“There, there, sweetheart,” he said, the smirk never leaving his face. “No need for all the tears. Your assignment has been changed.”
Panic shot through Elora like ice water. She had no idea what he meant, but the sick feeling in her stomach told her it wasn’t good.
Gerard glanced at the other guard. “Go on. I’ve got her.”
The guard shrugged and wandered off, leaving the two of them alone. Gerard’s grip relaxed slightly, though he didn’t let go. He began dragging her toward the building, pulling her back inside. Elora stumbled, trying to keep up with his pace.Where are we going?The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, cutting off the outside world.
Maybe it’s the kitchens, she thought desperately, as the aroma of simmering stew wafted through the air. Maybe they had reassigned her to some other menial task, washing dishes, preparing food, something mindless but safe.
They passed by the kitchens. The hallway grew darker, the scent of dampness and mildew pervading the atmosphere, and then she saw the heavy, iron-bound door at the end of the corridor.The dungeon.
She struggled to escape Gerard’s grip, her feet stumbling as she dug in her heels. “No, please,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “I did nothing wrong!” Her hands scrambled to free herself from his hold.
Gerard just laughed. Her efforts only served as amusement to him. He didn’t even falter as she tried to resist, her body dragging along as he continued forward.
“Orders are orders, sweetheart. Thorn requested you. I’m just following through.”
Elora’s throat tightened as terror gripped her.Thorn requested me?Just as she feared, they caught her. Thorn knew she had sneaked away to speak with Tehvan.
She didn’t know what Thorn had in store for her, but she felt the heavy weight of dread pressing down on her. This wasn’t a reassignment. This was something else. Something much worse.
The door swung open, revealing the poorly lit stairs that led down into the dungeon’s depths. Her throat seemed to close, panic clawing at her ribs, stealing the air before it could even reach her. Her body shook with fear, every instinct telling her to run, but Gerard’s grip kept her rooted to the spot.
“After you.”
He left her outside Thorn’s study. Elora entered the chamber, the cold, sterile air burning her nostrils. The room was brightly lit, with alchemical powered lanterns dawning each wall. A gurney stood in the center, surrounded by tables cluttered with equipment, tools, and vials filled with liquids of varying colors. The hiss of something boiling echoed softly and Thorn’s figure hunched over the table, working with meticulous precision.
But it wasn’t Thorn that held her attention.
Upon the gurney, a male ward lay completely still. His chest didn’t rise, and his skin had a pallor that sent chills through her. She recognized him, barely. He had been in the communal area, playing cards with a guard. She hadn’t learned his name.
Move. Breathe. Do something,her thoughts pleaded, but he didn’t stir.Did he deserve this?Probably not. None of the wards ever did anything to warrant punishment besides existing.
A quiet thudding of boots on stone pulled her focus away. The guard didn’t seem fazed by the boy’s limp body he hoisted onto his shoulder. The casualness of it, the complete lack of care, made her insides churn. This was nothing new for him.
“Is… is he going to be okay?”
Thorn, seemingly oblivious to her presence until that moment, straightened up from his work. His hands, stained with the residue of ingredients, paused over the equipment. He peered at her with mild surprise, as though her concern was almost quaint.
“No.” He looked at her like she was foolish to ask such a question. “He’s dead.”
Dead. The boy was dead. She didn’t know him, but the sight of his body, cold, lifeless, overwhelmed her. He was a person—a life—reduced to nothing more than a failed experiment, a body to be cleared away like spilled ash. Which he would soon be.
She felt a need to speak up, to ask the boy’s name, something to not let him just be forgotten, but Thorn interrupted her. “Put her on the gurney,” he said, waving dismissively at the other two guards positioned near the door. “Strap her down.”
Elora’s body went rigid. “No.” The word escaped her lips before she could even think. ‘No’ meant nothing here. The guards advanced on her, and instinct took over. She bolted, attempting a dash for the exit, but they were faster.
Rough, calloused hands seized her arms, squeezing her biceps as they dragged her toward the gurney. She tried using their hold on her as leverage to flail her legs out, aiming for their shins.
“Let me go!” She struggled, frantic, but it was useless. They were stronger, and quickly, they forced her down.
“No, no, please…” she gasped, writhing against them, but they pressed her arms down and buckled the leather straps around her wrists. Her legs were next, each limb secured tightly, the straps digging into her skin as she thrashed helplessly. They didn’t strap down her chest, but it felt like they did. Breathing was impossible. Her lungs seemed as constricted as her limbs.
"It's okay," Thorn murmured. The gentleness in his tone existed in stark contrast to the reality it clothed. "You're myspecialtest subject."
She watched Thorn's lips curve into what approximated a smile but contained none of its essence, merely muscles arranged in a configuration that had learned to simulate human connection while harboring none of its substance. The expression didn't reach his eyes, which remained obsidian pools reflecting nothing but his own satisfaction at her helplessness.
Her mind raced to comprehend what was happening. Her arms strained against their bindings, an instinctive rebellion against captivity that her rational mind knew was futile. The leather restraints responded by digging deeper into her flesh.
