Page 70 of Stormvein

“Now he’s embraced it.” Varam’s voice holds a mixture of satisfaction and uncertainty. “This is what we’ve needed … the Veinwardens, I mean. Sacha was always fully committed to the cause, to our safety, but he never trulywantedit. It was duty, not desire. But now?—”

He doesn’t finish his thought. He doesn’t need to. The ‘but’ hangs between us.

The man who moves ahead of us carries himself differently, and speaks with a slightly different inflection. There’s been a subtle shift inside him, beyond the visible physical healing that we can see.

The silver swirls in response to my unease, turning brighter when I look at Sacha, dimmer when I look away. Whatever connection deepened between us during the night hasn’t weakened.

We travel through the day with rare breaks, Sacha pushing us forward at a pace that would have been unimaginable yesterday. The ravine gradually widens as we move south, the steep wallsgiving way to gentler slopes. Sparse scrubs yield to hearty pines that scatter the sunlight into dappled patterns on the ground.

The shadows beneath Sacha’s skin have been growing more visible throughout the day, something else that’s new. I’ve seen him bring them out, seen the way his features change when he releases his grip on them. But this is different. They’re not subtle movements, they’re actively swirling, sometimes extending beyond his fingertips when he gestures. Several times, I catch him testing them, flexing his hand until darkness pools on his palm before dissolving back beneath the surface.

I’m not the only one who notices. The fighters around us see it too, their eyes widening whenever the shadows manifest. Their Shadowvein Lord hasn’t just returned. He’s come back stronger.

By late afternoon, everyone is flagging. The hard push yesterday, followed by the excitement of this morning, is catching up with everyone. Sacha calls a stop beside a small lake. While the fighters collapse gratefully onto the ground, massaging aching muscles and passing water skins, Sacha remains standing. He doesn’t rest, he prowls along the edge of the lake. When I move, shifting position on the hard ground, trying to get comfortable, his head swings around. His eyes lock onto mine across the distance, black as the void, and hold.

I want to look away,tryto look away, but I can’t. It’s like something is holding me in place as he comes toward me. He stops a couple of feet away.

“Something is bothering you.” It’s not a question, it’s an observation.

I consider deflecting, but decide against it. This new version of Sacha sees too clearly. Lying would be pointless.

“Everything about this situation should bother anyone with a functioning brain.” My response may be a little snippier than it should be.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “That’s a fair assessment.”

He settles onto the ground opposite me. The mismatched clothes he’s wearing should reduce the presence he has, but they don’t. Those eyes continue to assess me.

“Ask.”

“Ask what?”

He doesn’t reply, just sits there … waiting.

When the silence becomes unbearable, I let the words free. “You remember everything, don’t you? The torture. The cage. Being carried on that stretcher.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Every single moment.”

“And it doesn’t … bother you?”

“On the contrary. Itdefinedme.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undercurrent to it that raises the hair on my arms. “What they did—what Sereven ordered—it clarified my purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“Destroying the Authority.” He says it simply, like he’s discussing the weather rather than the systematic destruction of the dominant power structure. “It’s no longer enough just to defend my people. I will not rest until they’re completely eliminated.”

The absolute certainty in his voice chills me more than any rage would have. This isn’t an emotional response to the trauma inflicted on him. This is a calmly calculated decision. A plan rather than a reaction.

“You’ve changed.” I say it again, because it needs acknowledgement.

“We both have, Mel’shira. What happened between us at Ashenvale, then at River Crossing, changed you just as much as what happened last night changed me.”

Before I can respond to that, a scout slides down from a rocky outcropping, breathless from running.

“There’s an Authority patrol, Lord,” he reports. “Twenty soldiers, coming up the western ridge. They’ll cut across our path in minutes.”

Sacha rises to his feet. Instead of tension or concern, a cold, unsettling smile curves his lips up. “Good.”

“Good?” I echo, the words swallowed by the sudden pounding of my heart.