And yet, it wasn’t.
Her hands trembled slightly as she rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. The tiny sparks that danced along its surface were barely visible, like faint whispers of power waiting to be unleashed. It wouldn’t hurt her, not unless she willed it. The enchantment was elemental, controlled by the wearer’s mind. She couldn’t shock herself—or anyone else—accidentally.
But logic couldn’t silence the memories.
The screams. The crackling of electricity. Thorn’s cruel grin as he held it in his hands, watching as the jolts coursed through herbody, forcing her to shift. Forcing her to become something she didn’t understand—something she wasn’t supposed to be.
Elora clenched her jaw, closing her eyes tightly against the images. She wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t his experiment.
When she opened her eyes again, the ring sat on her finger.
She barely remembered putting it on, but there it was, snug against her skin, its faint warmth unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
It didn’t tingle.
It didn’t hurt.
It just... was.
How stupid,she thought.I wasted so much time building this up, and for what?
But it wasn’t really the act of wearing the ring that scared her. It was what came next.
She flexed her fingers, watching as the sparks danced faintly along the band. A strange sense of calm settled over her. It wouldn’t activate unless she wanted it to. The power was hers to command or ignore.
It’ll only hurt for a second.
She’d told herself that before, back at the Institute. Back when Thorn stood over her, forcing her to endure it. And she had survived. She had endured.
I’ll still be me after.
She had to believe that.
Her reflection wavered in the dark glass of the mirror across the room, her own wide, frightened eyes staring back at her. She hated how fragile she looked, how pathetic.
You’re stronger than this.
She repeated the thought, over and over, trying to drown out the fear, the doubt, the memory of Thorn’s voice.
It wasn’t his power anymore. It was hers.
Just then she heard heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Elora stiffened, her head snapping toward the door.They’re back,she told herself.Rell or Violette. Maybe Symond, if I’m unlucky.
She slid off the bed, smoothing her damp palms against her skirt. She’d left the ring on for now. They probably wouldn’t even notice it.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. She braced herself, waiting for the soft click of the lock. Her gaze locked on the door handle, her breath held as she anticipated Rell’s easy stride stepping into the room.
But the lock didn’t turn.
Instead, a strange, low hiss filled the air, faint and sharp like a snake’s breath.
Elora froze, the sound burrowing under her skin. “Rell?”
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash.
Wood splintered in every direction, shards flying like shrapnel. Elora screamed, stumbling backward as the force of the blast threw her off balance. She hit the wall hard, her breath knocked out of her as she crumpled to her knees and shielded her face.
The door hung in jagged pieces, the frame splintered and gaping. Smoke or dust—or both—clouded the air, swirling in the faint light from the hallway.
