“He’s getting closer to the mines. If he sees what’s inside?—”
“He won’t.” I roll the chair to the side and wedge beside Thorne. I lean toward the screen as Mr. Hansley continues forward, unperturbed by the trap, man on a mission.
I admire the perseverance.
“How do you know?”
Simple.
“Because Sawyer Hansley only sees what he’s looking for.”
We watch in silence for a beat before Thorne wanders to my bookshelf. He lifts a decade old photo in its frame—the two of us as children: me twelve, him sixteen. He’s the last generation of boys to have grown up here. And though I’d never speak it… he’s part of the reason our offspring are no longer viable.
Generations of strict laws forbidding the initiation of “impure” women from the outside world—plus Sanctum-born boys like Thorne crisscrossing his genetics with the same line of feminine DNA… It’s no wonder more babies are born with webbed hands than not. It was inevitable that we’d require someone like Sawyer Hansley to solve the need fornew blood.
If we were cruel, we would extinguish men like Thorne and allow only the initiated men to procreate. It might not solve our problem entirely, but perhaps more infants could live. Perhaps my own offspring would stand a chance.
“How do you want me to handle the initiate?” Thorne asks. Not Mr. Hansley but his associate, Thomas Wilcox. A weasel I would never allow into my home.
But I understand why Thorne is asking. I’m not one to go back on a deal.
“Make an example out of him.”
Thorne rests the photo back on the mantel and turns to me with an arched brow. I answer before he can ask the question.
“I want Sawyer to watch what will happen if he fails his test. I get the sense that he’s holding back.”
“Holding back?” Thorne puffs, incredulous. “Do you know how long it took me to get the cave ready? I worked all night building that cell.”
There’s a whine to Thorne’s voice that tugs at a muscle in my cheek. It’s a tick I seem to only have when he’s in the room. Funny how the ones we care for most conjure the least amount of patience.
“You mean the cell without a door?”
He opens his mouth but hesitates to speak.
I roll my eyes, bat a strand of hair off my face. “You made it disgustingly obvious that the cell was a test. Without a door, the shovel looks staged; you’d have to be afoolnot to realize that.”
“What does it even matter?”
“What does it even…” My eyes widen with disbelief. Thorne shuffles.
I close my eyes, shut my mouth, compose myself. “If we’re going to understand Mr. Hansley’s methods, we need to give him a fair chance. Regardless of how you feel about it or theinconvenienceit might impart on you.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“I know.” I hold up my hand. My tone is too sharp. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t understand the seriousness of Mr. Hansley’s task. Genetic mutation is… Well, the Shadow Sanctum does not teach lessons in biology. Only life.
But I blame Thorne anyway. If I wasn’t putting him through hell dealing with the Devil, I’d ask him to leave.
“Let’s just get back on track… What is Mr. Hansley doing right now?” I ask, tone softer. Idoappreciate Thorne, as pouty as he can be.
He goes to the screen as if it’s at all necessary. “He’s searching for the money.”
“Right… And whatshouldhe be doing?”
Thorne’s thick lips part. I do a slow count to six before the caramel in his irises warm with understanding.
“We need to help Mr. Hansley focus… Show him what happens to those who fail.”
