The ache consumed him as he wiped away tear after tear. Every trace of him had vanished. Erased. Confiscated like a sin and sent far away, where Jack couldn’t go.
Paralyzed by helplessness, all he could do was cry. Cry for the man who gave him so much. Cry for the gratitude he never fully got to show. Why? Why him?
It wasn’t fair. Nothing was.
And no matter how long he cried, the ache in his chest refused to ease.
Rolling to his side, he stared through blurry eyes at the wall. Numb and exhausted. His hand slid beneath the pillow where the silk sheets were cool?—
His fingers bumped a weighted edge, heavy and smooth.
Jack’s heart stopped as he quickly sat up, throwing the pillow aside.
A box.
The top lifted easily with a soft whisper, and there, nestled within the cardboard, was the manuscript, THE ART OF THE CROWN.
Jack lifted the flimsy manuscript, thick with hundreds of pages, each one neatly inked with Mr. Carrow’s words despite the author’s name being that of the fraudulent Chancellor Rupert Aurin.
“You did write it.” He fanned through the many pages and a stiff envelope fell onto the bed. Jack’s heart stopped again, this time at the sight of Mr. Carrow’s careful handwriting scribbled on the front.
THE GREAT JACK THORNE
Jack tore open the envelope with unsteady hands, his gaze darting to the closed door. He ripped the paper out, his grip tightening on the last words hidden inside.
* * *
Dear Jack,
If you’re reading this, I’ve been dismissed. I’m sorry. I’d hoped for more time.
After eight years of writing a monument to a narcissist’s grandiose delusions, I found myself at a moral crossroads.
Do you remember what I taught you about Oppenheimer? The man who built the bomb only to pass the rest of his life regretting it? I have done something similar, Jack. I’ve written something lethal—a monster’s autobiography that would only teach others how to be just as evil.
Some things are simply too dangerous to release into the world. We must keep dangerous weapons from dangerous people, Jack. Which is why I’m entrusting this book to you.
If you read it, do so carefully. If you plan to apply it…I understand. Take care of yourself, Jack. Knowledge can be a dangerous thing. A weapon. A bribe. A noose. A bullet. A bomb. Be very careful, Jack. Use your head and never forget the lessons I taught you about power. It is, indeed, a great weight to carry.
I am sorry, Jack. I should have done more. You deserve better. Had I known how to save you from a giant without endangering your life in the process, I would have. Now, I must sit with that regret for the rest of my life. Perhaps one day you can forgive me, even if I never forgive myself.
But more than forgiveness, I hope one day you can free yourself.
Sun Tzu once said, “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”
This manuscript holds every twisted secret of your enemy, Jack. It’s a complete manifesto of his strengths and weaknesses.
Study it.
Learn it.
And never let anyone know you have it. Then—when you’re ready—use it.
Your teacher and friend,
Mr. Carrow
—Nick
