Chapter 48
Rell
Rell jolted awake, senses firing in disjointed sequence. Cold air brushed his cheeks. A shaft of sunlight warmed his closed eyelids before something large blocked it out. Breathing that wasn’t his own drifted across his face—slow, heavy, close.
He cracked one eye open and found himself staring directly into massive golden irises less than a foot away.
“Godsdammit, Sunshine—”
He jerked backward anyway, skull cracking against the metal air duct behind him with a hollow bonk.
“Ow—fuck.”
The nightglider blinked slowly at him, entirely unbothered by nearly giving him a heart attack.
As recognition fully settled in, the irritation collapsed into something sharper and far more dangerous. Relief.
He surged forward, wrapping his arms around the creature’s enormous head, fingers sinking into thick fur. Her whiskers tickled his neck as he pressed his face against her, inhaling the wild scent of night air and distant forests that clung to her coat.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice breaking over the words. His limbs trembled against her, muscles shaking with the release of tension he’d held for too many hours.
The nightglider rumbled low in her throat, the vibration traveling through his chest where they touched. Not quite a purr, not quite a growl—something uniquely hers.
Reluctantly, Rell released his hold and leaned back.
The moment his arms fell away, she shifted.
Elora knelt before him, golden eyes still piercing into his.
Her breathing came quick and shallow, chest rising and falling with each intake.
He looked her over. She was clean, not a drop of blood on her.
“Elora? Did you kill—”
“No.” She cut him off, the single syllable sharp enough to slice through his relief.
He forced himself to appear calm, to hide the bone-deep relief that she’d returned unharmed. Nothing looked broken or bloody, but exhaustion radiated from her in waves.
“What happened?” he started to ask, but before he could finish, Elora rose to her feet and grabbed his hand, pulling him upright with surprising strength.
“I need to talk to Florence,” she said, her voice tight with urgency. “Things are worse than she thinks.”
She didn’t elaborate, just turned and headed straight for the door leading back into the manor, her bare feet padding silently across the rooftop. Rell scrambled after her, mind racing to catch up with this sudden shift. No explanation about Thorn? No details about what she’d found?
“Wait, don’t you want something to cover yourself with first?” he asked, gesturing to her leaf-covered form. “Where’s your satchel?”
Elora paused mid-step, her shoulders dropping as she released a heavy sigh. “I forgot it,” she admitted, frustration evident in the tight line of her mouth.
She stood there for a moment, her jaw tightening as she glanced down at her bare torso. Her fingers curled into fists, then relaxed. She sighed and continued down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the wood as she took them two at a time.
Rell followed close behind, his longer legs easily matching her pace.
They stopped briefly at his room, where Elora grabbed one of her alchemist robes from the hook behind his door.
She slipped it on quickly, the black satin settling across her shoulders and skimming down her curves.
Rell’s eyes followed the gold thread glinting along the collar where it brushed against her neck, then dipped lower before he caught himself.
The fabric whispered promises as she moved, cinching at her waist when she pulled the belt tight with a sharp tug that drew his gaze despite his best intentions.
“Are you going to tell me what’s happening?” Rell asked, jogging to keep up with her determined stride.
“When we get to Florence,” she replied, not slowing down.
She moved with purpose, ignoring the curious glances from the few mercenaries they passed.
One lanky man opened his mouth to speak, caught Rell’s death glare, and suddenly became fascinated with his own boots.
Another mercenary tripped over his own spear and nearly impaled himself in the foot trying to get out of her way.
Nothing could break her laser-focused march to Florence’s office.
They reached it in record time. Elora rapped her knuckles against the wood—a single, authoritative strike—before barging into the room, permission be damned.
Florence sat behind her desk, surrounded by maps and reports.
She looked up at their entrance, her bloodshot eyes blinking slowly as she set down her pen with fingers that trembled slightly from too much caffeine and too little rest. At the sight of Elora, Florence’s carefully maintained composure shattered like ice struck with a hammer, revealing the cold fury beneath. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.
“Relax,” Elora said, cutting off whatever Florence was about to say, “I didn’t kill him.”
The frost in Florence’s eyes thawed just enough to reveal calculation wrapped in curiosity. She planted her elbows on the desk and leaned into the space between them.
“Why not?” she asked.
Rell shut the door behind them with a quiet click and leaned against the back wall, crossing his arms over his chest. From his vantage point, Rell might as well have brought a tiny notepad and started documenting The Hive’s most terrifying nature editorial: Two apex predators, the nightglider and the queen bee, square off in their natural habitat.
The researcher maintains a safe distance, lest he become collateral damage.
Elora’s chest rose with a slow inhale, the black satin of her robe tightening across her shoulders as she straightened her spine. “Thorn found a workaround for the village resistance. He’s turning the wards into breeding stock for the Empire’s next generation of servants.”
Rell’s imaginary wildlife observer persona vanished in an instant.
Heat crawled up his neck, spreading through his chest like wildfire.
The apprentices had painted The Institute as hell—a place of rigid control, punishment, and fear.
But this? This was something worse. What was a worse place than hell?
The words erupted from him like bile. “You discovered this and let him live?”
“Killing him wouldn’t stop the program,” she said simply. “Whoever they replace Thorn with will just continue it.”
Florence’s fingernails made a rhythmic pattern against the wooden desk, pulling their focus back to her.
She fixed Elora with a penetrating gaze, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“Before you stormed out of here, you didn’t seem concerned about who might take Thorn’s place,” she said, her voice carrying a dangerous softness.
“In fact, you made it abundantly clear that his death was your priority, consequences be damned.” Her head tilted to one side. “Why do you care now?”
Rell caught the subtle transformation in Elora’s body—how she drew herself up taller, squared her frame, tilted her head just enough to meet Florence’s gaze directly. The movement reminded him of a fighter preparing to absorb a blow, yet when she spoke, nothing in her voice betrayed tension.
“I thought killing Thorn would be enough for me because your plans would handle the rest. But I’ve seen what’s happening now.
” Her fingers swept toward the maps scattered across Florence’s desk, trembling slightly.
“Those plans won’t dismantle The Institute, they just make things worse for the people already there. ”
Florence’s gaze lingered on Elora, dark eyes narrowing slightly as she settled against her chair’s leather back, fingers steepled beneath her chin. Rell shifted his balance from one foot to the other, the silence between the women making his neck muscles tighten.
“You’re thinking too small,” Florence said finally. “Dismantling The Institute is merely a step. The true objective has always been to free Adruimor entirely.”
Rell’s mouth fell open. “What?”
Elora’s brow creased, her golden eyes narrowing. “Free Adruimor? From the Empire?”
Rell’s jaw clenched as understanding dawned. “This isn’t about rescue missions. You’re building a revolution.” The word felt jagged in his mouth, dangerous.
He stared at Florence, mentally reassembling every conversation, every mission brief, every recruitment.
The apprentices weren’t just survivors—they were future soldiers.
The villages weren’t just sanctuaries—they were strategic outposts.
And he’d been helping position all the pieces on her board without even realizing it.
He shoved off the wall, hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. “This isn’t what I agreed to. I signed on to keep kids out of that hellhole, to protect villages from Imperial exploitation. Not to light the fuse on a continent-wide bloodbath.”
Florence leaned forward, her eyes piercing into Rell’s. “And after we save them? What then? Did you imagine the Empire would simply look the other way while we dismantle their power piece by piece?”
“I don’t give a shit what happens after,” Rell snapped. “I care about the people in front of me. The ones I can actually help.” He gestured toward Elora. “Her. Vye. The apprentices. Not some grand vision that’ll get half of Adruimor killed.”
She could call him selfish if she wanted. He’d wear the label proudly if it meant keeping real people safe instead of chasing some grand, bloody fantasy where they all ended up as decorative corpses on the Empire’s lawn.
Rell snorted and jabbed a finger in Florence’s direction.
“Look at you, sitting there all high-and-mighty. You’re doing the exact same shit as Thorn—training these kids to be your little soldiers, building up villages just so they’ll kiss your ass when you need them.
You’re just another would-be ruler using people as pawns. ”