“What will I see?” She was so quiet, just a small squeak of a mouse before getting snapped in a trap.
He shook his head and let out a soft, almost disappointed sound. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He did not try to hide the condescension in his tone. “You think I can simply tell you, Elora? No. You need toseeit for yourself.”
Gently, almost tenderly, he reached out, guiding her hand until her fingers wrapped around the small glass container. She didn’t fight him, but she also didn’t grip it with any strength. It wobbled in her hold, threatening to slip from her hand the moment he released it.
Elora glanced up at him, and a defiant “no” was nearly audible in her glare alone. Smiling, Thorn leaned in, his hand remaining on hers as he guided it upward to press the vial to her lips. He sensed her hesitation, the way her body stiffened as the cool glass touched herskin. She was resisting, trying to hold on to that last thread of control. It amused him.
“There you go,” he whispered. “It’s time to learn.”
Her lips cracked slightly, and with that small opening, Thorn tilted the vial, letting the shimmering liquid slide down her throat.
The effect was immediate.
She slumped back into the chair, her muscles going slack. Her eyes glazed over, the bright focus in them dimming as the potion took hold.
This was what he had waited for, years of Tehvan’s control undone in a single moment. Elora, the girl who imagined she might challenge him, would soon see the reality of her existence. There was no escape from the truth. There never was.
With a faint smirk, Thorn leaned back against the workstation, arms crossed and waited.
Chapter 17
The office was suffocatingly quiet, the air thick with tension that hadn’t yet broken. Thorn’s gaze lingered on the young girl hiding slightly behind Tehvan, her small hands clutching the edge of his cloak like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her hair was unruly, a tangled brunette mess, dampened by the mist from the sea. It framed round rosy cheeks, and her big blue eyes and pout displaying the innocence of a child. For a fleeting moment, a tender look came over his face, like a hint of something close to sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Tehvan shifted, opening his mouth to speak, but Thorn cut him off with a swift, raised hand. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” His voice was calm, but the command in it was unmistakable. Tehvan moved again, instinctively, to answer for her, but Thorn’s sharp gaze held him in place.
The little girl peeked out from behind the cloak, her grip tightening. “Elora,” she squeaked, her presence as tiny as her.
Thorn’s lip contorted into a brief scowl, his eyes darting to Tehvan with quiet disdain before returning to the girl. “Was that always your name?”
Elora blinked, then gave a tiny shake of her head.
Thorn’s head tilted ever so slightly. “What was your name before?” She shrugged, a small, helpless motion. Her fingers wound tighter into Tehvan’s cloak, knuckles white against the fabric. Thorn’s eyes never left her as he spoke. “Her age?”
Tehvan straightened. “Nine. She was with The Snatchers.”
Elora recoiled at the word, her small body trembling. Thorn’s gaze flicked momentarily to the reaction before he turned away, his expression unreadable.
He shifted, motioning toward an old woman standing by the door. “Take Miss Elora to the dormitories and get her settled in.” Thorn checked the parchment on his desk. “Put her in the room with that mutt... Arria.”
The woman inclined her head obediently and started to take Elora’s hand. The girl hesitated, gripping Tehvan’s cloak with all her strength until he bent down, murmuring something in her ear. Slowly, she released him, her small hand sliding into the old woman’s grasp.
Immediately after Elora was gone, Thorn’s demeanor changed, his calm, indifferent facade dropping. His pupils darkened as they locked onto Tehvan. He was no longer hiding the fury that simmered below.
“What do you think you’re doing, Tehvan?” Thorn’s voice was low, dangerous, like he might strike the man depending on his answer.
Tehvan stepped forward, cautiously. “Let me raise her,” he said, his eyes pleading, though he remained firm. “Separate from your control.”
Thorn simply stared at him, incredulous, as if Tehvan had spoken something utterly incomprehensible. Then he barked a humorless laugh. “You want to raise her? You’re using her,” Thorn said, theaccusation hanging in the air. “Don’t think I don’t see what this is. A stand-in for Flora.”
“You’re wrong.” Tehvan said, firm and clipped.
Thorn scoffed. “She looks just like her,” he snapped. “And the name—don’t insult me. Flora. Elora. It’s the same damn name. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Tehvan’s mouth was a thin line. “Her name wasFlorence.Youwere the only one who ever called her Flora.” He paused, drawing in a slow breath. “I named Elora after Eloranda Veyne. The scholar.Notmy daughter.”
Thorn’s lips curled into a sneer. “You’re lying to yourself. You’re lying to her. Do you think bringing in a street orphan will make up for your failure? That you’ll get it right this time?” He moved closer, the space between them shrinking, his presence looming.
Tehvan’s fists clenched at his sides, his expression hardening, though the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “This isn’t about replacing Florence. But… But I want a second chance. I want to be better.”
