Page 103 of Shadowvein

He counts each incident on his long fingers, each one a nail in the coffin of my normal existence.

“Those aren't coincidences, Ellie.”

“But I'm not from this world.” I hold onto that fact like an anchor in shifting sands, my last tether to rationality and the life I knew. “How can I have magic that belongs in your reality? I'm just ... I was just a regular person in Chicago. Nothing special.”

The words taste false. Familiar, but wrong.

“That’s what we need to understand.”

For the first time, uncertainty shows in his expression. It doesn’t make him seem less formidable, just more real.

“Your ability to affect magic in this realm shouldn’t be possible for someone without a native connection. Yet you’ve demonstrated the capabilityrepeatedly.”

I pull my gaze from his, and focus on the fire. The flames dance and curl around the split wood like they’re listening. “But what does it mean?” My voice is low. “Am I somehow … changing? Becoming part of this world?”

“I don’t know.” His answer is simple.Honest.

Thunder crashes overhead, loud enough that it seems to shake the stone beneath us. The sound echoes through the shelter like a physical force, vibrating in my bones. It feels as though the storm is perched directly above us, unleashing its full fury across the mountain. Rain falls in sheets beyond the overhang, turning the world outside into a curtain of shifting gray.

“The storm isn’t going to pass quickly. We’ll stay here overnight. Hopefully it will have moved on by morning, and we can continue to Stonehaven.”

The thought doesn’t bother me as much as it might have days ago. After sleeping in the desert, and underground chambers, a dry space with a fire seems almost civilized.

And that unsettles me more than I want to admit. That I’m starting to feel at home in a place that shouldn’t be mine.

Tisera comes back to the fire, crouches beside it, and pulls a bedroll out of her pack. She spreads it out, lays down on top of it, using her pack as a pillow. Within seconds, her eyes are already closed.

I stay where I am, knees drawn up, watching Sacha as he takes her place at the mouth of the shelter. His silhouette against the storm-darkened sky seems unnaturally still. I wonder what he’s holding behind it.

“You should rest while you can,” he says without turning. “Tomorrow will bring new challenges.”

“I’m not tired.” The lie breaks free, despite the bone-deep weariness that makes my limbs feel heavy. “Tell me about this mountain stronghold.”

He turns slightly, profile illuminated by firelight. “One of the Veinwarden sanctuaries never discovered during the purges. Natural caves expanded into living quarters, training areas, storage. Protected by geography and … other measures.”

“Magic?”

“Yes. Concealment wards were established by Earthveins. The Authority may have eliminated the Veinbloods themselves, but their work remains effective.”

“And we’ll be safe there?”

“Safer than anywhere else currently available to us.” The careful wording of his answer doesn't escape me. “The stronghold has existed for generations. It was originally home to the Earthvein bloodline. When the Authority began to rise, it became a refuge for those with natural abilities, and eventually a sanctuary for anyone the Authority targeted.”

I tuck my chin against my knees, trying to imagine what that kind of place might look like. A home for the hunted.

“How many people will be there?”

“I don’t know. At minimum, twenty or thirty Veinwardens used to be there at all times. I don’t know how much has changed over the years.”

“Will they know you?” My voice is quiet.

“Some will. Others will have heard stories.” A hint of something that might be discomfort crosses his face. “My return will likely generate complicated reactions.”

“Like Varam and the others in Ravencross?”

“Similar, although I spent more time at Ravencross, so those who knew me there are less inclined to have … high expectations. Those at Stonehaven might be a little more intense.”

I stare at the fire, watching its movement ripple against the stone. “You were gone for twenty-seven years,” I say quietly. “And you haven’t aged.”

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