Mari sensed the change in him, her smile dimming as she searched his face. “Symond? Are you okay?”
He leaned back, arms crossed. “I’m just disappointed I won’t be around to witness it.”
Renna and Jax nodded in agreement, but Mari, perched on the edge of her seat, raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re disappointed you won’t see it? I thought you’d be counting the minutes to get away from here, not wishing you could stay to watch Thorn tear someone else apart.”
Symond’s jaw clenched, the instinct to snap back at her rising, but something held him back.Isn’t she right?Shouldn’t he be eager to leave this place behind, to forget Thorn, to forgether? Yet something gnawed at him, an uncomfortable desire in his gut that he couldn’t shake.
She’s not worth it,he told himself.Forget her.But another part, darker, sharper, hungrier, whispered back.No, watch. See it happen. See her fall.
He shook his head, trying to shake free of it, but the thoughts kept coming, battling in his mind like two voices warring for control.
He shot up from his chair, the movement sudden and abrupt. The legs scraped loudly against the floor, cutting through the chatter of the room. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t sit here and listen to their idle gossip, their hollow satisfaction. It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough.
“I need some air,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.
“Symond, wait,” Renna called after him, but he didn’t stop. He pushed open the door, the noise of the common room fading as it swung shut behind him.
The hallway was dark and empty, the cool air brushed against his flushed face, but it did little to soothe the fire burning inside him. He pressed a hand to his chest; his heart pounded rapidly beneath his palm. It was too much, this feeling, this need that clawed at his insides. He’d thought seeing her rejected would be enough, but it wasn’t. He wanted more. He needed to make sure she knew what it was like to trulysuffer,the way he had all these years.
His steps quickened as he neared the girl’s dormitory wing. He knew where she would be, Thorn wouldn’t have given her much freedom after today. She’d be confined, probably cowering, waiting for whatever came next. Symond slowed as he reached the corner, his eyes flicking up and down the hallway. It was quiet, just a faint echo of distant voices further down.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be celebrating with the others. He was finally going to be free of this hell, his nightmare nearly over. But he was unable to walk away.
He crept down the wing until he made it to her door. All he heard was silence. His fingers dug into the wood of the doorframe.What is she doing in there?
He craved the sound of her weeping, gasping for breath as despair took hold. It would be satisfying. It would justify everything Thorn had done to him, everything he had endured. If Elora, with her protected life, could finally suffer as he had, it would mean… what? That her light might be snuffed out, just like his had?
Symond pressed his forehead against the door, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The silence in the room ate at him, the absence of her fear taunting him.
He took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm the seething aggravation that threatened to spill over. He could leave; he could walk away and be done with it. But something kept him rooted to the spot, his ear pressed to the door, waiting for a sound that wouldn’t come.
No begging. No sobbing. No desperate gasps for air. Just silence. Like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t lost everything. Like she was better than him.
The frustration burned hotter, turning into a low simmering anger. He wanted her to feel it, to feel the emptiness, the despair, the helplessness that had been instilled in him. He wanted her to understand the pain that gnawed at him for years.
But another part of him, the part that wasn’t quite dead yet—felt a twinge of something else. Something too close to pity.
If he broke her, would he just be staring into his own reflection?
Symond leaned back from the door, swallowing hard, his throat dry. His pulse raced in his ears, his thoughts tangled in a web of anger, frustration, and something far more complicated.Why am I even hesitating?Why isn’t this satisfying?
He hated the flicker of doubt that was worming its way through him.Would I be any different from Thorn if I did this?
His resolve faltered, unraveling thread by thread. The door, once a line he’d been ready to cross, now loomed before him, larger and more daunting than it had been moments ago. He stepped back, the decision that seemed so solid now felt brittle, fragile, and harder to hold onto.
Maybe he didn’t want to push her after all.
I don’t want to be him,he thought, the realization sinking in like a knife to the gut.I don’t want to be Thorn.But if he wasn’t Thorn, if he wasn’t the thing the Institute had shaped him into, then who was he?
A floorboard creaked behind him. Symond froze, torn between the door to Elora’s room and the nagging instinct that someone was watching him. He squared his shoulders, trying to shake off the anxiety, but when he turned, his heart sank.
Thorn stood at the end of the corridor, his gaze already locked on Symond. Cold. Calculating. It was the same expression Symond had seen countless times before, a look as still and unreadable as a statue carved from ice.
“Symond,” Thorn said, his voice slicing through the stillness like a blade hidden in velvet. It was calm, too calm, yet it made Symond’s skin prickle with unease. “I was wondering when I’d find you here.”
“I was just… leaving,” he stammered. The words came too quickly, too defensively.
Thorn’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “So soon?” He glanced at Elora’s door, then back at Symond. “But I have a gift for you.”
