Page 158 of Shadowvein

She studies her hands, the silver completely gone now. “Will it come back? The glow, I mean?”

“Yes. Suppression is temporary, and becomes more difficult under emotional stress.”

I reach for my pack, retrieving a small vial of dark liquid. “This might help, if necessary. Three drops under your tongue creates a temporary dampening effect. Use it only in an emergency. My supply is limited.”

She accepts the vial, tucking it into her pack. “Thank you. For teaching me, I mean.”

I nod, because once again, I have no words ready for what her gratitude stirs. No one thanks the weapon they rely on. No one thanks the shield that stands between them and ruin. Butshedoes. And it affects me deeper than I allow myself to show.

I turn away, but her voice calls me back.

“Sacha? Yesterday, before you … before we got away from the bandits.”

“What about it?”

“I understood them. I understood everything … without you telling me.”

Interesting. That’s something I hadn't anticipated.

“And now?”

She glances over to where Varam is talking to the other two fighters, and shakes her head. “No, now it’s back to the odd word.”

“Your abilities may have helped. It likely understood the need for you to know what was going on, and took steps.”

“You talk about it like it has a mind of its own.”

“While it’s not sentient in the strictest sense, itdoessometimes respond to your needs without direction.”

Varam signals that we should continue.

“We can talk about this more another time. We should continue on now, before night falls.”

The path beyond the clearing grows steeper. What began as sporadic roots becomes a twisted network of woody tendrils that seem almost deliberately placed to hinder passage. The mist thickens as well, visibility reducing to mere feet in any direction.

“Stay close,” I tell Ellie, who’s walking behind me. “It’s easy to become separated in this part.”

No sooner do I speak than a strange warbling cry echoes through the mist. Everyone freezes, hands moving to weapons.

“Mist stalker,” Varam whispers. “Don’t move.”

Movement circles our group—large, heavy, disturbingly silent. The thick mist seems to part and close around it in rhythm, as though abetting its hunt.

Mist stalkers rarely attack groups, preferring isolated prey. But if hungry enough, they become territorial,reckless.

The mist parts briefly, revealing a glimpse of our hunter. A creature the size of a large wolf, but with elongated limbs and pale, translucent fur that reflects the mist around it. Its eyes gleam with cold, intelligent malice as it evaluates us.

“Back away,” I whisper. “No sudden movements.”

We retreat in formation, moving back up the path we came down. The mist stalker watches, its huge head following our every step with predatory focus, its muscles shifting beneath its fur.

Several things happen at once.

Mira’s foot catches on a root. She stumbles, and catches herself before she falls, but her pack tumbles from her shoulder, sliding down the slope with a muffled thud.

The mist stalker lunges forward, drawn by the sudden movement.

And Ellie steps back, right onto a patch of slick moss.

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