Chapter 25 Thorne
THORNE
Frozen in place, my heart lurches, finding a new speed as I stay hidden in the shadows, watching her every move like a hawk.
Wonder dances across her features as her eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and joy flitting across her face. I can feel her energy from here; the nausea in her gut, the disbelief, all of it.
It makes my stomach churn as my own astonishment takes root. All from watching the enigma before me.
She startles, whipping her head around to glance over her shoulder as if she can sense someone’s gaze on her, but she looks in the opposite direction of where I’m standing. Still, I take another step backward, making sure the shadows completely obscure me from her view.
A few moments pass before she turns back around, seemingly content to believe she’s alone. Relief rushes through me as I trail my eyes over her once again, but to my dismay, she starts to tug her socks and sneakers on, ready to leave.
But I can’t truly decipher what’s going on until it’s too late.
She grabs her sword and heads around the opposite side of the building, without leaving a trace that she was even here except for the tiny blades of grass mingled among the others.
They wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, but I saw it with my own eyes.
Standing alone, the subject of my attention gone, I let my eyelids fall closed as I repeat the visual in my mind. If I hadn’t been laser-focused, feasting my eyes on every part of her, then I wouldn’t have known what was going on.
She just did something with that grass that even I can't explain. I can’t imagine what she thinks of it. Does she realize the significance?
Stepping out of the shadows, I hurry the few steps needed to the nearest dry patch of grass so I too can pluck a shade of each blade of grass.
Awe fills me as I stare down at them. Black smoke gathers around my hands and flutters for a moment before it retreats, disappearing into nothing until only the two blades of grass remain, both the exact same color.
As a shadow fae, I’m not surprised to learn I can do it as well. I’ve never done it before, never tried, but to learn that a scythe…
Is it known that a scythe can do that? That they can do more than just take?
My mind wanders to the array of books I have under my bed, but I know for certain none of them will cover the information I require.
Another visit to the restricted section in the library would be great right about now, but that’s no longer an option since it burned so brightly during yesterday’s Rebellion attack.
Would it be in the books she chose to take from our last visit? Is that why she tried it?
I need to know. There's still a layer of uncertainty about what remains to be understood. There must be information somewhere, even if it comes directly from the source.
That would require me to approach her about it, but from the way she scattered out of here, I'd say she's not quite there yet.
Looking down at my hands, I let the blades of grass flutter to the ground, bringing my attention back to my crimson-stained palms.
Nathaniel.
I need to wash off his blood, but for now, I stuff my hands into the center pocket of my hoodie as I realize I was here by chance, which only confirms in my mind just how much I was supposed to see that happen.
After a restless sleep, I had given up all hope as dawn broke across the horizon. I made my way from Institute Thirteen to Twelve, ready to dispose of the body we left yesterday.
I made a promise to the wolves, so I came with an axe, happily chopping up Nathaniel into little treat-sized pieces for the furry mutts. Chunks of which are now ready to be scattered around the outskirts of The Vale for those willing to feast upon him.
Heading toward the basement door, I lock it shut and hide the key in the small crack in the rocks beside it.
I wonder if anyone will consider reporting him missing.
Ocean won't, nor will the rest of us, and I can't imagine Jude cares enough to do anything that doesn’t benefit himself.
The chances are slim, but not gone entirely. Regardless, that fucker got what he deserved.
Pulling out my cell phone, I tap out a quick message, letting Rion know that someone can come for the meat before I head toward Institute Thirteen.
A yawn parts my lips as I groan, mindlessly making my way home so deep in thought I don't acknowledge my surroundings until my hand is poised above the door handle, ready to enter the gym.
I pause before my fingers can wrap around the brass and my chest clenches as my breath lodges in my throat.
I can hear her breathing on the other side of the wood, along with the whirring of the treadmill, and I want to join her, look deep into her eyes, and understand the world through her eyes too.
A flicker of panic ghosts across my skin.
I don't want to make her jump or startle, and I don’t want to do something that will put her defenses up.
My mind and body battle for the correct answer.
My mind is desperate for me to rush upstairs and put some much-needed distance between us, while my body clenches my fist, which instantly poises, ready to knock on the door.
I fight against it, bracing my tight fist on the wood without making a noise as I sag forward, my head dipping as I try to process the emotions clogging my thoughts.
She’s right there. Right on the other side. All I have to do is open the door.
The reminder of what she is and who I am makes me stumble back, and my spine connects with the wall across the corridor, making me grunt. My chest heaves with every breath, no matter how hard I try to shake it.
I need to move before I do something I regret.
Rushing toward the stairs, I take them two at a time until I come to a stop on the fourth floor.
I charge for my dorm, swinging into the room in a flurry, only to startle when I see Rion sprawled out on the sofa. He lifts his head, offering me a questioning look as I slam the door shut behind me.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, waving his cell phone at me. “You said everything was sorted,” he adds, and I grunt, unable to form words right now, choosing instead to hightail it to my room.
Another slam vibrates through the space as I slam that door too, finally isolated in my room. Hiding away from the rest of the world is a strength I never give myself credit for, but right now, it doesn’t feel like the blessing it usually is. It’s more like a curse.
My feet carry me toward my desk and my palms splay across the wood as my shoulders cave, slumping forward beneath the weight of everything that just happened.
My body trembles with emotions and desires I can’t give in to.
The cords in my forearms strain as my hands clench, and I can’t seem to shake the tension.
Daring to tilt my head back, my eyes fixate on one of my most prized possessions: the picture of my family.
My mother, father, and sister all look back at me, and it makes my heart seize with sadness.
Remembering that day, the exact moment the picture was taken, always fills me with dread, yet recalling how blissfully happy we were in that moment is the lifeline I cling to every day. Seeing it today, I’m reminded that nothing's the same anymore.
Nothing.
Instinctively, I reach for my mother's pocket mirror. It’s cracked, distorting the reflection, but I cherish it, just like she cherished me.
I run my thumb along the sharp edges as I exhale slowly, embracing the sadness for a moment before I shake it off so I can remain focused and resilient.
My next breath flutters in my chest as the prophecy comes to mind.
They will rise with fire in their bones and ruin in their wake, step the shadows that you reap and give more than you shall take. Blood shall bind you, love shall break you. Only in the face of death shall the path be clear; the world mourns with the final tear.
It's as if the words are touching my mother's pocket mirror, ingrained into every surface, yet it triggers something in my mind. Those words have run through my mind over one thousand times before, but today, they come slowly, like each word imprints on my soul.
I repeat them again, clinging to my mother’s final possession, and I find myself torn.
“Fate or choice,” I breathe, as if my mother could hear me now and give me the answer and guidance I need.
My gaze darts to the photo again, her broad smile, and I let the strength of it wash over me. I sway on my feet as my heart stutters, and I repeat the prophecy again. Aloud this time.
“They will rise with fire in their bones and ruin in their wake, step the shadows that you reap and give more than you shall take. Blood shall bind you, love shall break you. Only in the face of death shall the path be clear; the world mourns with the final tear.”
Fate or choice.
Maybe they are the same thing.
I feel lightheaded as I stand tall, gripping my mother's mirror tighter. My lungs feel close to exploding.
I repeat it again, letting the words sink in, and I practically feel them seeping into my veins. They flicker through every fiber of my being, and the truth appears before me as I stare at my distorted reflection in the shattered mirror.
Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong.
Maybe I’ve been waiting for someone else to fulfill the prophecy when it could have been me all along.
My heart hammers over the idea, but my mind has never felt clearer.
Returning the mirror to its rightful place, I take a deep breath as I pass my eyes over my family photo one last time.
This is it. This is the time I no longer take guidance from the prophecy; instead, I guide the prophecy toward fruition.
I know what I want, whether it’s the right thing or not; there's only one way I'm ever going to find out.