She wouldn’t concede. She spat in his face.
Thorn’s expression flashed from surprise to anger. He backhanded her with precision more than force, a slap meant to humiliate, then shoved her into the arms of a guard. Her lip stung, the taste of blood sharp in her mouth.
Thorn wiped his cheek with a crisp handkerchief, regaining his composure as easily as if she had only spilled a drop of wine on his coat.
The guard’s grip tightened around her arm, metal-tipped gloves biting into her skin as she was dragged toward the back of the stage. Thorn’s focus shifted away from her. “Citizens of The Gilded Empire! Welcome!” His voice boomed, commanding attention as he began to speak of Tehvan’s betrayal and the need for loyalty to the Empire. His words washed over her like a distant noise, barely registering in her mind.
Her eyes locked on Tehvan, still slumped forward and shackled but now so close she could almost touch him. Close enough to reach him when the moment came.
She was ready, until a voice slithered through her mind, hot breath brushing her ear. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Chapter 46
Elora
Elora froze.
"Miss me?"
The voice was unmistakable, slick as oil and twice as vile. Her body tensed, every nerve screaming before her mind could even form the thought.
No.
Slowly, she turned her head—just enough to glance up, enough to see him.
Gerard.
He’s alive.He’s here.
A worn leather eyepatch stretched across his ruined right socket. The surrounding skin was a sickly pallor, the puckered and discolored flesh a harsh contrast to his smooth and handsome features. The three scars she gave him looked like deep, jagged crevices, stretching from forehead, under the eye patch and down to his lips and chin.
But he was smiling.
Smiling down at her with that one remaining eye glittering with amusement. Withrage.
Her confidence shattered in an instant. Her knees didn’t buckle—she wouldn’t give him that—but something deeper insideher did. Some corner of her mind curled in on itself, small and trembling. The sound of a belt buckle. The scent of sweat mixed with crushed grass.
No, no, no—this wasn’t then. She was stronger now. But her body didn’t know the difference.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
This wasn’t like fighting Snatchers in the woods. This wasn’t sparring with Rell or burning down labs or clawing her way to freedom.
This washim.
And he was looking at her like he already owned her again.
“You should’ve killed me,” he whispered against her ear.
The world tilted. The arena, the shouting crowd, Thorn’s speech echoing through the stone and bloodthirsty silence—it all melted into static. All she could hear washim. The rasp of his voice, dragging across her skin like dull teeth.
“You tookthisfrom me—” He yanked her hand up, forced her to touch the edge of his ruined jaw. The skin was raised and ridged like melted wax, still angry and healing.
No. No, no, no.
His skin.
Her hand.
