Page 55 of She Who Was Severed

Not a boast. A promise.

And for the first time, I believe he’d set the whole world on fire if I asked him to.

He steps aside.

I walk past him. No touch. No words.

At the doorway, I pause. Look back.

He’s still there.

So am I.

Neither of us moves at first. The silence between us doesn’t stretch—it settles. He takes a step, slow and careful, like any faster might break something. Then another. When he reaches me, he doesn’t speak.

He stands in front of me, one hand steadying himself against the stone shelf beside us. His other hangs loose at his knee. I don’t breathe as he leans in. His forehead finds mine, light and steady. No pressure. No claim. Just presence.

Then he shifts. Closer.

He presses a kiss to the hinge of my jaw, just below my left ear. A soft, exact touch—like muscle memory.

That one place only he remembers.

The place no one else has ever thought to find.

“It’s not goodbye,” he says, voice barely audible.

“It never is,” I answer.

The words land like a promise.

He stands slowly.

Doesn’t touch me again.

And I turn toward the dark.

This time, he lets me go.

And I don’t look back.

Chapter 7

I got out under cover of night.

Even with the alert raised. Even with priests whispering to their wards and hounds sniffing the gutters for scent. Even with the whole damn city holding its breath, waiting for a girl with too much blood on her hands and a Chain that shouldn’t exist.

Virelle didn’t stop me.

The Chain didn’t guide me. It didn’t flare. It just coiled tight around my ribs and let me make the choice.

I didn’t run. Didn’t bolt through alleys or leap over patrol lines like the stories say.

I walked.

Ash in my hair. Smoke in my throat. Blood stiff down one sleeve.

No one looked too closely. No one ever does when you walk like you belong to the damage.