Write me back as soon as it’s safe. I have more ideas to share, and I’m dying to hear what you think about these new theories.
Thane
Elara’s chest tightened as she set the letter down, her mind spinning. The warning about the missing notes, about something strange happening at court... Thane had known. Maybe not exactly, but he had sensed something before it all went wrong. He had an idea, and yet, she’d ignored the signs. She glanced toward the cold hearth, his words still echoing in her mind.
Burn it.
But she hadn’t.
Her hands moved mechanically as she sifted through the scattered notes, uncovering more letters she hadn’t burned. A cold dread settled in her bones. What if someone found them? What if these letters had ended up in Osin’s hands, leading him straight to their research? What if everything that happened—everything—had been her fault from the beginning?
The early morningsun filtered through the stained-glass window, casting a soft, dappled glow across the bathing chamber. Elara sat submerged in the tub, the once-steaming water now cold, her skin prickling from the chill. The massive window behind her framed the manor’s sprawling gardens, a wild tangle of overgrown hedges and dying flowers, dew still clinging to the leaves.
She shivered as goosebumps rose along her skin, but there was something about the chill of the water that felt right—like it mirrored the numbness inside her, the heaviness she couldn’t seem to shake.
She hadn’t slept much the night before. After finding the letters, there had been no peace. She’d read through each one at least ten times, tracing Thane’s words over and over, hoping they would reveal something more. Thane had written with such a casual tone, as if everything they’d been doing hadn’t been dangerously illegal. They were". . . close. In a way,"as the Hunter had said. Close enough to work together under the nose of the Lord Sovereign, close enough to explore theories that could unravel worlds.
Her fingers drifted over the surface of the water as her mind lingered on the letters—endless musings about science and philosophy, about books that had fascinated them both, theirshared distrust of the gods. But for all the words, for all the intellect in those letters, none of it explained how they had met. There was no map to their closeness, no breadcrumbs leading her back to the start.
Elara sighed, sinking lower into the bath until the water lapped gently at her chin. Her toes had turned into a series of creased valleys. She should get out before she started resembling a prune, but she couldn’t summon the energy to move. She used to do this on purpose as a child—stay in the bath until her skin wrinkled, fascinated by how her body could change, even in the smallest, most temporary ways. There had been something satisfying about it, though she hadn’t understood why back then. Control. The tiniest, most insignificant piece of control over her world.
Her heart twisted for that version of herself. That girl—so naive, sodesperatefor someone to love her. She'd trusted Edgar. She'd trusted the Druids, thought they were protecting her. It had taken years of living with them, seeing their true nature, to realize she had only ever been a tool to them.
Until Avis and Dario.
Her chin wobbled, and she dunked her head under the water, the sudden rush of cold and pressure muffling the world above.They had never been her friends.They'd lied to her, manipulated her, just like everyone else. Even if Avis tried to justify it by calling it "protection," Elara knew better now.
If there was one thing the Pit had taught her, it was that real protection meant fighting for the people you cared about. You didn’t stand by, watching them suffer, lie to them, suppress them, and then call it “protection.” She hated what was being done to Dario, hated that Osin was using him to keep her in line, but forgiveness? That was something she wasn’t sure she had left in her heart.
Elara surfaced with a gasp, wiped her face, and pushed upright, reaching for the linen towel. Wrapping it around herself, she shuffled to the mirror, water dripping from her hair to pool at her feet. She barely noticed. It was her eyes that stopped her in her tracks.
For a long moment, she simply stared. Tilting her head slightly, Elara hoisted herself onto the edge of the sink, the cool porcelain slippery beneath her as she leaned in closer. Her gaze searched her reflection, lingering on the thick scar at her throat before settling on her eyes again. She searched for the dull, muddy gray she had grown used to—the flat, lifeless color that had stared back at her for as long as she could remember. But instead, her eyes seemed different. Brighter. Gray, yes, but not the heavy, muted gray she knew so well. They had almost deepened into something clearer, like a storm rolling in after a long, stagnant sky.
When had that happened?
A sudden, fierce flicker caught Elara’s attention. Outside the window, an orange burst ignited—searing, comet-bright. Awe and alarm jolted through her. She scrambled away from the sink and hurried across the room.
It was the Hunter.
He stood bathed in golden light, stripped to his breeches, bronze skin slick with sweat. Damp curls clung to his temples, pushed back from his brow by the heat rolling off him. Every inch of him was taut and gleaming, muscles rippling with a ruthless, untamed power that reminded her of fire—unpredictable, fierce, utterly mesmerizing.
This was nothing like the precise, controlled ether she’d seen the Druids use. His casting was wild, aggressive, with no thought of conserving strength or energy. If anything, it looked as though he were deliberately pushing himself to the brink, testing how far he could go before breaking.
He flung a leg in a wide arc, unleashing a scythe of flame that carved through the gardens. The ground beneath him scorched, grass smoldering in charred patches where his ether struck, heat rippling in the air around him. He looked angry. Desperate. And Elara couldn’t help but wonder whether the evening’s events had unsettled him more than he let on—or if this fierce display was simply a facet of his being. How he trained. Who he truly was.
Ivan. His name drifted through her mind like a whisper.
Suddenly, he stilled. His head whipped around, eyes locking onto hers in a way that seemed to scorch the very air between them. Gold swirled within his irises, alive with a wild glow that pulsed.
Elara’s heart lurched, pounding in her chest with a force that left her breathless. His gaze swept over her, and it felt like flames trailing across her skin, awakening every nerve, setting her whole body on edge. Heat rushed through her, pooling in her stomach, her skin prickling. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think as his eyes found hers again, sparking a cutting awareness in her, stirring sensations she hadn’t even realized were lying dormant, waiting to burn.
But then his gaze flicked away, and the pull between them snapped like a wire cut clean. Her breath left her in a rush, her knees buckling. She watched him stride to where his tunic lay in the grass and yank it over his head, the muscles in his back shifting beneath his skin.
Without so much as a backward glance, he walked away, leaving her standing there, breathless and undone.
Anger and panic tangled together in her chest. Could he hear her thoughts? Could he hear hernow? Her heart pounded faster, the thrum of it filling her ears. She fought to steady her breath, her hands shaking.No, no…If he could hear my thoughts, I’d hear his too. The logic was shaky at best, but she grabbed onto itlike a lifeline. Unless… he knew something she didn't. Knew how to block her out.
Shit.
