Then came the sound.
Click.
Elora sat up, expecting Arria to walk into the room with a towel wrapped around her coiled locks. But the door didn’t open. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly. Her steps were hesitant, the flickering light of the lantern on her bedside table casting distorted shadows that stretched like fingers along the walls.
The door remained closed, the handle still.
“Hello?”
A warm huff of air tickled the hairs on her neck.
She spun around, a scream tearing from her throat as Symond loomed over her, his face twisted with anger. Before she could move, his hand shot out, shoving her hard against the wall.
“You don’t get to scream,” he hissed, particles of spit landing on her face. The shadows curled around her arms, pinning her inplace. "You think the darkness touched you? You didn’t even step into the light of the fire that consumed me."
He shoved her again, her head cracking on the edges of the sharp stones. “The flames twisted my name, my mind, my very being. It peeled the skin from my bones. And you… you lit the match.”
Before she could respond, he shoved her to the ground. The impact sent her sprawling, her knees slamming into the hardwood floor.
“Symond, please…” she started, but when she looked up, it wasn’t Symond standing there anymore.
Gerard’s sinister crooked grin spread across his face, too wide, too sharp, warping as the corners of his mouth twisting unnaturally. His hands moved to his belt, undoing it with deliberate slowness, the metallic clink of the buckle echoing as the shadows crept along the ground toward her.
She scrambled backward, frantically kicking her feet towards him, towards the darkness reaching for her. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no!”
She lunged for the door, yanking on the handle with frantic desperation. It didn’t budge.
“Please,” she whimpered, pulling harder.
Behind her, the sound of footsteps grew louder. She didn’t dare look back, but she could feel his presence, feel the heat of his breath. The shadows crept across her vision.
The door suddenly gave way, and the light pushed back the demons threatening to consume her. She bolted but immediately slammed into a solid figure, and the impact sent her reeling. Strong hands clamped around her wrists.
“Did you really think you could escape me?” The voice held the sharp authority of a blade unsheathed, every syllable a reminder that escape had never truly been an option.
Thorn’s eyes were black voids, devoid of even the cold piercing gaze he used to control people. There was just nothing. His hands spilled with a dark liquid that climbed up her arms, seeping into her veins.
“No!” she screamed, thrashing against his grip, but it was useless. His hold was unyielding as he dragged her back into the room.
The bed was gone. In its place was a metal gurney, its surface cold and sterile. He shoved her onto it, his hands firm on her shoulders as straps appeared from nowhere, binding her wrists and ankles. She screamed, begged, pleaded, but Thorn didn’t flinch. He loomed over her, his face impossibly large now.
“You’ll always belong to me.” his voice echoed in the empty space, but his mouth didn’t open to say the words, instead it twisted into a wicked smile.
She thrashed, her screams reaching a fever pitch as his shadow stretched and grew, becoming a monstrous beast, engulfing the room. The edges of her vision blurred, the world folding in on itself, suffocating her with its weight.
“Elora!” a voice snapped, deep and insistent. “Open your eyes!”
Firm hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her arms flailed instinctively, trying to push the hands away.
Finally, her eyes snapped open, and for a moment, she didn’t recognize the face hovering above her. Rell’s dark eyes stared down at her, his expression etched with concern. The dim light of theroom softened his features, but the intensity in his gaze pulled her back to the present.
Her breathing slowed, her surroundings coming into focus. She was in the room at the Ravenpoint lodging, not the Institute.
She sat up, her back sagging against the wall, the cool stone chilling her sweat-dampened skin.
Rell released her shoulders, his hands dropping to his sides as he stepped back slightly, though his worried gaze never left her. “I heard you screaming. I thought... I thought Symond might’ve done something. Are you okay?”
She stared at him, her chest heaving as the last vestiges of panic ebbed away. Only then did she notice that Rell wasn’t wearing a shirt. His lean, muscular frame was bathed in the soft light of the room, and her cheeks flushed despite herself. She quickly looked away, focusing on her trembling hands instead.
