Chapter 23
Elora
Florence.
It was just a name. Plenty of people had it. It didn’t mean—
Elora turned anyway.
The world narrowed.
Standing only a few feet away was a near perfect mirror of herself.
Not exactly. This woman was taller, her frame lean in a way that spoke of endurance rather than delicacy. Faint scars traced her cheeks, old and pale, earned rather than hidden. But the resemblance was undeniable.
Dark brown hair, pulled into a single braid over her shoulder. Freckles dusting skin Elora knew too well. And eyes—
Blue.
Icy. Assessing.
Not Elora’s old blue. But damn close.
Florence’s posture radiated authority. Not the loud kind. Not the kind that demanded attention.
That type which assumed it.
The sort that came from knowing things others didn’t, and enjoying the imbalance that knowledge created.
Elora had seen that authority before.
Only once.
In Thorn.
Her stomach twisted, something cold and furious coiling beneath the shock. Internally, she was already breaking apart. Externally, she forced herself to stand still, to breathe, to keep her hands from curling into claws.
Florence smiled.
Rell said something.
Elora saw his mouth move, saw the tension in his jaw, but the words never reached her. Florence didn’t respond to him anyway.
They just stared at each other.
Florence looked at Elora like she already knew her. Not just her name, not just her face, but the shape of her history. Like she understood the implications before Elora had even caught up to them herself.
Elora stared back like she was looking at a ghost.
Her throat worked. “Are you—”
“Yes.”
Florence didn’t wait for the question to finish.
The word landed clean and absolute, slicing straight through the last fragile hope Elora hadn’t realized she was still clinging to.
The room tilted.
That wasn’t possible. Tehvan wouldn’t have lied to her. Not about this. Not about her. He wouldn’t have—
Her thoughts skidded, unable to find purchase. The air felt thin, sharp in her lungs. She needed to get out. Needed space. Needed something solid and real before her mind shattered under the weight of it.
Florence didn’t give her the chance.
She stepped forward with an easy smile, the kind that put people at ease without asking permission. She extended her hand, palm open, waiting.
Elora didn’t take it.
Florence didn’t react. She simply let her hand fall and, instead, placed both palms on Elora’s shoulders.
The contact was light.
Unavoidable.
A trap disguised as warmth.
Florence’s voice was gentle, genuinely so. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Elora didn’t answer. Her body had gone rigid, every instinct screaming move, pull away, don’t let her block you like this.
“You were at the top of your class,” Florence continued, as if they were having a pleasant conversation. “Your test scores were exceptional. Praised for your adaptability, your resourcefulness.”
Elora swallowed hard.
Florence’s hands remained steady on her shoulders, grounding without grounding at all. Pinning her without force.
“What impressed me most,” Florence said softly, “was your defiance. Choosing to save your friend, even knowing what it would cost you. Giving up your freedom rather than submitting.” Her eyes searched Elora’s face, sharp and intent beneath the kindness. “That takes courage. Selflessness.”
We are the same, the look said.
Nothing about this made sense.
Elora’s thoughts narrowed again, funneling toward a single, desperate need. Out. She had to get out.
“I need to—”
“Tired,” Florence said gently, cutting her off as easily as she’d done before. “You must be exhausted after such a long journey.”
Her hands slid from Elora’s shoulders to lace their arms together, seamless and intimate, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Florence turned them both toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.
Away from the doors leading outside.
“We’ll have a room prepared for you right away,” Florence continued, already moving. “But for now—” she glanced toward Rell, finally acknowledging his presence without truly looking at him, “—you can take her to your room. She needs rest.”
Elora’s feet moved because Florence’s arm guided them.
Her lungs constricted, panic fluttering sharp and erratic beneath her ribs. She didn’t fight. Fighting would make this worse. Fighting would draw attention. Fighting would cost her the last fragile thing she still had.
Choice.
As they started up the stairs, the exit slipping farther and farther away. Florence didn’t let go of her until they stopped directly in front of Rell’s door.
It was unremarkable. Plain wood, iron handle. One of dozens lining the corridor. Elora couldn’t have said how many doors they’d passed or which turns they’d taken to get here—everything between the staircase and this moment had smeared together into a blur of colors, shapes and Florence’s voice.
She talked the entire way.
About Ravenpoint. About gratitude. About how much The Hive owed Elora for helping her people there.
The words slid past Elora without catching, polite and practiced and carefully empty.
Florence didn’t ask how she’d escaped The Institute.
Didn’t ask what Thorn had done to her. Didn’t ask why her eyes were no longer blue.
She didn’t mention Tehvan at all.
That, more than anything else, was the only reason Elora hadn’t shattered completely. Maybe this was a misunderstanding. Maybe Florence didn’t know. Maybe—
Florence finally released her arm.
“Help her adjust,” she told Rell, as if assigning him a simple task. “Her room will be ready in a few hours.”
Then she turned and walked away.
The sound of her footsteps faded before Elora could decide whether to run after her or collapse where she stood.
Rell opened the door.
She went through it without looking, and he closed it behind them.
The room barely existed to her. Walls, a bed, a table—none of it registered. Her entire world narrowed to the rectangle of orange light spilling through the single window at the far end of the room.
The sun was setting, bleeding crimson across the horizon like an open wound. Freedom hung suspended in that dying light, so close she could taste it on her tongue.
She crossed the room in a heartbeat, floorboards creaking beneath her desperate steps.
It was only when her hands slammed into cold metal that she saw them—iron bars, thick as her wrists, rusted at the edges but unyielding at their core.
Her breath hitched. The sound tore out of her chest; a wounded thing caught between a sob and a snarl. She grabbed the bars and pulled, muscles screaming as panic flooded her veins.
“No—” The word dissolved into a growl that rumbled from somewhere deeper than her lungs.
Her breaths came fast and ragged, chest heaving as the room closed in around her. She yanked again, harder, fury and terror twisting together until they were indistinguishable.
Then she shifted.
Wings unfurled violently, scraping the walls as she lunged at the window, jaws clamping down around the bars. She wrenched her head back, muscles straining, teeth grinding against iron.
They didn’t move. Not even a millimeter.
She tried again, tasting metal and rust on her tongue.
Rell was there now, close enough that she could smell him, far enough to show that he wasn’t stupid.
“Elora—STOP!” he shouted over the sound of her growls. “You’re bleeding!”
The words didn’t penetrate the roaring in her skull.
All she registered was the iron barrier, the trap, the cage closing in.
Rell’s fingers grazed her shoulder.
She whipped around with blinding speed, jaws snapping shut inches from his throat, teeth clacking so violently the sound echoed off the walls. Saliva sprayed from her muzzle as a feral snarl tore from her chest.
Rell stumbled back, eyes wide, pulse hammering visibly at his neck.
Then he inched forward again, trembling visibly but moving with deliberate care, placing himself at the edge of her peripheral vision. Not blocking her desperate line to freedom. Just close enough that she couldn’t forget he existed.
“Okay,” he said quickly, words tumbling out. “Okay. I’m not stopping you. I swear. I’ll get someone to remove them. I’ll do it right now. Please—your mouth is bleeding—”
She snarled, a sound that vibrated the floorboards beneath them. Her wings snapped open with such force they knocked a painting off the wall. Blood dripped from her muzzle where her teeth had scraped against iron, staining the wood crimson.
The bars wouldn’t yield. Not to fang, not to claw, not to desperation.
With a guttural roar that dissolved into a whine, she backed away, claws gouging deep furrows in the floor. Her massive chest heaved violently, each breath a battle between beast and panic, but slowly—agonizingly—her wings folded inward, trembling with the effort of restraint.
The beast remained. She couldn’t bear to release it yet.
Though she’d abandoned her assault on the window, her massive form prowled the perimeter of the room, each step punctuated by the gentle tap of claws against wood.
Her gaze fixed on those iron bars, that rectangle of fading light.
When Rell slipped out and the latch clicked shut, her muscles only tensed further—body calculating escape routes, tracking time by her own thundering pulse, anticipating the next betrayal that surely waited beyond the door.
When the door opened again, it did so slowly.
“Elora,” he whispered into the dim room. “I’ve brought help.”
She caught the unspoken plea in his voice. He wanted her human again. Wanted her tame.
She sank deeper into the corner instead, where darkness gathered thick enough to blur her outline. Only her eyes remained, distinct twin points of amber light watching from the gloom, her massive form otherwise dissolved into shadow and suggestion.
The workman entered behind Rell, tools jangling at his belt. He kept his gaze fixed on the window, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere else.
“Florence won’t like this,” he muttered, examining the bars with practiced hands.