Page 37 of She Who Was Severed

And trust has never been kind.

I cross the room. My boots scuff dry stone. He stands still, arms loose at his sides, like he’s ready for an order I don’t know how to give.

I reach up. Rest my hand at the base of his neck.

Not pulling him closer.

Not pushing him away.

Just… reminding myself he’s real. That we both are. Even now.

Then I let go. And he lets me.

Outside, the sky’s gone silver with dawn. The Ash Tower stays behind me. Watching. Waiting. The cold doesn’t bite like it used to. But I feel it in the soles of my feet, in the hollow place just under my ribs.

Tomorrow is the trial.

Today, I gave away my only shield.

But I gave it to the one person who might carry it for me.

And if he fails—if he hands it over, or lets them take it—I hope he remembers the weight of it. Not just the manual.

Me.

Chapter 5

They take me at dusk.

No warning. No summons. Just a knock on the Ash Tower’s iron doors like a war drum, and then three bonded officers with pale eyes and tighter grips. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. I go with them without protest. There’s nothing left to prepare.

The manual is already gone. Kellen has it.

If that was a mistake, it’s one I’ll bleed for later.

The Tribunal Hall in Virelle smells like incense and control.

High walls. Too bright. Too many watching eyes. The bonded elite and the Severed’s worst nightmares all sharing the same breathless silence.

I walk the length of the chamber with shackles at my wrists and the chain wound tight under my skin. Suppressed. Not silent.

Magic-null cuffs choke every instinct down to a cold ache in my chest. The guards steer me toward the dais at the center like I’m prey that’s already agreed to bleed.

Kier Stromyr stands above it all like he was carved from the stone and decided to stay.

Calm. Measured. Unreadable.

Worse than angry. Angry would mean he felt something.

Kellen is already there.

Not beside me. Not near the defense table—there isn’t one—but near the outer ring, standing with the Council observers. Cloak military-cut. Expression neutral. Every muscle locked too tight to be casual.

His eyes catch mine for half a second.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither do I.