Page 129 of Stormvein

“Sacha. Please. Look at me. Not at her.”

His eyes, the black bleeding into the whites, lock with mine, surprise replacing fury.

“You’ve taught me that survival means making hard choices.” My voice is steady despite the blood I can feel trickling down my neck. “This is one of those moments. We need her alive. For now.”

For one long breathless moment, no one moves. The shadows remain tight around Lisandra, who has gone still. The fighters watch from a distance, waiting for Sacha’s decision. I don’t drop my hand from his face, don’t break our gaze.

Then finally, he tilts his head in the slightest of nods.

The shadows loosen enough to allow Lisandra to gasp for air. Relief washes through me, mixed with the strange realization that I’ve just requested he show mercy to someone who held a knife to my throat.

But something in me refuses to accept the idea that she should be killed simply because she’s become inconvenient. Maybe it’s my fading connection to the world I came from, where we at least pretend justice matters more than vengeance. Or maybe it’s something deeper. A recognition that in a world where everyone makes brutal choices, mercy might be the rarest power of all.

I’m changing in this world, becoming something I never imagined, but some core of who I am, who Ichooseto remain, despite everything that’s happened, refuses to bend to its cruelty.

As the fighters secure Lisandra with multiple restraints and check her for hidden weapons, I walk over to where Sacha stands watching the process.

“Thank you.”

His gaze moves to me. “You risked yourself to subdue her rather than kill her. Why?”

“I’m not sure.” I touch the shallow cut on my neck. “Maybe because we’re more than the worst choices we make. Maybe because I’d like to believe that if I ever made a terrible mistake, someone would offer me the same chance.”

He studies me for a long, silent moment, then he sighs, a sound caught between frustration and reluctant admiration. “And this is why you continue to be a variable I cannot fully predict. Your compassion defies understanding.”

“Is that a compliment or a criticism?” I’m conscious of how close we’re standing, of the others watching from a distance.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Perhaps it’s both.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

SACHA

One does not hold prophecy. One survives it.

The Nature of Veinblood Rebirth

We makecamp in a grove just beyond the tree line. It’s dense enough to shield movement, open enough to monitor from every angle. Everyone spreads out across the clearing, taking up positions without the need for discussions. Bedrolls are laid out, and a small fire is prepared so everyone can have a hot meal before the confrontation tomorrow. I conceal the visibility of the flames with shadows.

Lisandra is secured to a tree near the outer edge, wrists bound in front of her so she can’t repeat her escape by using the trunk to cut through her bindings, and gagged to keep her silent.

Her eyes follow me, filled with something close to hatred. Guards position themselves on either side of her, hands resting on their weapons, a clear message that mercy has its limits.

I turn my attention to Ellie, who is sitting on a fallen log, fingers tentatively touching the thin cut on her neck. The wound is shallow, but the sight of blood, still visible despite her attempts to wipe it away, keeps drawing my attention. It stokesan unfamiliar heat through my veins, and makes my shadows curl restlessly close to my skin. This reaction is … unsettling. The intensity of it is unusual.

“Let me see that.” I drop to one knee before her, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.

A ripple of shock passes through the nearby fighters, subtle but unmistakable. One of them stops in the middle of laying out his bedroll, eyes widening before looking away. Others exchange glances. I catch Varam’s raised eyebrow from across the clearing.

Ellie frowns, looking around before turning back to me. “What’s wrong with them?”

I dismiss their behavior with a shake of my head. I know exactly what caused their reaction. The Vareth’el kneeling before someone of lower rank. A position I haven’t assumed since before my father’s execution.

My focus remains on the thin line of red against her skin, unwilling to acknowledge what my action may have revealed to everyone watching. “Lift your head.”

She tilts her head, exposing the cut where Lisandra’s blade broke through. “It’s nothing.”

“It could have been everything.” The words escape before I can stop them.