch them settle. Her. The Chain. The room.

“My Chain tries to incinerate my lungs every time I breathe,” I mutter. “Hers? Apparently wants to cuddle.”

Owen’s smile shows up half a second late. Doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then it vanishes.

“It’s not cuddling,” he says, voice dropping. “It’s remembering.”

That hits harder than it should.

“Remembering what?” I ask, already hating the answer.

He rolls the match between his fingers once.

Then, with something almost like reverence:

“Her. It’s remembering her.”

My stomach drops like a floor gave way. “Okay… and what in the hells does that mean?”

Freya’s thumb moves along one of the links. Precise. She doesn’t lift her head.

When she speaks, her voice is low enough to make gods lean in.

“It means,” she says. “That I’m its reckoning.”

The match does catch fire.

Not from friction. From choice.

Owen lets it burn between his fingers, the flame casting shadows across the sharp edges of his grin.

“Well,” I breathe, mostly to myself. “That’s hot. Terrifying. Existentially confusing. But mostly hot.”

Chapter 19

Freya