The subtle shift in her shoulders betrayed the calm façade she was trying to maintain. After a moment, she turned back to her workstation, resuming her brewing, but her posture betrayed her tension.
Symond took another step into the room, his gaze flicking over the shelves of ingredients and tools. He ran a finger along the edge of a table, feigning casual interest, though his mind was far from idle.
She added a pinch of powdered root to the cauldron, the mixture bubbling faintly as she stirred. The rhythmic motion should have been soothing, but he didn’t miss how her knuckles whitened against the handle of the stirring rod.
“What do you want, Symond?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral, devoid of emotion.
Symond smirked, leaning against the edge of the table closest to her. “Just curious.” He picked up a completed shard and held it to the light. “What happened at The Institute? How did you escape?”
It didn’t make sense. No one escaped The Institute. He only got away by sheer luck, thanks to the chaos of the pirate raid. But her? Someone must have helped her.Tehvan,no doubt.
He wanted to know. Needed to know. Not just about her escape, but about the month she spent as a ward. He wanted to hear how it felt to be treated like dirt. Like he had been.
Elora didn’t look at him, her focus fixed on the swirling liquid in the cauldron.
“Did Gerard hurt you?” he pressed.
The question stopped her cold.
Her stirring halted, her shoulders locking as though she’d been struck. For the briefest moment, her carefully constructed mask slipped, and Symond saw it, fear and pain flickering in her eyes before she wrenched them away.
The confirmation should have felt satisfying. It almost did. She’d been untouchable for so long, always shielded while he bore the brunt of everything. Finally, she’d suffered. Finally, she’d been dragged down to his level.
But as he watched her, frozen in that moment, something held him back. The satisfaction didn’t come.
Her hand dropped the stirring rod onto the table with a faint clatter, her expression shifting from frozen shock to simmering anger. She turned to face him fully. The fury in her gaze simmered, not in warmth, but in the unforgiving, relentless way frost bites flesh.
“I repaid Gerard,” she said, her voice sharp and biting. “Slashed his face to ribbons. He’s probably disfigured now, if he’s even alive.”
Symond blinked, his smirk faltering as her words hit him. “You... what?”
Elora held his gaze. “I’m not as defenseless as you think, Symond.”
The words struck harder than he wanted to admit. He’d spent so much time resenting her, hating her for the protection she always seemed to have. But now, hearing this... it shifted something deep inside him.
She had hurt Gerard.Gerard.
The man who had tormented him, humiliated him, violated him. The man Symond had dreamed of destroying countless times but never had the chance. She had done it. She had left her mark on the monster who now haunted both their lives.
His resentment quaked, replaced by something foreign. Gratitude. Barely, but still there.
“How?” he asked, stepping closer. “How did you manage that?”
Elora turned back to her potion without a word, her wrist flicking sharply as she stirred the bubbling mixture. Symond lingered, watching her with new eyes. The girl he remembered from the Institute—untouchable, protected, fragile—was different.
Something had changed her.
“So,” Symond said, his voice quieter this time, his sharp edge dulled by something close to genuine curiosity, “what about Thorn? Did you do anything to him?”
Her jaw clenched, like she was holding back words she dared not speak. Her gaze flicking away from him, focusing on some distant point on the wall. “No.” She glanced down at her work. “I couldn’t.”
Symond leaned forward slightly, his interest sharpening. “How did you escape?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“I had help,” she admitted finally.
He sat back, his mind working quickly, the pieces of the puzzle sliding into place.Tehvan.Who else would have risked their life for her?
The thought tempered his earlier resentment, replacing it with something darker, more calculating. Elora couldn’t have escaped The Institute on her own. That much was clear. Tehvan must have orchestrated it, slipping her out of Thorn’s grasp.
