Chapter 53
Elora
She stood with her back against the cold wall, Rell’s hand on her shoulder.
His fingers were warm through the thin fabric of stolen alchemist robe she wore, and she was grateful for it, even if she couldn’t show that gratitude.
The two guards flanking the door to the lab hadn’t stopped talking since they’d been posted here five minutes ago, and every word they said wormed its way under her skin.
“—this is the ward that Thorn constantly bled,” the one on the left said, not even bothering to lower his voice. He was a broad man with a shaved head and a thick neck, the kind of guard who’d been hired for his ability to hold someone down and not his ability to think.
“Don’t remember that.” The other guard—younger, with a patchy beard and restless eyes—glanced at Elora. Not at her face. At her arms, where the last round of needle marks had only just begun to fade to faint pink crescents.
The bald one thought for a second. “The one who took Gerard’s eye.”
The younger one made a gesture like everything finally clicked into place.
They continued talking about Gerard. She did her best to not listen.
She kept her face blank, kept her breathing even, kept her gaze fixed on the metal door with its reinforced hinges and its single observation slit.
Behind that door, Thorn was preparing whatever fresh horror he’d designed for her.
She could hear the faint clink of glass, the soft mechanical hum of equipment she knew too well.
Rell’s thumb moved.
It was a small thing—barely a centimeter of motion, a slow, deliberate stroke across the curve of her shoulder. Not a pressure point. Not the technical touch of a handler trying to keep a wild beast under control. Just comfort. Warm and steady and completely reckless.
Her pulse quickened. Not from fear of what waited behind the door, but from the danger of what Rell was doing. His hand was supposed to be there for control, for restraint, for the performance of custody they’d maintained since the moment they got here.
She shifted—a subtle lean to her left, a fraction of distance between her shoulder and his hand.
His fingers tightened. Not painfully. Just enough. The message was clear: I know. I’m sorry. But I’m not letting go. The gentle caresses stopped, though. His hand went still and heavy against her, and she felt the absence of that small kindness like a draft in a room that had been warm.
She appreciated it. She wanted to tell him that. The weight of his hand and the ghost of that single stroke had loosened something tight behind her sternum, had made the antiseptic air a little easier to breathe.
Thorn emerged from the laboratory, pristine academic robes unmarred by whatever horrors he’d been preparing inside. In his gloved hand, a syringe caught the harsh overhead light, its contents shimmering with a blue-green iridescence that made Elora’s stomach clench.
She didn’t have to pretend. Her body reacted before her mind could command it. She stumbled backward, heart hammering against her ribs, and collided with Rell’s solid frame. His hand remained on her shoulder, steadying her, but she barely registered the contact.
His gaze flicked to Rell. “I appreciate you delivering her, but I’ll take things from here.”
The air in the corridor seemed to thicken. Elora felt Rell’s fingers curl slightly into her shoulder, a grip that refused to release.
“Actually,” Rell said, “I was hoping to make you an offer.”
Thorn’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “An offer?”
“She told me why you created her.” Rell’s voice carried an undercurrent of something that sounded almost like admiration. “Testing to make the Empire’s own shifters. It’s... impressive. Revolutionary, really.”
Elora’s chest tightened. She stared straight ahead, at the wall beyond Thorn, at the sterile white tile that had witnessed so many of her tears. She kept her breathing shallow, kept her face empty.
“Your methods of domination are legendary,” Rell continued, “but I’ve worked with these beasts long enough to know they can’t be controlled through shock collars and sedation. For them to be deployed effectively, they need conditioning beyond pain.”
Thorn squinted at Rell’s claim.
“Let me show you. With her. This beast—” his hand shifted to grip the back of her neck, firm but not painful, “who wants nothing more than to tear into your gullet. I can make her obedient when it matters.”
Elora’s pulse thundered in her ears. She felt Thorn’s gaze travel over her, clinical and assessing. The syringe in his hand turned slightly as he considered.
“Unfortunately,” Rell added, hand drifting into her hair and lightly grabbing the back of her head. “—the human mind isn’t as easy to control. But if you control her weapon, she knows she has nothing to use against you.”
The silence stretched. Elora counted her heartbeats, one-two-three-four, and tried to remember how to breathe.
“And what do you want in return?” Thorn asked.
“Compensation and a role in your research. I’ve spent years handling dangerous creatures. I know how to make them manageable.”
Thorn’s gaze remained fixed on Elora. She could feel it like a physical weight, measuring, calculating. The syringe caught the light again.
“A demonstration, then.” Thorn opened the door and gestured for Rell and Elora to enter.
The extermination chamber’s cold air raised gooseflesh across her exposed arms as her robe pooled around her wrists, caught on the metal cuffs.
The leotard’s thin material offered little protection against both the chill and Thorn’s invasive stare.
Each breath she took felt shallow, insufficient, as if the very air in this room belonged to him and he merely permitted her to borrow it.
Elora kept her face carefully blank, though her heart thrashed like a caged animal beneath her sternum.
His fingers traced the intricate leaf pattern woven into the fabric at her shoulder, and Elora suppressed a shudder.
She fixed her gaze on a spot on the wall behind him, refusing to let her eyes wander despite the overwhelming urge to check Rell’s position.
She could sense him nearby, a steady presence at her back, but the space between them felt like a chasm now that he wasn’t holding her.
Near the door, Florence maintained her vigil, spine straight as a ceremonial blade, features schooled into the practiced reverence of a disciple who had found her god.
The role she played was flawless—the long-lost niece returned to claim her birthright, offering Elora as tribute.
Not a flicker of their true plan showed in her eyes.
Thorn moved behind her, out of sight but never out of mind.
Her nightglider senses prickled beneath her skin, a warning system more reliable than sight.
When his fingers finally traced a deliberate path down her spine, over the healed scars that now flowed with real Al’teran magic, Elora’s muscles contracted involuntarily beneath his touch, each vertebra tensing in sequence.
“Uncuff her,” Thorn instructed Rell, who hesitated only briefly before complying.
The relief of having her wrists freed lasted mere seconds.
“I’d like to see what you can do,” Thorn said, spinning Elora to face him. His eyes gleamed with cruel anticipation. “I need a new pet to experiment on, since you let my last one go.”
Before Elora could process his words, white-hot pain exploded through her body, electricity coursing through her veins. Her scream tore through the chamber as her body convulsed. Deep within her, the nightglider essence responded to the threat, surging forward.
In that moment of transformation, suspended between human and nightglider, instinct drowned strategy for one violent second.
With a roar that was neither human nor cat, she lashed out, claws aiming for Thorn’s smug face. But he was ready. Another shock, more powerful than the first, sent her crashing back into her human form. Her body hit the cold floor with a sickening thud, muscles spasming from the forced shifts.
“The garb shifts with you? Interesting technology,” Thorn noted clinically, as if observing a particularly interesting specimen rather than a person writhing in agony. “I’ll examine that later. Get her on the table and strap her down,” he instructed Rell. “Flora, come with me.”
The door closed behind them with terrible finality.
Rell was at her side in an instant, crouching beside her trembling body. His hands hovered over her, uncertain where to touch without causing more pain.
“Elora,” he whispered, finally gathering her against his chest. His heartbeat thundered against her ear, frantic and uneven. “This doesn’t have to happen; we can end this.”
Elora tried to focus through the aftershocks rippling through her muscles. Each breath scraped her raw throat, tears gathering as she fought for air. She managed to shake her head, the movement sending fresh spikes of pain down her spine.
“Not... yet,” she gasped. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. She clutched at his shirt, forcing her golden eyes to meet his. “Florence... needs his trust.”
“Electrocution wasn’t part of the plan,” Rell hissed, his arms tightening protectively around her. “Florence promised—”
“She can’t... stop everything,” Elora managed. The taste of copper filled her mouth; she must have bitten her tongue during the seizure. “We knew the threat coming here. Don’t slip up Rell. I can... endure.”
His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching beneath his skin. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, growing louder with each passing second. Rell’s head snapped up suddenly, eyes darting to the door.
“Shit,” he muttered, argument forgotten as he slid his arms beneath her.
Elora bit back a cry as he lifted her onto the examination table. The sterile metal pressed against her back, a familiar horror that sent her heart into a renewed panic. Images flashed behind her eyes—Thorn hovering over her with a needle, her blood flowing into vials.