Even now, when he’d finally clawed his way out, she was dragging him back into the fire.
He pivoted, a red haze blooming behind his eyes. But Gerard’s arm was already there, looping around his shoulders like a collar, turning him toward the hallway.
"Easy now," Gerard crooned. “She’s a ward now. Her protected status disappearing has already stirred hungry appetites among my men.”
Symond didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
He wasn’t just angry. He was burning from the inside out.
That wasn’t enough. What about his appetite? His need to make her suffer. Not them. This wasn’t about desire. It was about debt.
He was owed something. And he wasn’t about to let it be collected by someone else.
But he knew the truth. She’d be a ward. And so would he.
She wasn’t worth his freedom.
Symond pushed through the double doors leading out of the girls’ dormitory wing, with Gerard close behind him, humming an obnoxious tune.
As they stepped into the open space, Symond’s footsteps faltered, his eyes widening at the sight of Tehvan standing in the middle of the hallway. The professor looked uncharacteristically disheveled, his graying hair tousled, eyes wide with panic, as if he’d sprinted here.
Symond’s mouth parted in shock.How does he always know?It was uncanny, the way Tehvan seemed to appear whenever Elora was in trouble, as if he sensed her distress from miles away. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed the shift in Tehvan’s expression. The fear melted away, replaced by a mask of controlled anger and accusation as his gaze landed squarely on Symond.
“What were you doing in the girls’ wing, Symond?” Tehvan demanded. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
Before Symond could respond, Gerard stepped in, flashing a smirk that made Symond’s skin crawl. “And what about you, Professor?” Gerard countered, his tone mocking. “You’re not exactly where you should be, either.”
Tehvan’s eyes flicked to Gerard, and for a brief moment, Symond saw an intensity he hadn’t noticed before, a look of pure, unfiltered malice. It was rare to see Tehvan so openly hostile, and it caught Symond off guard. He knew Gerard was disliked, at least by the teachers, but he hadn’t realized just how deep Tehvan’s hatred for the man ran.
“Leave us,” Tehvan snapped, waving a hand as if he were dismissing a bothersome fly. “You’ve done enough.”
Gerard didn’t budge, leaning casually against the wall with a smug grin. “I’m here on Thorn’s orders,” he said, his voice drenched with false politeness. “Just escorting our dear Symond.”
Tehvan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze darting between Symond and Gerard, searching for answers. “Escorting him from where?”
A wave of irritation washed over Symond; the constant back-and-forth grated on his patience like a persistent itch. He could no longer tolerate the secrets and half-truths that had loomed over him for years, swirling like a storm of unanswered questions.
“Did you know?” he demanded. “Did you know I was taking all of Elora’s punishments this whole time?”
Tehvan’s face went still, his eyes widening for the briefest moment before he schooled his expression into a mask of calm and collected confidence that could have fooled even the keenest observer.
“That’s a lie,” he said quickly.
Symond’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s not a lie,” he spat. “Thorn told me himself. As awful as he is, he’s never lied to me before.”
Tehvan stepped closer, his shoulders drooping slightly as the fire of anger in his eyes flickered and gave way to something deeper. There was an urgency in his gaze, an unspoken desperation that made it seem as if he were pleading for Symond to believe him. “Listen to me,” he uttered. “I’ve known Thorn longer than you’ve been alive. Heislying to you. This is a game for him. He’s playing you, using your pain against you.”
He’d trusted Thorn’s words, believed them because they made sense, because they aligned with everything he’d felt, the resentment, the unfairness. But looking into Tehvan’s eyes now, he felt that certainty start to waver. Perhaps he’d been a pawn in Thorn’s twisted game all along, a weapon turned against the wrong target.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the skepticism. He wasn’t able to doubt himself now, not after everything he’d done, everything he’d endured. “No,” he muttered, more to himself than to Tehvan. “No, Thorn wouldn’t lie about this.”
But Tehvan, with a sharp gaze capable of piercing the thickest of doubts, saw cracks in Symond’s resolve. He squared up to him, stepping even closer. “What did you do, Symond?” he demanded, thecalm veneer gone, replaced with raw urgency. “What did you do to Elora?”
Symond’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. He drank in Tehvan's fear, that rare and intoxicating elixir that emanated from the man, twisting his cultivated composure into something recognizably human. There was a dark pleasure in witnessing this paragon of restraint finally splinter. Symond leaned forward, mirroring Tehvan's intensity with a smile cold as winter iron, forged in the same fires where he had hammered countless blades.
“Finally, she got what was coming to her,” Symond said.
Tehvan’s face drained of color. This was Symond’s triumph. To witness a man who had wrapped himself in invulnerability now standing exposed, his spirit visibly contorting with pain. The authentic anguish carved into Tehvan's features represented a vengeance Symond had fantasized about inflicting for far too long. It was almost more fulfilling than the act of hurting Elora herself.
