Page 45 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

The heat seeps into muscles that have been tense for way too long, drawing out all the aches I’ve been ignoring since we fled the ambush. I scrub away layers of dirt, watching the water darken around me, and finally feel my shoulders begin to relax for the first time in what seems like forever.

But even though my body relaxes, my mind won’t stop racing.

The hot water should be washing away more than dirt and sweat.

It should be washing away the fear, the constant vigilance, the weight of everything we’ve been through.

Instead, all I can think about is how we’re playing a dangerous game, hunting for a traitor who has betrayed everything they claim to believe in.

I duck my head under the water, letting it cover my face, and hold my breath until my lungs burn.

When I surface, gasping, I’m no closer to understanding how I got here.

How I went from being a woman who couldn’t even lie convincingly about being sick to get out of work, to someone who can deceive an entire fortress of people.

My mind drifts to Chicago, but not with the wistful nostalgia and homesickness I expect.

Instead, it feels like a half-remembered dream now.

A life I left behind when I stumbled upon the tower in the desert.

I have no idea what the date is or how many months have passed.

Christmas and New Year must have come and gone without me.

I wonder if it’s snowing. Has Lake Michigan frozen over?

It’s strange how memory works. I can recall the exact smell of coffee from my favorite shop near the lake, but I can barely remember what my apartment looked like.

The mundane routines of life—alarm clocks, subway commutes—seems like distant memories, belonging to someone else entirely.

Someone who never had silver light crackling beneath her skin or controlled storms with her emotions.

That woman feels like a stranger now. Someone I played at being rather than someone I actually was. She worked a job that paid the bills but meant nothing. She dated men who saw her but didn’t really know her.

Has my disappearance been noticed? A few days on the local news, maybe? ‘Local Woman Missing, Foul Play Suspected’ reported before I became another statistic, another face on a flyer slowly being weathered away by rain and snow.

I think my friends would look for me. They are the closest thing to family I have.

We swore to always have each other’s backs after aging out of the system together.

Somehow, I doubt they’ll have given up hope.

I wish there was some way to let them know I’m alive and well, for the most part.

That I’m finding a purpose I never had before.

What would they say about Meridian? About Sacha?

Is my apartment still there, my possessions gathering dust, waiting for a return that seems increasingly unlikely with each passing day? Or has everything been boxed up, my existence packed away?

How long will it be until my name joins the long list of unsolved disappearances … another mystery Chicago will absorb into its history.

The contrast between that life and this one strikes me hard. A woman who worked in a dead-end job, who lived paycheck to paycheck, whose greatest worries were making rent and swiping right on dating apps, has somehow transformed into 'Stormvein.’

My former self would be terrified of the woman I’m becoming. She’d never recognize this version of me who immersed herself in a war, who healed a man tortured beyond recognition through magic and will. That old Ellie would run from this reality. This new Ellie runs toward it.

And what scares me most isn’t the magic or the danger, it’s how natural it all feels. As if I’m not changing, but revealing something that was always there, hidden beneath the surface of my ordinary life. As if Chicago was the dream, and Meridian is the awakening.

The thought brings a sharp pang of loss, but not for the reasons I expect. I don’t miss Chicago itself, I miss the simplicity of that ignorance. Of not knowing that I was capable of holding someone’s life in my hands and willing it back into existence.

I duck my head under the water again, and my thoughts go to Sacha, while I float there.

How he’s changed since I first met him in the tower.

The calculating, manipulative prisoner who used me to escape his prison evolved into something else.

He’s still dangerous, still strategic in his thinking.

But the man who emerged from the impossible healing is both familiar and foreign.

The hard edge that has always been a part of him has sharpened into something colder, more absolute. The ruthlessness now seems to drive him with a single-minded purpose. Yet that connection between us remains, possibly stronger than before.

The water cools too quickly, forcing me back to the present.

I rise and dry myself with the rough cloth left beside the tub.

The texture is harsh against skin that remembers the soft towels folded neatly in my bathroom in another world.

From the trunk against the wall, I pull out clean clothes—soft leggings, and a loose tunic in shades of gray.

I don’t bother with boots, and make my way barefoot back into the main chamber.

Sacha is standing in front of the recently lit fire.

He’s washed as well, black hair slightly damp.

He’s dressed entirely in black—his clothes similar to the ones he wore to the celebration that was organized the first night we were here, a lifetime ago.

They fit his frame perfectly, emphasizing the lean strength his borrowed clothes had hidden.

The air stills in my lungs as I stare at him.

There’s something about him as he stares into the flames of the fire, an almost regal air that surrounds him. It’s as though the torture and healing that followed have wiped away any pretense he was holding onto.

This is not a broken man, ruined by torture. This is not a man hiding who he is. This is a man fully restored to power, and the sight of him like this—clean, strong, utterly in control—makes my pulse quicken in ways that have nothing to do with fear.

“Better?” His question shatters my frozen stance, and I blink, moving forward until I can feel the heat from the flames.

“Much. Though I think I could happily go to bed and stay there for a month.”

His soft laugh surprises me. “I’m afraid that’s a luxury you’ll have to wait for. There’s too much to do.” He turns and moves across to the table, where he’s spread out the food that was delivered with the water earlier. “Come and eat. You look half-starved.”

I perch on the edge of a chair, and pick up one of the bread rolls, tearing a piece off it. “Do you really think the traitor will reveal themselves?” I pop the bread into my mouth, and that’s when I realize how hungry I am.

“Yes.” His fingers tap against the table’s surface.

“Whoever betrayed us to Sereven will need to report on my condition. The High Commander …” His lips twist as he spits out the title, and I’m surprised by the outward display from someone who is usually so in control.

Did he even notice his own reaction? “He won’t accept silence or secondhand information, not when it comes to me.

He’ll want confirmation of whether I’m alive or dead.

And whoever he has here will be his best option for that. ”

“Is there anything we can do while we wait?” I ask between alternating bites of cheese and bread.

“We watch. We listen.” His voice takes on that cold, methodical quality that sends a shiver down my spine—not fear exactly, but awareness of the predator he’s become.

“Varam has positioned our most trusted fighters at key points throughout Stonehaven. Mira is watching for anyone attempting to communicate with people outside of the fortress. The traitor will make a mistake. They always do.”

My eyes move over his face, trying to read what lies behind the mask of control. I’m searching for another glimpse of that raw hatred I saw when he mentioned Sereven’s title. A crack in his composure that revealed the depth of his fury.

“You already have suspicions, don’t you? About who betrayed you?”

He holds my gaze, as though considering how to answer, then gives a slow nod.

“There is someone, yes.” He says it softly, but there’s steel beneath the quiet words.

“But suspicion without confirmation is dangerous. A wrong accusation could tear apart what remains of my people.” His fingers curl into a loose fist on the table, shadows weaving between them.

“When I move, it will be with absolute certainty. And then there will be no mercy.”

The calm way he says it chills my blood.

I think of the Veinwardens, the fighters, the healers, the people who live inside this mountain, believing they are safe.

They’re all people who have risked everything for the Veinwardens, for him .

The idea that any of them could have sold him to Sereven, knowing what they would do to him, turns my stomach.

What kind of person could make such a heartless decision?

“You need to gain control.” Sacha’s voice cuts through my thoughts, drawing my attention to the faint light crackling between my fingers. There’s a familiar pressure building inside my head. “If a storm hits outside, it’s going to draw attention.”

I close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing, on pushing down the anxiety and worry. My heart is racing, which makes it harder.

“I’m trying. But it’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.” The confidence in his voice both irritates and settles me.

“You’re fighting it instead of directing it.

The power isn’t your enemy. It’s not separate from you.

It’s an extension of your will, as my shadows are of mine.

You’re treating it like an invader when you should be embracing it as part of yourself. ”