She moved slowly, reverently, her steps soft on the marble floor, afraid to disturb the hush. It was like stepping into a painting, one of those grand scenes from an old master whereeverything was still and perfect and awash in light. And as she walked, the colors danced across her skin, played in her hair. Elara felt something awaken inside her—a wild, keen joy mixed with an insatiable hunger to devour every page in this temple.
From where she stood, she could already tell this room was overflowing with texts she’d never been allowed to read, let alone touch. They practically hummed with possibility. Not like the carefully censored collection she’d been granted back in Verdara.
A thrill shot through her, the kind of excitement that only came from the idea of getting her hands on something she shouldn't have access to.
“You’re drooling,” his voice was low, laced with dry amusement.
“I’m not,” she shot back, though she discreetly wiped her mouth just in case.
The Hunter arched a brow, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips, his brooding mood evaporating as if it had never been there. “Right. If I wasn’t standing here, you’d be rolling around in those stacks like a puppy.”
Elara lifted her chin, giving him her best unimpressed stare. “Just because you probably use these books as doorstops doesn’t mean I won’t treat them with respect.”
He gave her a strange look, the hint of a frown creasing his brow before he turned away, sauntering deeper into the library. He made his way to the massive desk in the center of the room, lazily clearing away a pile of scrolls with a careless wave of his hand, like they were nothing more than discarded scraps. Typical.
She drummed her fingers against her side, trying desperately to focus on something, anything, other than him. Her gaze landed on a portrait resting on the corner of his desk, drawing her in before she could stop herself.
“Your family?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen—just a fraction, but it was enough to confirm what she already suspected.
In the painting, a striking woman with silver hair that fell like a waterfall stood beside a man whose deep mahogany skin contrasted sharply with his vivid eyes—one a blazing blue, the other a deep brown. Two young boys flanked them. The older one, even as a child, had the same sharp cheekbones and mismatched eyes that marked him unmistakably as a young Thane. His features were so distinct, so familiar, and Elara had to force herself to shove down the surge of memories that threatened to rise to the surface.
She glanced back at the Hunter, his gaze still fixed on the portrait, as though he was a thousand miles away.
“I didn’t see Thane in the Pit.”
It wasn’t a question. Not really.
Without sparing her a glance, he replied, “That’s because he isn’t in the Pit.”
Elara fiddled with the fabric of her dress, turning his words over in her mind. She hadn’t actually believed Thane was there—rumors had been swirling for ages that he’d been banished. But something about that answer didn’t sit right with her. If he’d been cast out, where had he gone? The question burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it, deciding to stick to something less… volatile.
“And your parents?”
The shift was immediate, like a wire pulled taut. His shoulders drew back, eyes darkening as they locked onto hers, anger rolling off him. “Let’s get one thing straight.” He bit out the words. “Being in my home doesn’t give you the right to dig into my past. Stay out of what doesn’t concern you… unless it’s directly related to our work.”
He hadn’t flinched when she asked about Thane, hadn’t even batted an eye. But his parents, it seemed, were off limits.Huh.
“Fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms, more curious now than ever.
His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply. “Good.”
She arched a brow. “By 'work' do you mean to say you've found a way to sever theDraoth Caraor are we researching different options?” Her fingers twitched, aching to reach for the nearest book, but she forced herself to stay still.
He studied her for a beat, clearly debating something, then spoke quietly. “Come here.”
Her guard shot up immediately, but she forced herself to move forward. The moment she neared the desk, her breath hitched. He was holdingthebook—thetome Osin had handed him. The title stared back at her:Transcendental Bonds. Bold. Ominous. Her fingers twitched again, nerves prickling beneath her skin.
“Two and a half seals are on you,” he said, voice flat and matter-of-fact. Elara’s gaze snapped to his, confusion and something like alarm flaring in her chest. “I’m going to break my half. See if it helps.”
Her throat tightened. “Why?”
He hesitated for a beat, glancing away before he muttered, “It might help dampen theDraoth Cara. Or at least make it more bearable.”
She narrowed her eyes, nodding slowly. Sure, it made sense, but something in the air felt charged now, heavier than before. “Right,” she said carefully, “But won’t Osin notice?”
He shook his head. “Not unless he digs into it himself, which he won’t. He trusts me enough not to question it.”
