Page 64 of She Who Was Severed

I roll my eyes. “It was training.”

Vale stares at me, expression unreadable. Like she’s trying to decide whether to laugh or stab me. “Next time you want to train, pick a place that doesn’t smell like something died screaming.”

The Chain twitches once—just a flicker. Enough to make her hands still for half a second.

“I’ve seen what happens when power starts answering on its own,” she says finally.

“So have I.”

She says nothing to that. Just ties off the wrap with a sharp pull and gets to her feet.

“Next time you try this stunt,” she says, turning, “make sure I’m in a better mood. Or at least better fed.”

I watch her disappear into the fog again.

The Chain hums against my spine.

And I don’t stop it.

- x -

We’re close to the edge of the Wanehold. I can feel it in the ground—the way the dirt stops humming underfoot, the way the trees space out wider, more natural. The fog thins just enough to see twenty paces ahead. That should feel like relief. It doesn’t.

Vale’s pace has changed. She’s stopped scanning the terrain like a survivalist and started walking like someone who knows what she’s about to step into. Her hand keeps brushing her blade, not drawing it, just checking it’s there.

I catch up, but she stops without warning. One step from the bend in the path, weight shifting, body tense. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.

I see them as the wind breaks.

Four, maybe five shapes, half-shadowed and still. One perched on a stone ledge, one higher on the ridge, the rest on the path ahead. Loose stances. Blades half-out, not nervous. Confident. Like they’ve done this before.

Vale exhales slow. “Fucking Bram.”

The lead one steps into view. Tall. Axe balanced across his shoulder like it weighs nothing. Patchy armor. Too clean hands. He walks like a man who always brings the bigger threat.

“Didn’t think you’d come through the Wanehold, Vale,” he says, grinning. “Thought we burned that bridge.”

His eyes drift to me, linger longer than I like. “New girlfriend? Bit young for you, isn’t she?”

Vale doesn’t blink. “I don’t fuck every pretty girl who crosses my path, Bram. That’s how you ended up with three bastards, one bounty, and half a knife stuck in your arse.”

His grin wavers. “Still charming, princess.”

She rolls her neck like she’s shaking off a cramp, not a warning.

“Call me princess again, Bram, and I’ll rip off your cock, jam it up your ass sideways, and let you finally understand what it’s like to get fucked by your own mistakes.”

Bram barks a laugh—but it stumbles halfway out. He shifts his grip on the axe.

“Gods, Vale. You always did have a mouth like a back-alley whore.”

He grins, but his eyes flick to her blade.

Another shape steps forward—female, wiry, blades already drawn. Her voice cuts cleaner than her knives.

“Vale.” A nod. Not friendly. Not surprised. “You left with half the take. And both route maps.”

She stops just short of striking distance.