Page 181 of Stormvein

Sacha steps over the bodies as though they are nothing but obstacles in his path. His face shows no regret or satisfaction at what he’s done. He presses one hand to the door the guards were posted outside, and the shadows, the same ones that tore through living flesh, peel away from torn skin and shattered bone to slip through the cracks beneath it. He waits, silent, face unreadable. When they return, he gives the barest shake of his head.

“Empty.” The way he says the word suggests he’s not talking to me, but himself.

He turns and starts toward the stairs, without looking back to see if I follow. I wonder if he even remembers I’m here, or if killing has taken his mind somewhere else, somewhere I can’t reach.

I follow him. I don’t look down, but it doesn’t matter. The images are seared into my memory. I can still see the blood pooling across stone, the torn fabric, the expression on the second guard’s face. His mouth frozen in a scream that never escaped around the shadow lodged in his throat.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen him kill. But it’s the first time since I admitted to myself that I have feelings for him. Since I felt the way his touch changes when it was just for me. How his eyes warm when they meet mine. The way he fights against a smile when I do something that amuses him. Since I let myself imagine what it might mean to stay in this world with him.

Now those same hands that traced my face are stained with blood that isn’t his own. Those eyes that looked at me with something close to wonder show nothing but death. And for one long moment, I don’t know which version is real. The man who touches me like I am something precious, or the killer who stepsover bodies without a second glance, calling the shadows back like they’re nothing more than tools.

I want to speak, want to say something …anything.But what is there to say? The guards would have killed us if Sacha hadn’t killed them.

I know that. Iknowthat.

Just like I know this part of him exists. I’ve always known. But seeing it now, so close, so soon after feeling his mouth on mine … it turns my stomach in ways I don’t have the words for. And I don’t know if that’s because of what he did, or because of the way I’m accepting it as necessary.

By the time we reach the next floor, my breathing has steadied, but everything else still feels off, like my skin doesn’t quite fit right.

The architecture changes as we ascend the stairs, stone giving way to remnants of past elegance. Faded tapestries still hang in places—once vibrant scenes of forests and hunts now dulled to ghostly outlines. Their neglected beauty speaks to the keep’s former purpose before the Authority claimed it. Wooden doors with decorative panels replace the simpler ones below, carved with symbols I recognize from the Meridian language. Windows appear, allowing slivers of light to penetrate the gloom.

Voices alert us to the presence of people ahead, and Sacha’s hand finds my wrist, his grip firm as he tugs me back into an alcove. The touch, so different from the violence minutes ago, sends confusion coursing through me. He deepens the shadows around us, as footsteps grow closer.

Three soldiers come into view, their uniforms crisp despite the early hour. They chat about mundane things. Complaints about the keep’s food, speculation about upcoming assignments, gossip about a commander’s drinking habits. Their ordinary concerns make them suddenly, achingly human. Nothing intheir conversation suggests they’re aware of our presence, or of the two men left dead on the lower floor.

Sacha tenses beside me, shadows gathering at his fingertips, ready to strike. The darkness responds to his intent, eager and hungry. I can feel the moment he mentally issues their death sentence.

I place my hand on his arm. His skin is warm beneath my palm. So normal, sohuman. A silent plea passes between us.

Wait. Let them pass.

His eyes meet mine, a frown pulling his brows together. For a moment, I think he’ll ignore me. That necessity will override whatever softer impulse might exist. But something in my expression must reach him because he nods and lowers his hand.

I don’t know if it’s mercy or selfishness that motivates me. Not wanting to witness more death or not wanting to see him deal it. Not wanting to reconcile the man who let me stop him with the one who whispered ancient killing words minutes before. But he stays in place, and lets them go.

When they’re gone, we step into the hallway again. The keep is more active on this floor, and twice more we encounter guards. Once more, Sacha’s shadows eliminate them without sound or struggle when we don’t duck out of sight in time. Each death adds to the weight in my chest, the recognition that I’m part of something that cannot be stopped without bloodshed. Blood that Sacha sheds without hesitation, while I stand witness.

And then we turn the corner, and Sacha stops. A grand hallway stretches before us, leading toward a set of ornate doors at its end. There are two guards positioned on either side. Unlike the others we’ve encountered, these men stand at perfect attention, alertness evident in every line of their bodies. Elite guards, not ordinary soldiers.

Sacha sends shadows along the ceiling to scout beyond the doors. When they return, his expression is grimly satisfied.

“Sereven,” he confirms in a whisper barely audible even inches from my ear. “In the main hall with his commanders.”

My heart pounds harder. This is it. The moment we’ve been working toward since leaving Stonehaven. The chance to confront Sereven directly. The man who betrayed Sacha, who ordered his torture, and who wields the crystal weapon that nearly destroyed him.

Sacha studies the guards at the door, clearly debating the risk of killing them or not. But before he can act, something else catches his attention.

“Someone is coming.” He pulls me back around the corner, one arm circling my waist, weaving shadows around us until we’re enveloped in darkness. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, steady where mine races.

I hold my breath while I listen to the doors open, and someone speaks.

“The High Commander will leave within the hour. Double the watch on all approaches.”

“He’s preparing to move. We’re running out of time,” Sacha whispers.

Before I can say anything, a voice calls out, cultured and amused, carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

“Sacha, you may as well enter properly instead of skulking in the shadows like a child. We have much to discuss before I depart for Stonehaven.”