Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
The cell smelled like rust and old fear. Rin's wrists burned where the cuffs had bit in, and her knees wouldn't stop shaking. She'd been dragged down three flights of stone steps, through a corridor that stank of mildew and something worse, and shoved into a room with no windows and one torch that didn't quite reach the corners.
Kael Pei stood by the door. He hadn't said a word since he'd stopped the blade.
She didn't trust the silence. She didn't trust him. But he'd used Mom's code, and that was the only reason she wasn't screaming.
"Sit," he said.
Rin stayed on her feet. Her legs felt like water, but she locked her knees and met his eyes. "Why?"
"Because if you fall over, I'm not picking you up."
His voice was flat. No warmth, no edge. Just practical. It made her angrier than a threat would have.
"You killed me," she said. "Yesterday. Or—last time. However this works."
Kael tilted his head. The torchlight caught the line of his jaw, the faint scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone. She'd seen that scar before, up close, right before the world went red.
"I know," he said.
That was it. No apology. No explanation.
Rin's hands curled into fists. The cuffs scraped her skin, and she welcomed the sting. It was something real. Something she could hold onto.
"Then why stop it this time?"
Kael stepped away from the door. He moved like someone who'd learned to fight young and never forgot—weight on the balls of his feet, shoulders loose, every step deliberate. He stopped just outside arm's reach.
"Because you're not supposed to die yet," he said.
The air left her lungs.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting right now."
He pulled something from his belt. A thin silver needle, no longer than her thumb. The tip gleamed in the torchlight, and Rin's stomach dropped.
She'd seen needles like that before. Mom used to carry one. She'd never explained what it was for, but Rin had watched her slip it into her sleeve before every meeting with the sect elders. Before every trip to the capital.
Before she'd vanished.
Kael held it between two fingers, careful, like it might bite. "Recognize this?"
Rin's throat closed. She tried to swallow and couldn't.
"Where did you get that?"
"From you," he said. "Or you will. Depends on how you look at it."
Her heartbeat was too loud. It drowned out the crackle of the torch, the distant drip of water somewhere in the dark.
"That doesn't make sense."
"No," Kael agreed. "It doesn't."
He turned the needle over in his palm. The torchlight caught something etched along the shaft—a mark she'd seen before, carved into the door of the sect's inner hall. The same mark that had been branded onto the execution platform.
Varic's mark.
"Who gave that to you?" she asked. Her voice came out thin, cracked.
Kael's eyes flicked to hers. They were dark, unreadable. "You did. Three days from now. You told me to keep it safe, and then you died."
The room tilted. Rin grabbed the edge of the bench behind her, her knuckles white.
"I don't—"
"You don't remember," Kael finished. "I know. You won't. Not until it happens."
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. He looked like someone who'd been carrying something heavy for too long.
"Listen," he said. His voice dropped, low and steady. "I don't know how this works. I don't know why you keep coming back. But every time you do, you remember a little more. And every time, you trust me a little less."
Rin's breath came short and fast. "You killed me."
"I had to."
"That's not—"
"I had to," he said again, harder this time. "Because if I didn't, Varric would have done it himself. And he wouldn't have made it quick."
The name hit her like a fist. Varric Luo. Sect judge. The man who'd signed her death warrant. The man who'd stood on the platform and called her a traitor in front of the whole city.
"Why does he want me dead?" she asked.
Kael's mouth thinned. "Because you know something. Or you will."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the truth."
He held out the needle. "Your mother gave this to me. Twenty years ago. She told me to keep it hidden until the right time."
Rin stared at the silver shaft. At the mark. At the way his hand didn't shake.
"My mother's been dead for fifteen years," she said.
Kael didn't blink. "I know."
The silence stretched, thin and brittle.
Rin reached for the needle. Her fingers brushed his palm, and the contact sent a jolt up her arm—sharp, electric, wrong. She jerked back, and Kael closed his fist around the needle.
"Don't," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because the moment you touch it, Varric will know you're still alive."
Her stomach twisted. "How?"
Kael didn't answer. He slipped the needle back into his belt, and Rin wanted to scream.
"You can't just—"
"I can," he said. "And I am. Because if you die again, I don't know if you'll come back."
The words landed like stones.
Rin's legs gave out. She sank onto the bench, her hands shaking, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The room was too small. The air was too thick.
Kael crouched in front of her. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough that she could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his shoulders tensed.
"Rin," he said.
She flinched. No one called her that anymore. Not since Mom died. Not since the sect had stripped her of her family name and branded her a traitor.
"How do you know that name?" she whispered.
Kael's eyes held hers. "Your mother told me. She said if I ever saw you on that platform, I had to say it. She said you'd know."
Rin's vision blurred. She blinked hard, and the tears burned.
"She's dead," she said. "She's been dead for years. You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Then prove it."
Kael leaned in. His voice dropped to barely more than a breath. "She used to call you Little Blade. She said you'd cut yourself on every sharp edge you could find, and you'd smile the whole time."
The air left her lungs.
No one knew that. No one.
Rin's hands clenched into fists. Her nails bit into her palms, and the pain was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Kael straightened. He looked down at her, and for the first time, she saw something crack in his expression. Something that looked like regret.
"I want you to stay alive long enough to finish what your mother started," he said.
"And what's that?"
"Bringing Varric down."
The torch flickered. Shadows danced across the walls, and Rin's heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"Why?" she asked.
Kael turned toward the door. His hand rested on the latch, and he paused.
"Because he's the reason she's dead," he said. "And if you don't stop him, he'll do the same thing to both our realms."
He pulled the door open. Torchlight spilled in from the corridor, and Rin caught a glimpse of guards waiting outside.
"Wait," she said.
Kael looked back.
"The needle," she said. "Where did it come from?"
His jaw tightened. "The sect's inner vault. The one Varric controls."
Rin's blood ran cold.
"He gave it to you?"
"No," Kael said. "Your mother stole it. And Varric's been looking for it ever since."
He stepped through the door. The guards moved to follow, and Rin lurched to her feet.
"Kael—"
He stopped. Didn't turn around.
"The mark on the needle," she said. Her voice shook. "That's a court mark. Only judges can use those."
Kael's shoulders tensed.
"I know," he said.
And then he was gone, and the door slammed shut, and Rin was alone in the dark with the sick, crawling certainty that the man who'd just saved her life was carrying the one piece of evidence that could destroy them both.