Page 90 of She Who Was Severed

A flask lands in my lap. Sloshes. I catch it with both hands, barely.

Vale crouches beside me, weight on her toes, watching like I might still collapse. “You didn’t die,” she says, flat. “Points for that.”

I drink. Not because I want to. Because it’s something I can do. The burn clears the blood from the back of my mouth. Doesn’t fix much else.

“How long—”

“Twenty minutes,” she says. “You screamed for five.” She says it like she’s impressed. Or maybe just relieved I stopped.

Owen’s voice cuts in from above. “You reached Link Two in record time.” His tone makes it sound like a joke. “Not that we’re keeping score.”

I look up. He’s perched on a broken beam like it’s a throne no one dared to take from him. His coat’s inside out, belt missing, one sleeve torn halfway off. He’s barefoot again. None of it seems to bother him. He hops down in one easy motion and walks over like he’s joining a picnic.

I try to stand. Make it halfway before the shaking kicks in. The Chain catches me—tight around my spine, not helping, just refusing to let me fall. I hate that I need it. Hate that it knows.

Owen stops two paces away. His eyes flick to the shimmer at my wrist, then back to my face. “And there she is,” he says, too pleased. “Newborn twice. How do you feel?”

“Like my spine got rewritten by a forge,” I mutter.

He brightens. “Excellent. That means it took.”

Vale rises behind me, arms crossed now, one shoulder leaning against the wall. Her sarcasm’s gone quiet.

“She’s not ready for more,” she says.

“I didn’t say she was.” Owen doesn’t lose the smile. “But she will be.”

He lifts one hand, slow and deliberate, like even the movement has rules. The Chain answers—not in power, but presence. A second thread glows faintly across my shoulder, heat settling under skin. No flicker. No test. Just confirmation.

“It knows you now,” he says.

I don’t respond. Not with words. The Chain hums once, and that’s enough.

Owen lets the silence stretch, then turns away, already rummaging through a heap of parchment and broken sigils near the wall. He moves like the outcome’s already decided. Like he’s just collecting props for the next disaster.

“You’ll want to eat,” he calls over his shoulder. “Sleep. And maybe write your will. The next link’s… less conversational.”

Vale snorts. “You’re the worst teacher I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve never been accused of teaching,” he says. “I just light matches and walk away.”

He pauses. Straightens. Turns toward her.

“Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.”

Vale’s hand drops to her knife. She doesn’t draw it. Just touches the hilt like she’s weighing options.

Owen’s grin widens, all bright ruin and delight. “One highly illegal, extremely dangerous graft ritual coming up.”

He winks.

Then walks out like the conversation was over five minutes ago. The door creaks closed behind him. Might be the wind. Might be him.

Vale mutters something under her breath that sounds older than this room.

I sit down. Hard. My legs don’t argue.

The Chain pulses once in my chest. Low. Present.