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The offer surprises me. It sounds like genuine consideration for my comfort instead of a strategic decision. I glance around, taking in the smiles, the laughter, the way people are clinging to this moment. How their faces light up when they look in Sacha’s direction.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’ll stay. But … would you stay closer? Just in case it happens again.”

His expression changes, eyes softening in a way I’ve never seen before. “As you wish.”

For the rest of the evening, he remains within arm’s reach, our bodies developing an unconscious choreography as we move through the crowd. He integrates me into conversations where he can, translating when needed. His presence creates a shield, a buffer against the press of expectation and strangeness.

Protector. Interpreter. A tether to something that feels safer than it should.

Every now and then I catch him watching me with that same inscrutable intensity. And every time, something flutters in my chest, and I have to remind myself of all the reasons to guard myself against becoming attached to anything here.

Yet Chicago feels increasingly distant tonight, a photograph fading around the edges. The determination that has driven me since arriving in Meridian—to find a way home, to return to my life—still burns, but beside it grows something new.

Something dangerous.

A small, traitorous voice whispering that maybe going home isn’t the only thing that matters anymore. That maybe … maybe there are things in this world worth staying for.

Chapter Twenty-Six

SACHA

“Not all rebirth begins with fire. Some begin with listening.”

The Nature of Veinblood Rebirth

Everywhere I turn,people watch me. Some press their fists to hearts; others simply stare with a reverence that is more uncomfortable than flattering. I became a myth made flesh to these people before I was finally captured at Thornreave Pass. And now I’m a legend returning from the dead. A ghost given weight and substance after years of existing only in whispers and faded memories.

The truth lies somewhere between legend and man. Between weapon and leader. Between what they need me to be and what I am.

I scan the hall, my gaze drawn to Ellie more than once across the crowd. The midnight blue dress suits her. Silver stars scattered across the fabric catch and hold the torchlight, creating the illusion she carries a piece of the night sky. She’s watching the dancers with veiled curiosity, her shoulders straight, chin lifted. Lisandra chose her dress well. It marks her as significant without revealing why she matters. A layer of protection I didn’t anticipate needing.

My attention moves from her to the gathered Veinwardens andtheir families, and beyond them to the people who are here out of need and safety. The celebration serves purposes beyond the obvious lifting of morale. It allows me to reestablish my presence, flesh instead of memory, while evaluating what remains.

Who survived, who adapted, who might yet prove useful.

I catalog promising individuals. A sharp-eyed woman positioned to watch every entrance, hand never straying far from a concealed blade. A man who blends into the background without effort, mirroring those around him like water taking the shape of its vessel. A messenger whose bearing betrays former Authority discipline. Each one is a potential piece on the board I must reconstruct.

Across the hall, Ellie accepts a drink from a young fighter. Despite the conversations she cannot follow and the histories she does not share, she carries herself with a calm born more of instinct than ease. Her adaptability continues to impress me. She navigates this world better than many born to it.

Her eyes find mine, and hold. She doesn’t flinch, or look away. In a room full of people who revere me as a legend but can’t bear to look directly into my eyes for more than a fleeting moment, she does so without hesitation. This small defiance, if that’s what it is, creates an unexpected intimacy that I should discourage, but instead find myself savoring.

And then it happens … a subtle shift in the air.

The lightstones flicker, responding to a burst of energy I feel as much as sense. Ellie breaks our connection first, setting down the cup with a wild-eyed glance, and retreating a step from the table.

I murmur an excuse to those nearest to me, and cross the room.People part instinctively, leaving my path clear. When I reach her, the silver flecks in her eyes are unmistakably brighter. A new occurrence since our arrival at Stonehaven.

“Is everything all right?” I keep my voice low, but concern seeps through despite my efforts not to allow it. This involuntary slip in my usual detachment is becoming an alarming pattern where she's concerned.

“The cup. It started heating up.” She glances around, checking to see if anyone is watching. “I think … I think it was me.”

“I felt the change in energy across the room. You’re becoming more attuned to it. More sensitive.” Whatever power is flowing through her, it’s growing stronger not weaker.

“I don’t know how to stop it.” Fear edges her words, but beneath it lies something else—frustration, determination, a refusal to be overwhelmed. It mirrors something I recognize in myself.

“Not yet. But you will.” I allow certainty to color my tone, a calculated reassurance. “We can leave, if you wish.” The offer is genuine. An unusual concession to her comfort rather than strategic necessity.

“No. I’ll stay. But … would you stay closer? Just in case it happens again.”