Page 71 of She Who Was Severed

“The Chain doesn’t comfort. Doesn’t warn. It recognizes. And when it does…”

He flicks his fingers toward a scorch mark on the far wall.

“Well. Things tend to stop being things.”

I don’t speak. Can’t.

Then he says—too casually, like we’re still making small talk:

“So. How’s the manual treating you? Gotten past the first anchor diagram yet?”

I freeze.

That manual hasn’t left the bottom of my pack. I haven’t taken it out once since entering Ashmere. Never said a word about it.

But he knows.

His smile only widens. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

He stops close enough that I can smell the ash on him. His smile hasn’t budged.

“How do you know about my manual?”

He lifts a brow, like I’ve asked him whether the sky is wet. “Your manual?”

The Chain twitches under my ribs. Not threatened. Not defensive. Just… amused. Traitor.

Owen’s grin returns, teeth too white in the half-light. “I should know about it. I wrote it, dear. Hoping, foolishly, that one day a bright, beautiful young woman would come waltzing through the crumbling gates of this once-magnificent city and right into my humble wreck of a foyer.”

He’s insane. Has to be. That’s the only explanation. But I still step closer.

“You… wrote it?”

He doesn’t blink. Just nods, slowly, theatrically, like he’s confirming a scandal.

That smile again—wide, gleaming, the kind that makes it impossible to tell if he’s flirting or dangerous. Probably both.

Owen’s match spins once between his fingers, then stills—balanced perfectly along his knuckles. He watches the tip like he’s waiting for it to catch on thought alone, then lifts his eyes to mine.

“Do you know what the Ashen Chain really is?”

“I thought that was your job. Telling me.”

His laugh is too fast. Too delighted. It cuts close enough to bleed.

“Stars, no. If I told you, you’d stuff it into whatever shape scared you least. Safety. Power. Revenge.” He gestures vaguely toward the Chain still warming against my wrist.

“But the Chain doesn’t attach to comfort. It binds to consequence.”

He moves around me slowly, watching with those too-bright eyes. Not touching. Just measuring.

“What you carry is older than the Council. Older than the Path system. Older than the division of the Five. It wasn’t made to be followed. It was made to judge.”

I want to breathe, but the Chain flares in my chest again—hot and sudden. My legs hold. Barely.

He doesn’t miss it.

“You hear it now, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice lowered. “It’s watching you. Waiting to see if you’re worth the trouble.”