Page 65 of She Who Was Severed

“You don’t disappear with our payday and stroll back through like it’s a reunion.”

Vale shifts her stance, finally letting her hand rest on her blade. “Didn’t come back for you.”

“No,” Bram says, stepping closer, “but you’re still on our path. And this time, we outnumber you.”

They move fast.

I don’t wait. My breath drops low. Cycle Three. Not perfect, but clean. Compression in the gut, exhale slow. The Chain stirs—not a lash, not yet, but a hum like tension ready to snap.

The first attacker hits Vale and finds nothing but steel and elbow. She flips his weight and buries her knee in his ribs before he finishes the first swing.

Two more split toward me.

The Chain doesn’t wait for instruction. The first one grabs my arm and yelps—his skin sizzles where it touches mine. I yank back, pivot on the heel, and drive my shoulder into the second.

Not enough. He’s bigger. I drop low and let the Chain take the slack. It lashes, silent and quick, and sweeps his feet clean off the ground. He lands wrong. Doesn’t rise.

Across the clearing, Vale’s already on her second opponent—fast, tight movements, one blade held backhanded, the other catching steel mid-air. She’s not just fighting. She’s choosing which parts to damage.

Bram comes in slower, heavier. His axe swings wide. Vale blocks it clean, but it forces her two steps back. The woman behind him smiles and moves for Vale’s flank.

I shift to intercept, but I’m late.

The Chain doesn’t need me.

It lashes without a flare. A tight spiral of barbed links whips from my wrist and wraps the woman’s forearm just before her blade reaches Vale’s back. She screams and stumbles away, blood slick on her hand.

Vale finishes Bram with an elbow to the jaw and a knee to the gut. He collapses.

One of the others breaks and runs.

Nobody follows.

Silence stretches out. Not peace. Just aftermath.

Vale crouches beside Bram’s body. Checks his pulse like it’s habit, not hope. Then she slides a ring from his finger, pockets it, and wipes her hand on his tunic without blinking.

“You’re full of surprises,” I say.

She straightens slowly. Breath tight, but controlled. “So are you.”

I glance at the bodies, the spatter, the drag marks in the dust. “You knew they might be out here.”

“I knew they were still breathing. That’s not the same thing.”

“You didn’t warn me.”

She shrugs. “In my defense—”

I lift a hand. “Don’t even.”

That gets a grin. Not smug. Just honest. She nods once, then turns back toward the ridge to collect her pack.

The Chain hums low—not agitated, not neutral. Just… aware.

I follow.

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