Page 182 of Severed Heir

A voice cut through the air, low and familiar. “That’s because it’s mine.”

Everything stopped in that moment. No breath, no breeze, no time between one heartbeat and the next. My world cracked open.

I turned and screamed, “Klaus!”

He stood near the cabins, or what was left of him. His body looked sewn together like a butcher’s afterthought, sunken eyes staring from a face I barely recognized. His limbs were too thin, his skin stretched too tight, and everything about him felt wrong in the way only the dead do when brought back as something else.

This wasn’t resurrection. It was reconstruction.

Caius faltered, his voice unsteady. “What in the Gods is that?”

Guards rushed in before I could reach him, dragging me backward as I thrashed.

“KLAUS!” I screamed, flames sparking along my wrists, vision blurring with tears. “Where are you taking him?”

“That’s not Klaus,” Caius barked. “Stay back!”

Rok snapped his fingers, sharp and final. “Enough. Back to sparring.”

But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Not withthatstanding just feet away, and the sound of my brother’s voice still echoing in my skull.

What had I done?

Kian’s gaze met mine. He’d seen it. He knew I’d touched Klaus. And if Damien had broken into his mind that night I’d searched for water… maybe he’d seen it, too.

Klaus might be too far gone. But Naraic wasn’t. I’d brought him back.

Kian stepped closer and murmured, “I’ll distract Rok. Go.”

I gave a single nod, heart pounding in my chest. While the others returned to sparring, I slipped into the shadows and ran in the direction I’d seen theguards drag him.

I had to find him. I had to know what was left—if there was anything left at all. Behind one of the cabins, I spotted Callum. He twirled a blade between his scarred fingers, stationed like a warden outside the door. I needed to get in. But the windows were laced with coiled wire and barbed thorns, ready to tear through anyone desperate enough to try.

There had to be another way.

A cold hand clamped around my elbow, halting me mid-step. A severed finger scraped along my sleeve. I twisted away, heart pounding. “Bridger,” I hissed once I was free, “let go.”

“I know you want to see him,” he said. “But storming into a cabin full of guards won’t save him. They’ll let you watch. Then they’ll tear what’s left of him apart.”

“He’s my brother,” I snapped. “They’ll destroy him.”

“That’s not your brother anymore.”

“I know. A ripper beast found him. I saw it at the academy.”

Bridger didn’t look away. “Rippers wear the skin of their prey. They bind to the darkest part of the soul and use it as a host. That thing maylooklike Klaus—but it’s not him.”

“I know,” I whispered. “It sounds like him.”

His gaze drifted toward the cabin. “Damien was right. Ice pours from both my hands. But your flame… it’s fractured. Maybe you didn’t inherit all of it.”

“I still have shadows,” I said, fisting the crescent relic in my other palm. “Ciaran gave them to me.”

Bridger tilted his head. “Are they?”

“What are you saying?”

“They came from him,” he said flatly. “Archer gave you those shadows. You’re not some divine, chosen legacy, Severyn. You don’t have a drop of Night blood in you.”

---