Page 92 of Shadowvein

“No, you told me what would get you out of that tower. That’s not the same thing.”

“Then tell me.” His voice turns silky, and he steps toward me. “What exactly do you think I’m doing now?”

His eyes darken. The black spreads wider, swallowing the whites. His face sharpens at the edges—cheekbones more refined, lips more sculpted. As though the person I’ve been speaking to has receded and what’s left is … cleaner.Colder.

He’s not angry. He’s not shouting. But he’s no longer hiding what he is.

I stand my ground, while every instinct inside screams at me to retreat. “I think you’re trying to scare me.”

My voice doesn’t feel like mine anymore. My hands are shaking. My head feels tight, the kind of headache that feels like a vice tightening around your skull. My vision narrows until all I can see is his face, his eyes. Those eyes that reflect nothing. There’s a buzzing in my ears.

“I think you know more than you’re saying.”

The pressure in my skull spikes. A noise pulses in my ears—low, electric, not quite sound.

He doesn’t respond. But the darkness around him moves. Shadows surge toward him, joining the ones already on his skin. One curls across the side of his neck, and disappears under his collar. Another tightens around his wrist like a tether, then vanishes. Something dark flashes across his cheek, then retracts in a quick, unnatural snap.

“I’m stuck here. I’m isolated. I can’t ask for food if I’m hungry. Don’t even have clothes to call my own. And the only person who could help is too busy.”

“Ellie—” It’s a warning, not a plea.

The shadows respond. They lash outward from his back, then snap back into his silhouette like a cloak caught in wind. His jaw tightens. His shoulders lift slightly. A dark shape appears on the table beside him—his raven familiar. Watching.

“I think?—”

The fireplace against the far wall erupts, flame tearing upward in a violent bloom that engulfs the hearth, reaching the ceiling. The roar drowns everything. Light sears my eyes. The heat slams into me, forcing the air from my lungs.

The flames aren’t yellow. They’re white at the center, and edged in black. It moves like it’s alive,furious.

We both stagger back a step.

Shadows twist across the stone, not cast by the flames, but reacting to them. The ones closest to Sacha don’t just flicker. They coil. They follow. Theysurroundhim like armor. One wraps around his throat like a collar, then thins to nothing. And that damn raven doesn’t move from where it perches and stares at me.

My chest tightens, my head pounds. I force myself to look at him.

He’s staring into the fire. And for one second, I see surprise etched into his features. Then it’s gone, the mask he wears falling back into place.

But I saw it. IknowI did.

“What was that?” My voice sounds odd, far away.

His head turns slowly toward me. Whatever I saw a moment ago—the black in his eyes, the edge to his face—is gone. Sealed off like it was never there.

“There are remnants of old magic in these chambers.” His voice is softer than before. Almost cautious. “From the days when …” He shakes his head. “Occasionally, it … manifests.”

I stare at him. At the fire. At the way the flames still dance and flare as though they’re alive.

“In the middle of an argument?”

“Emotion triggers magic. It’s not uncommon.”

He’s lying. I know he is.

Because the flames haven’t faded.

The air still tastes wrong.

And because it didn’t just respond to the room. It responded tous.

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