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She still believes space equals safety. That distance will hold the danger at bay. I envy her that illusion. The only choice left to me is whether I lie down before I am forced to.

After a moment, she moves to the chest and retrieves blankets, but instead of making a bed on the floor near mine, she carries it to a spot on the opposite side of the chamber, on top of a thick rug that covers part of the stone floor. As far from me as the space allows.

“I’ll be fine here.”

I nod, and say nothing. Let her think distance provides safety, if that’s what she needs. She doesn’t look at me again. Not directly, anyway. But I can feel the weight of her awareness, even from across the room.

The binding continues to tighten, reducing my movements with each passing hour. I remain on my bed, stretching out and settling back against the pillows, giving the appearance of being ready tosleep.

“We’ll speak more tomorrow.” I say as she arranges her makeshift bed. “If there's more you wish to know, I will try to explain.”

“I have plenty of questions.” Her voice has lost some of its edge, tiredness already taking hold.

“Then we’ll have much to discuss.” My words emerge light and conversational. The perfect mask to hide the calculations already forming behind it. Every question she asks brings her one step closer to serving my purpose, whether she realizes it or not.

The binding locks into place as darkness finally claims the chamber, pressing against me from all sides. My limbs grow heavy, immovable. The restriction tightens around my chest, making each breath a conscious effort. After all this time, I should be accustomed to this nightly ritual, but some violations never dull with familiarity.

Yet something feels different tonight. Not the binding itself, that remains as effective as ever, but in the tower’s atmosphere. A subtle shift in the magic that permeates these walls, as though the very air has changed with her presence. It pulses with a rhythm slightly altered from its usual steady beat, like a heart adjusting to a new presence.

My captors were thorough in their imprisonment, designing layers of magical constraints that have held me for decades. The irony doesn’t escape me. The same people who hunt and kill those with magical abilities, who preach against magic’s corruption, who built their entire doctrine on its eradication, still rely on it when it serves their purpose. Hypocrites wielding the very power they claim to despise.

But no spell, no matter how meticulously crafted, is truly perfect. If her presence is affecting the tower in even the slightest way, if she iscreating a single crack in my prison, it bears careful observation. I’ve waited too long for an opportunity to waste it through impatience.

Across the chamber, she tosses and turns on her makeshift bed, blankets twisting around her with every move. A soft murmur escapes her lips—words I cannot decipher, but carrying the cadence of troubled dreams. I wonder if she’s seeing these strange faces again, hearing that language she doesn’t understand. Part of me wants to know what she sees when darkness claims her. Those dreams may tell me exactly why my magic chose her.

Dawn will come soon enough, and with it, I’ll continue what I’ve already begun. Testing her responses, gauging her weaknesses, and finding ways to bring her closer to me both physically and in her understanding of this place. Each conversation, each revelation, each moment of vulnerability will serve my purpose.

She wants to go home. I want to be free. I’ll make her believe these goals are inextricably linked, that her path back to Chicago runs directly through my liberation. By the time she understands the cost of one, the other will already be in motion.

I turn my head with effort, the binding allowing me this small movement. My eyes fix on her form across the chamber. Tomorrow, I’ll take the first step toward testing the true extent of her effect on my prison. I’ll begin the slow work of turning my unexpected visitor into my unwitting accomplice.

Chapter Five

ELLIE

“He who has waited does not knock. He listens for silence to end.”

Veinwarden saying, post-Thornreave

My eyesopen to the same blue-violet light pulsing through the room as yesterday. The rhythm feels almost like a heartbeat—steady, unwavering,alien. I don’t realize I’m breathing in time with it until I stop. It’s too regular. Too intentional. So I break it on purpose.

For two nights I’ve slept in this tower. Two nights I’ve spent in another world, if the man I’m sharing this chamber with is to be believed. The thought doesn’t fill me with the same frantic panic as yesterday. Instead, it’s been replaced by something worse—a hollow resignation settling into my bones.

The panic might have gone, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I can’t tell if I’m adapting or giving up. I only know that I’m no closer to getting home.

Across the room, Sacha is in the same position as before. Sitting at his desk, writing in a journal. He doesn’t look up when I stir, but I’m sure he’s aware that I’m awake the same way he was yesterday. Nothing seems to escape his notice.

I sit up slowly. Every joint aches from another night on the hard floor. Even with the thick rug and all the blankets, it’s not a bed. I rub at my eyes, yawning, and shove my hair away from my face. My fingers tangle in the knots, pulling against my scalp, and I wince.

“Breakfast is waiting for you.” Sacha doesn’t look up.

Fresh food is already on the table—bread, fruit, and something that might be cheese. The way it appears from nowhere is unsettling, but I’m hungry so I try not to think about it too hard.

I push to my feet, fold the blankets, then walk over to the table. The tower still hums with that strange energy I noticed last night—a vibration just below hearing level coming from the walls. It’s distracting and lifts the fine hairs at the back of my neck.

“Do you always write in the morning?”

I tear off a piece of bread, and sit on the chair, trying to sound casual despite how wrong everything still feels. Each question drops like a pebble into a bottomless well. I never know if I’ll hear it land. Whether he’ll ignore it or answer at all.