Page 72 of Shadowvein

“What’s a Veinblood?”

Sacha’s eyes flick toward mine. “We’ll come back to that.”

That’s all he offers. No explanation. No clarification. Just another piece of the puzzle he’s not ready to hand over. But his tone makes itclear that no amount of pushing from me will get an answer. I file it away for later.

“So, your plan is to stay here, and hope someone turns up with a solution to a problem we don’t understand?”

“That’soneversion of the plan, yes.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “I’ve also asked Mira if she’ll teach you our language.”

“You think I’ll be here long enough to need it?”

“Better to be armed with knowledge, then without, don’t you think?” He stands, walks across the chamber and opens another door. “This will be your room while we stay here.”

I follow, cup in hand.

“And you? Where will you be sleeping?”

“Through there.” He points to another door on the opposite side. “Those were my private quarters … before.” He steps away.

I watch him for a second. When he’s almost back at the table, I speak.

“Sacha?” I wait for him to look at me. “What aren’t you telling me? About today, I mean. What they said to you?”

His expression doesn’t change. “There are things you wouldn’t yet understand if I told you,” he says at last. “Some of them matter. Some don’t. When I know which is which, I’ll tell you.”

It’s not quite an answer, but I also think it’s the most honest he’s been with me since we left the tower. I don’t push for more, and walk into the bedchamber, closing the door behind me.

The room is small, but cozy. A bed takes up most of the space, covered in colorful pillows and blankets. There’s a small table to one side, with a basin of water on top. At the end of the bed is abeautifully carved wooden chest. On top is another pair of pants and top, lighter and softer than the ones I’m wearing—pajamas, maybe … or what passes for them here. On the floor is a pair of boots. I push one foot inside. They’re a little big, but better than the wraps I wore, and definitely a step up from the winter boots I left in the desert.

I splash water on my face from the basin. I would give anything to brush my teeth, and make a note to ask Sacha if there’s anything I can use in the morning. My hair is dry, falling in waves around my shoulders. For the first time since arriving in this world, I feel closer tonormalagain. Not quite there, but something near it.

Extinguishing all but one lamp, I climb into the bed. The mattress is softer than I thought it would be—too soft, almost, after hard ground and caravan bedrolls. Still, I sink into it with a contented sigh. Tiredness crashes over me in waves, pulling me toward sleep despite the strangeness of my surroundings. The last thing I see before closing my eyes is the flickering of the lamp, casting shadows that dance like living things against the ceiling.

Sleep comes swiftly, and with it, dreams.

I’m walking through the Chicago streets, the familiar buildings of the city surrounding me. Snow falls in thick, lazy flakes, transforming the urban landscape into something softer, quieter. Christmas lights reflect against the wet windows, blurring into jewel-toned halos. The air carries the scent of pine, roasting chestnuts, and the particular metallic cold that belongs to winter in the city.

I’m heading home, arms full of packages and thinking about whatI need to do before Christmas Day arrives. The sky above is heavy with snow clouds, and it’s darker than normal for late afternoon.

As I wait to cross Michigan Avenue, movement catches my eye. There’s a raven perched on top of the stoplight, larger than any bird I’ve ever seen in the city. It watches me, eyes filled with disarming intelligence, as its head tips side to side.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the raven’s head turns. It spreads its wings and launches upward, casting a shadow that seems to reach toward me across the snowy street.

The light changes. I step forward … and the world shifts.

Blinding light sears my vision. Heat replaces cold, burning against my skin. The ground gives way beneath my feet, soft snow becoming sand. When my vision clears, I'm standing in the desert, the tower rising before me like a silver needle against the blue sky.

The raven circles high above, its wings now spanning the width of the horizon. Thunder rolls, yet there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The bird dives, plummeting toward the tower, and dissolves into darkness before it hits the roof.

The dream changes.

I’m inside the tower, facing Sacha. But he’s different somehow. Shadows move beneath his skin in intricate patterns, flowing like blood through veins. His eyes are bottomless pools of darkness. Behind him, the raven reassembles itself, wings spreading to engulf the chamber, its feathers merging with the darkness emanating from Sacha’s body.

In the distance, thunder continues to build—not the gentle rumble of a summer storm but the earth-shaking roar of somethingprimordial awakening. The air around us crackles with electricity that raises the hair on my arms.

“You opened the door.” Sacha’s voice is layered with countless whispers, as though a multitude speaks through him. “The binding responds to you, Ellie.Onlyyou.”

Lightning flashes behind him, blinding in its intensity, and in that split second of brilliance, his silhouette changes. It isn’t Sacha anymore but something larger, ancient, wings extending from a human form, reaching toward me. The raven screams, in warning and recognition. Its cry merges with thunder as silver light begins to glow under my skin in response.

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