Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SANORA
“What the hell was that?” I asked, my voice still hoarse, as Thrax stepped out of the kitchen. He moved into the living room where I sat curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, legs tucked to my chest, back pressed to the headrest like I was trying to disappear into it.
He crossed the room and handed me a steaming mug.
I unwrapped myself enough to take it. The rich, full-bodied scent of Assam black tea with cardamom hit me first, hugging my lungs and warming my throat on the way down.
He must've made a rough pick from the numerous I stacked in the cabinet.
The cup was heavy, the ceramic warmed by the heat of the drink.
I brought it to my lips and took a sip, tasting exactly how it smelled—strong and slightly spicy.
We’d both changed into dry clothes, though where I still felt the aftershocks of the cold in my bones, Thrax moved like he had hell riding under his skin.
His gaze flicked to my neck again—the third time since he’d called me downstairs.
When I’d first come down, he’d immediately pushed my hair behind both ears to check if the bleeding had stopped.
His fingers had lingered longer than necessary with those dark eyes roaming all over my face and neck.
Maybe he didn’t realise, but I did. And I didn’t know why. I took another sip of the tea.
“I have no idea,” he finally said, lowering himself onto the couch opposite mine.
I let the cup rest on my knees, hands cradling it like an egg and revelling in its warmth. “What do you mean?”
He leaned back, arms folding across his chest. The brown sweatshirt he’d changed into clung to the breadth of his shoulders.
His white sweatpants were loose, but nothing about him looked relaxed.
His dark hair fell in haphazard waves around his face, making him look dangerously beautiful. “It’s my first time seeing it.”
“You don’t know what it’s called?”
He cocked his head slightly, tapping a forefinger to his temple. “Isn’t that what ‘I have no idea’ is supposed to mean?”
I huffed and brought the cup to my lips again, eyeing him over the rim. “How old are you?”
He sighed, shifting the hair over his eyes. “Tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on. Let me off today. I almost died, you know.”
“You ventured into the mouth of death willingly, no?”
“No,” I snapped, scowling into my tea. “It was being dramatic at my window, screaming and taunting me with light. It wouldn’t let me sleep. I had to check what it was.”
“Someone with a sense of danger would’ve pulled their curtains and gone back to bed. It was obvious it was luring you out.”
“I thought we’d already established I lack that sense.”
“Actually,” he said smoothly, “you lack all senses.”
I tightened my grip on the cup, glaring at him, briefly imagining the satisfaction of throwing it at his forehead hard enough to draw blood. The silence stretched, filled only by the roar of rain and thunder against the windows.
He was still watching me, unblinking, like I was an equation he couldn’t solve. And he was not even trying to hide the fact that he was burning holes in my skin with those dark eyes that I, for some stupid reasons, couldn’t stare into for too long.
I drained the rest of my tea and lowered the cup, anything to slice through the tension swallowing the room apart. “How did you know where I was?”
“You’re more predictable than you think.” He shifted on his seat. “Are you hurting anywhere?”
I pushed the throb in my back, the splitting ache behind my eyes, and the fire in my joints behind a sweet smile. “Ouuu, what would you do if I was?” His eyes sharpened, piercing mine with an unsettling stare. I rolled my eyes. “No, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“Why?”
“I can’t sense your physical pain,” he said so fast, he probably didn’t realise he slipped up until he was done.
My brows pulled together. “Can you sense emotional pain?” My eyes widened, heart skipping. “Wait. Oh shit. Can you read minds?”
“No,” he said flatly, shutting that door before my panic could open it.
“Oh.” I let out a breath. But I could feel his expectation pressing in, waiting for me to confess what hurt. So I pivoted. “The thing said something,” I offered instead, my body shivering involuntarily just thinking about the creepy voice.
He leaned forward, arms unfolding, brows narrowing. “What did it say?”
“It said something about dying. Someone wants to kill me.”
His expression changed instantly. “Was that what it said? Word for word?”
I wracked my memory, heart skittering again. “‘She wants to kill you. She’d rather have you die.’ That’s what it said.”
Thrax shot up from his seat like a fire had erupted under him, startling me. His jaw clenched tight, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Veins corded up his arms and twisted along his neck like black vines straining under pressure. His entire body tensed, vibrating with contained fury.
I pushed the blanket off and stood, heart pounding again as my back protested in pain. “Was it really talking to me? Is a she after me? Who wants to kill me?”
Too many questions. Not enough answers. Too many questions. Too many questions.
I stepped closer, close enough to make him look at me. “Answer me. What was that thing? Why did it lure me out? Am I a target—”
“Calm down.” His hands came up, resting on my shoulders, his touch steady and grounding. “It was just a messenger. You’re not anyone’s target.”
“A messenger—here? Around The Crater?” I shook my head. “Then the message was for me. Why would—”
“It has nothing to do with you,” he said too quickly.
If I didn’t know better, I’d have believed him. But that thing tried to kill me. If it was a messenger, what did that say about who sent it? How many more would the she send, and what would the next one look like?
I gripped his shirt. “Please. Tell me the truth.”
He pried my hands off, voice tight. “Go to sleep. It’s almost daybreak.”
“Not until you tell me first.”
His hands suddenly rose, rough palms cradling my face. Too gentle for how angry he still looked, too warm for something that ended an unnamed creature with a dagger an hour ago.
He searched my eyes with such fierce intensity I couldn’t look away. “It has nothing to do with you,” he said again, the words bitten out like he hated them. “You’re safe here. Is that clear?”
I stared up at him.
“I’m going to need more than that,” he whispered. “Answer me, Sanora.”
I sighed, frustrated with me, with him. “Okay.”
“Good.” He released me and stepped back, hands moving down to my neck and lingering before dropping to his sides. “Now go upstairs. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Where are you going?”
“Unfinished business,” he said vaguely. Then, as if already bored with the conversation, he nodded towards the stairs, slipping his hands into his pockets like he was trying not to lose what little patience he had left.
I gave a nod and turned away, climbing back up to my room. I shut the door and waited until I heard the front door creak open…then close again.
Quietly, I slipped back out and stood at the top of the landing, every nerve in me buzzing with unease.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. My instincts were screaming at me now, rising above the storm still raging outside like it just realised we were in danger and now plunging everything in me in panic mode.
I couldn’t wait on Thrax. He wouldn’t tell me the truth. Not now. Maybe not ever.
And if I was going to die in a land older than time, I at least deserved to know what the hell was going to kill me.
I turned back into my room, the floor creaking as I moved to the window. Pale light was beginning to stir across the horizon, the sky shedding its darkness, the force of the rain receding.
The hills that cradled The Crater stood far too innocent, like its messenger hadn’t just tried to force the breath from my lungs.
Why was it after me?
A dull pull stretched beneath my ribs, that strange ache clawing its way back stronger and deeper. It was the same pull that had drawn me to The Crater in the first place. A magnetic kind of wrong.
I slammed my fist against the glass, breathing unsteadily as rage prickled beneath my skin. What the actual fuck did it want from me? Why was it calling me? To what? My death?
I stood there, chest rising hard, eyes locked on the hills as though they might unhinge and spill the truth. I was so desperate for answers, I half-expected them to split open and vomit them.
Maybe…maybe I never came here by choice. Maybe this land called me long before I packed my damn bags.
And maybe I wouldn’t find the answers I came here to dig.
Maybe I was actually digging my grave instead.
Dance.
Twirl.
White.
Beats of song...no. Strings of harmony.
Twirl. Again. Again.
Flash of teeth. In smile.
What was this? What was I seeing?
Moving on the familiar feel of my bed, I anchored myself to the dream, knowing if I became any more aware of my surroundings, I’d wake up from my sleep.
I looked up, finding myself in a forest, hiding behind the bark of a tree as I stole a glance at the girl dancing in the clearing beyond, a kind of object on her head. Was that an apple? I couldn’t be sure. But she looked like she was trying to dance while balancing the object carefully on herself.
Her back was to me as she twirled, one hand raised in a delicate arc above her head, fingers soft and expressive, the other hand bent gently to her chest, as if shielding her heart.
Her movements were slow and drawn-out, pulled by invisible strings of music that seemed to pour from the sky itself.
The violin in the air was soothing, guiding her every motion.
The hem of her white gown swirled like mist around her bare ankles, weightlessly obeying the rhythm of the song. Long silver hair flowed behind her to the back of her knees, catching flecks of sunlight as it moved in harmony with the sweeping arcs of her body.
She was so graceful.
She bent her knees slightly and lifted herself onto her toes, not in a jarring leap, but as if she were being lifted by something magical and celestial.
She paused mid-turn, chest rising slowly as she inhaled, arms extending out like wings. Each breath she took seemed to reshape the air around her, every step she took was placed carefully, her foot gliding softly over the mossy earth.
Her head tilted slightly as she turned in profile, and the bright smile came again, beautiful and wide.
But why could I only see her smile? And also the way she moved? I couldn’t see her eyes or her face in whole. Just that smile she kept flashing as she danced.
She tilted backward slowly, body arching in a perfect curve, arms trailing behind like streams of silk. For a moment, she stood still, balancing the object on her head as her eyes lifted to the sky above the clearing.
Then she began again.
Twirl. Again. Again.
A hush fell over the trees, as if even the wind dared not interrupt her. The branches didn’t sway. The birds didn’t chirp. The forest was watching her. I was watching her. And somewhere deep inside, I felt so at peace I could fall asleep.
I was about to take a seat, utterly entranced by her dance, when I realised that I wasn’t the only one watching.
A chill shot through me. Across from where I hid, another figure stood behind a tree. I flinched, slamming back against the bark when I saw him draw a bow.
He was cloaked in black from head to toe, a literal shadow incarnate. His long hair veiled most of his face, his head tilted in perfect alignment with the arrow’s flight path. His grip on the bowstring was tight, as though he was ready to shoot.
No. No, no, no.
My eyes darted to the girl in white.
She twirled in oblivion, her smile still beaming, her hands still flowing. Her bare feet still moved across the moss in perfect harmony, innocent of the threat that stood some distance away from her.
I imagined the ethereal, white dress she wore tainting with blood and tried to scream.
But nothing came out of my throat.
My mouth opened, throat stretched in agony, but no sound came out. I clawed at my neck, panic burning through me like acid. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the forest floor, mouth open in a silent, voiceless wail.
Say something. Warn her.
But I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t scream. The feeling was so akin to a sleep paralysis. My heart crashed against my ribs as the archer adjusted his stance, finding the perfect target on her body.
Should I run?
If I bolted now, what were the chances of reaching her before he loosed the arrow? Would he change target and kill me as I ran? For interrupting his mission?
Suddenly, I found myself moving on my bed again.
No. No. Don’t wake up. Go back there. Stay. Please. Let me warn her.
He pulled the bow tighter as I stood up on my feet.
She turned.
Their eyes must’ve met.
Horror seized my chest, a tear escaping.
The arrow fired, flying towards her.
She stopped dancing.
And I screamed.
My body jerked upright in bed, the scream I couldn’t let out tearing from my throat with full force this time.
Sweat rolled underneath my shirt, the blanket tangled at my knees. My hand clutched my chest, where it felt as if something had been stabbed straight through. My heart wouldn’t slow. My chest was in pain, like the arrow had pivoted and gone through me instead.
I glanced around the room, wild-eyed, disoriented.
Why does it hurt? That wasn’t my dream. That didn’t feel like my dream. That wasn’t my memory.
What the hell was that?
I stared at the door for half a second before launching myself out of bed. The ache in my chest throbbed with every breath as I crossed the room, flung the door open, and stormed out into the hallway.
I knocked on Thrax’s door. No answer.
I tried the bathroom. No sound.
I went down the stairs but there was no sign of him. Sunlight filtered in from the windows, telling me I’d slept through the morning and it was afternoon, nearing evening.
Where did he go?
What “unfinished business” did he have since before dawn?
Going back to my room, I waited.
Two hours passed.
Still no Thrax.
Eventually, I ran myself a bath, got dressed and stepped outside.
I couldn’t sit on my hands anymore.
Whatever was happening to me, I had to know what it was and meet it head-on.