Page 198 of She Who Was Severed

And he doesn’t finish the sentence.

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Kellen is asleep now, so I wait at the rooftop.

Not watching the dragons. Not the smoke. Just the sky above it all—wide and streaked with ash. My body aches, but I can’t seem to leave. Not yet.

Behind me, footsteps. Quiet. Annoyingly quiet.

I don’t turn.

“Owen,” I say.

“Took you long enough to notice. Thought I’d have to throw a shoe.”

I glance over my shoulder. He’s leaning against what’s left of the old tribunal arch, one sleeve torn, boots dry, apple in hand like he’s just returned from a holiday instead of a battle for the city. The Chain flinches slightly at his presence—not afraid. Just aware.

“You disappeared,” I say. “During the battle.”

“Please. I left the door open, carved judgment into bedrock, and built you a prophecy so clean you didn’t even trip on it. Figured that earned me a nap.”

He takes a bite. Chews. Tilts his head at the horizon, where the dragons still hold their silence.

“Besides,” he adds, “you didn’t need me.”

I don’t answer.

“You were always going to stand there,” he says, softer now. “In the ash. In the light. With your hand over a dying boy and your spine straight. All I did was make sure the world was watching when you did it.”

Another bite. Another grin.

“You’ve got two links left, you know. The Chain’s not finished with you.”

I nod. Slowly.

“There’s a path you’ve never walked. Older than any temple, deeper than the cities they buried under sand. It remembers you.”

I say nothing. Let him keep going. Because I know he will.

“You’ve got thousands of unbonded children behind every burned border. You’ve got entire factions sharpening knives because they think they saw a miracle when all you did was survive.”

He tosses the apple core into the dirt.

“You’ve got a myth to live up to. People to protect. And an ancient Chain-built city at the bottom of Virelle’s blood-soaked mountains waiting to be found or forgotten, depending on how brave you feel.”

I meet his eyes. They’re not mocking.

They’re waiting.

“Busy woman,” he says. “Our Mother of Chains.”

Then he pushes off the wall, walks three paces toward the rising smoke of Ashmere’s kitchens, and adds—without looking back:

“Better get some rest.”

A pause. Then:

“Book two’s going to be a bitch.”