Page 69 of Stormvein

I approach cautiously, my heart beating faster with every step. I don’t know how to interact with this new version of him. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but this isn’t the same man who left me in Ashenvale to retrieve a ring. My eyes drop to where the black band is wrapped around his finger.

Did that have something to do with his healing? The changes first started after I slipped it onto his hand. Could that have been the conduit his shadows needed, and not me? The mist stalker drew my attention to it. Without its interference, I would never have thought to take it out, let alone put it on his finger.

He turns when I near, and for a moment, something flickers across his face—recognition, confusion, curiosity. It’s gone before I can put a name to it, replaced by the careful blankexpression I remember from our earliest interactions in the tower—calculating, assessing, andannoying.

“How do you feel?” The question seems absurd given the circumstances, but I need to know. If there’s something of the man I was getting to know beneath this new exterior.

His head tilts, as if he’s giving the question more consideration than it needs, then he nods.

“Functional.” The word is so characteristicallySachathat I almost laugh despite everything. One corner of his mouth, a mouth that was dry, cracked, and swollen less than twenty-four hours ago, tips up into that rare smile. “Because of you.”

My stomach flips. The way he says those three words holds something deeper than gratitude, something possessive that both thrills and scares me.

“I don’t understand what happened.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I don’t understandanyof this. The silver light, the shadows, whatever … connection exists between us.”

His gaze moves to my hands, which are glowing clearly now. “My raven found you at River Crossing,” he says, as though it explains everything. “When it touched you, it transferred itself into your body for safekeeping … at least, that was its intention. But that wasn’t all that happened.”

“Butthis!” I reach out to touch him, then let my arm drop before my fingers make contact. “This goes beyond what happened in the cave. This is?—”

“Impossible? You like that word a lot, Mel’shira.” His voice remains level, but his eyes are focused on me with an intensity that sends shivers up my spine. “But it’s not impossible. It’s merely unprecedented.”

I look down. The stretcher that carried his body lies abandoned, blood-soaked bandages piled on top like discarded memories of a nightmare we’ve collectively awakened from.

Around the clearing, fighters stand watching Sacha with barely concealed awe. Every eye in the camp seems drawn to him.

Awe isnotwhat I’m feeling. What happened between us in the cave that first night was miraculous enough. But this …

What if I continue to change him without meaning to? What ifIchange?

“You’re different.”

His head tilts again, considering. “Yes.”

Just that. No explanation, no denial, no attempt to soothe my growing unease. Oddly, it settles me a little. This is the man I know.

He starts to turn away, then stops. “I know you have questions, but now isn’t the time. When we are somewhere safer, then we will talk more.”

He steps past me to address the assembled fighters, making it clear our conversation is over. “We continue with the original plan, and move south toward Southernrock. Stay alert. The Authority will have patrols everywhere.”

Their palms hit their chests in acknowledgement. Sacha takes point, moving with a confidence he should not have, considering he’s walking barefoot over ground that should be unfamiliar to someone who spent years imprisoned in a tower. I drop back to walk beside Varam. He doesn’t say anything, but he adjusts his pace to match mine.

We’re an hour into the walk before he speaks.

“Watch him,” he says quietly. “How he moves.”

I’ve been doing nothing else since we set off. Sacha navigates the ravine with a predatory grace, each step forward made without hesitation.

“Do you see it? Look closer.”

I frown, but keep my focus on Sacha—the way he moves, how sure-footed he is, the almost otherworldly elegance of his movements.

“What am I looking at?”

“He’s always had an awareness about him that others don’t. Even before the tower, he kept parts of himself separate from the Veinwardens. He led because we needed him, because there was no other choice. Not because he wanted to rule.”

I think back to Stonehaven, and to Ravencross before that. The way he held himself apart from others. The way he participated in meetings, offering guidance, but never fully engaging in any personal way. Always watching. Always measuring. Always keeping his distance.

“And now?”