This was meant to be my revenge.
Using Elora for his research had been a carefully crafted justice, a brutal reminder to Tehvan of the precious life he had taken from them both. She was supposed to be a symbol, a tool to dismantle Tehvan’s sense of control, to make him experience the pain Thorn carried like a second skin.
But now? Now, the satisfaction felt tainted. The realization of what the guards might have done to Elora—it crept into his mind like poison, curling itself around the memory of Flora in ways he couldn’t untangle. He imagined it too clearly: Flora alone, vulnerable, at the mercy of men with no respect for the power she would have wielded one day.
Thorn didn’t allow sentiment to sway him, he never had. But this time, the line between his past and present blurred too much for even him to ignore. “Flo—”Ahem. He caught the name in a subtle cough. “Whohurt you?”
She didn’t respond. Her body remained tense, her gaze unfocused, and her thumbnail still pressed between her teeth, a habit she shared with his niece.
He kept his focus on her face, waiting, watching for any flicker of reaction. “Who was it?”
She didn’t move, didn’t answer, but her body curled inward a bit more, her free arm wrapping around her torso protectively.
Thorn’s irritation flared again, but differently, like when he’d asked Flora if she was listening for the hundredth time. He set the blood-filled vial aside, then turned his full attention to her. She looked so small, caved in on herself like a crumpled page he wanted to smooth out, though the thought alone made his stomach twist.
There were only a few people with access to the wards that were capable of leaving such a mark of terror on her. “Was it Gerard?” It wasn’t a question this time. It was a command; one she couldn’t ignore.
She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. But he caught it. A barely perceptible quiver in her face, the smallest flicker of something behind those wide, haunted eyes. Her jaw tightened, barely perceptible, but to Thorn, it was as loud as a scream.
Gerard.
A cold fury built in Thorn’s chest, simmering just below the surface. He had trusted Gerard. Trusted him to maintain order, to enforce Thorn’s will when needed, to be the sharp edge of control that kept everything in line. He had allowed Gerard his indulgences, knowing that his cruelty served a purpose. He was efficient, ruthless, exactly the tool Thorn needed. But now? Now Gerard had overstepped. This surpassed the casual violence of authority. This was personal.
Imagining Gerard sinking his claws too deep, of using his niece, no, ward—his experiment—for his own twisted satisfaction churned something dark and violent inside Thorn. A breach like this wasn’t just disrespect. It was reckless. Foolish. Thorn’s tools were meant to be controlled, not abused into uselessness. And Elora… Elora was not disposable. He’d had his chance to prove that, and hadn’t taken it.
A dangerous thought edged its way into his mind, one he hated acknowledging but couldn’t quite deny: he cared. That thought alone made his fury burn hotter. It wasn’t just Gerard’s overstep that infuriated him; it was this. This knot of unwanted emotion, tightening inside him, blurring the lines of his purpose, his control.
“Thank you. I will deal with Gerard,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
At his words, Elora’s gaze snapped up to him, startled. Her hand paused mid-motion, hovering near her mouth. The surprise in her eyes bothered him. Did she truly think he’d let Gerard get away with this?Of course she does. Because I should let Gerard get away with this.But he couldn’t. He hated the flicker of pity that sparked somewhere deep inside him.
Thorn detected a minor change in her demeanor. The slightest glimmer of relief that softened the edges of her fear. It was subtle, almost indiscernible, but he saw it, just as he saw the way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly. A crack in her defenses.
Her head dipped in a tiny nod, and she returned to chewing her thumbnail, the nervous gesture resuming as though nothing had changed. Her other arm hung limp at her side, her entire frame caught between exhausted resignation and cautious surrender. Her relief, her fear, her broken, fidgeting posture—none of that should matter. But it did.
As he finished drawing the last vial of Elora’s blood, Thorn’s mind simmered with quiet determination. No longer wild and chaotic, his anger sharpened into something deadly within his chest. Gerard would be dealt with; that much was certain. And once he was done with Gerard, there would be no avoiding the other matter. These feelings, this unspoken...attachment, were becoming a problem. One that needed solving. Quickly.
“We’re done for now,” Thorn said.
Elora glanced at him, and for a split second, he thought she might try to speak. But she nodded, silent, and turned toward the guards as they stepped forward to escort her out. Her steps were hesitant, her shoulders hunched, as if anticipating cruelty before she even reached the door. Thorn’s gaze followed her until she disappeared beyond the threshold.
As soon as the door clicked shut, his mind shifted. Gerard would pay for his mistake, that much was clear. But Elora’s punishment would be slower, more methodical. He needed to strip her of whatever hold she was gaining over him. This conflict, this pathetic flicker ofcare,was a weakness. Whatever strange emotions had stirred, he would crush them.
Chapter 30
Thorn
Thorn sat at his desk, fingers steepled, his sharp gaze fixed on the door as if willing Gerard to appear. The room was heavy with a quiet that spoke of barely contained violence. He forced himself to remain calm, his breathing measured, his thoughts meticulously ordered. At least on the surface. Beneath that control, a storm churned. One he hated himself for even acknowledging. He’d gone over this in his mind a hundred times, each repetition more ruthless than the last:Elora is a ward. A tool. Nothing more. She is not Flora.
But the line he had drawn for himself, so clean, so absolute, was blurring. And he despised it. This meeting with Gerard was proof of it, proof of his faltering resolve, proof that Elora’s existence was becoming a complication he hadn’t accounted for.
The anger he felt toward Gerard was intolerable. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t about control or discipline. It was personal, and that made it dangerous. He loathed himself for it, for the spark of rage that coiled within him whenever he imagined Gerard laying his filthy hands on her.
It was as though the past had come clawing back to life, driving him to confront a ghost he had buried years ago. He wasn’t seeing Elora. He was seeingher,hearinghervoice in every broken syllable that spilled from Elora’s lips.
And it was obscuring his judgment. He knew it, sensed the weakness worming its way into his carefully constructed control, and yet he couldn’t fully shake it. It disgusted him. He was Abernathy Thorn, and he didn’t falter, didn’t allow sentiment or memory to interfere with his goals.
Yet here he was, waiting to lash out at Gerard, not because the enforcer had overstepped the boundaries Thorn had set, but because of the way it made himfeel.
