Chapter 23 Rion #2
My gaze drifts to the basement door, which sits ajar, and I eliminate all desire and joyous thoughts from my mind as I take the stone steps down.
It’s funny, this institute is technically better than ours, but regardless of status, the basements are not pretty spaces. I guess what lies beneath the surface is the same regardless of where you are or what you represent.
I snicker at the thought as I reach the bottom to find the very same layout in which we kept Warren Blackwood greeting me. Only this time, it’s Nathaniel who is in the hot seat, and instead of Thorne being there to resurrect the captive, he's the one causing the pain.
“I hope you didn't start without me,” I murmur, stepping into the room and making my presence known.
Nathaniel gulps, eyes wide despite the swelling around his nose, but as his mouth moves, no words come out.
“I was just getting started,” Thorne states, shaking out his knuckles, confirming the swelling was his doing. “The boy is a squealer, so I had to shut him the fuck up first,” he explains, waving a hand at Nathaniel’s mouth, which continues to move, but still, no words are heard.
It’s almost amusing, except for the withering stare on Thorne’s face. “Are you ready to give me some answers now?” the shadow fae asks, his voice thick and heavy, and Nathaniel nods deliriously, panic flickering across his face.
Thorne must lift his magic because a moment later, Nathaniel sucks in an audible breath, unshed tears gathering along his bottom lashes.
“Please, please, just, please!” he cries out, his arms pulling vigorously against the rope holding him in place.
“I want to know who gave you the order,” Thorne bites, his tone deadly as he clenches his hands at his sides.
Nathaniel wets his dry lips, glancing around the room nervously, like the person in question could be here listening right now. What he doesn't seem to realize is that it's too late. He won't leave these four walls, and there won't be a piece of him left by the time we're done for them to harm.
“Answer me!” Thorne roars, thick, black smoke billowing around the room.
Nathaniel balks, fear clinging to every inch of him as he nods. “I took the command from The Rebellion,” he squeals, his voice so high I almost can’t hear him. “But it wasn't my fault. I just—”
“Who in The Rebellion?” Thorne interjects as Nathaniel struggles to breathe, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he attempts to clear his throat.
“J-Jude. Jude F-Forrester,” he answers with a stutter.
“And who else have you been working with in The Vale?” Thorne pushes, and Nathaniel shakes his head nervously.
“N-No one. No one,” he repeats, his shoulders bunching tight with tension. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” he insists, and I’ve had enough.
“Don't lie to him,” I snarl, cutting the distance between us, but instead of moving to stand in front of our captive, I shift to the side where the line of tools are laid out, looking for a good choice.
Settling on a weighted wrench, I twist it in my grip as I turn back to face him, pointing it at his pretty little face.
“Who else in The Vale do you know to have the same connection as you?” I hiss, watching the remaining color drain from his face as his gaze flicks between my eyes and the weapon in my hand.
“I won't ask again,” I snap, and he lifts his fingers off the arm of the chair in surrender, despite his wrists being tied to the wood.
“I promise you, I don't know names, but I know there is a professor,” he blurts, garnering my attention.
“Which Professor?” I breathe, silently chanting Drayker’s name over and over again so I have another reason to off the bitch, but he fails me as he shakes his head.
“I swear to you, I don't know, but I know there is a professor. I know there is someone in Institute One as well. I know that for a fact,” he rattles, desperate to give us anything in a bid to save his worthless life.
“How do you know?” Thorne asks, and Nathaniel trembles in his seat as he tries to explain.
“Because there have been things left in places for me to use, like a classroom, and one of the professors’ offices. Plus, in the basement of Institute One, there have been things there for me to collect too, for me to use, to be able to help the greater cause.”
That doesn’t necessarily mean a student and a professor are involved, but there’s at least got to be someone else.
I consider asking for the name of the professor’s office, but it’s futile.
Who is going to leave it in their own office?
No one. All that will do is knock one name off a long list of suspects. Instead, I focus on him.
“And why are you helping them?”
“What?” he startles, but it’s Thorne who pushes back.
“What do you stand to gain from working for Jude Forrester?”
“Nothing. I—”
“Did he promise you power?” I interject, my words lingering in the air long enough for his eyes to flicker, confirming the fact that I’ve hit the nail straight on the head.
That's the thing with these people in the higher institutes. They think power is everything. What they don't realize is there's always, always someone above them, and very rarely, anyone beneath them.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he finally manages with pleading eyes. “I don't know anything else. This is all I know.”
“What was Kael supposed to do?” Thorne’s words drown the room, his smoke thickening around us.
“I don't know,” Nathaniel insists.
Bullshit.
Without warning, I slam the wrench down on his knee. The sound of the bone snapping rings through the air like a siren, followed swiftly by his howl of pain.
“Answer the question, motherfucker, or the next knee goes,” I warn. “What was he supposed to do?” I poise the wrench, ready to shatter his other kneecap as he continues to scream.
“T-Take Elodie to t-the academy b-building,” he stutters again, his pupils like pins as terror consumes him. “He was just s-supposed to take h-her there. That's all I know,” he insists, and I glance at Thorne, who glares at the asshole in question, and with his single nod, I take the order.
Lifting the wrench, I take aim, but instead of smashing it into his knee as I warned, I go for the skull, grinning as it shatters in one swift move. Blood spills, drenching me in his crimson remains as I reach for the lighter I grabbed from my room.
I flick it open in one swift move before running my thumb across the spark wheel. The grinding metal sounds like a sweet prayer, which is answered as I drop the wicked flame onto Nathaniel and watch him burn.
Taking a step back, I shake my head. He deserved it, yes, but he deserved it to be slow and painful. Unfortunately for me, and luckily for him, he just didn't deserve my time.