Chapter 3
I’m positive that Fallen is fucking with me.
Alaric:
Blackthorn, Orwyn, coastline. Good luck.
Because of my active status with Everhaven’s militia, I’ve seen more of this continent than most. I’ve been to nearly every corner of it. So when I say I feel stupid for not realizing where he was sending me…
I mean I feel fucking stupid.
I’ll give myself a little credit, though. There’s a lot of knowledge rattling around in this skull, and it’s not my job to remember every damn detail.
Still… What the Beyond was I thinking?
Blackthorn. There’s nothing out here but rocks, a handful of homes and essential shops, the Cynth Sea—and Thornegate Penitentiary. It’s attached to a slab of concrete that juts straight from the beach out into open water, nearly a mile offshore. People get sent here for a reason.
I lean against my bike and let out a low, frustrated growl before tilting my head back.
The phone’s already in my hand when I start dialing, the ring echoing in my ear.
Ring. Ringgg.
That motherfucker.
When it goes to Alaric’s voicemail, I hang up and pull open our messages instead. The typing bubbles flash on his end, and I tap the screen impatiently.
Alaric:
Speak with Warden Sook.
What am I going to do with a Witch in prison, Alaric?!
I told you I only knew of one. Maybe that Witch can help you find one that’s free.
You are delusional if someone locked up is just going to help
You know what
Thanks for nothing
You asked, I provided
I really hate this guy—smug piece of shit.
It doesn’t help that I can’t just kill him, and it’s not because I have no idea how to kill a Fallen.
That obviously has a bit to do with it, but he has a role to play right now.
All of that bullshit has nothing to do with me, but regardless, I can’t imagine that my friends would be too pleased if I sent his ass back to his creator.
Maybe.
I shrug, push my hands into my jean pockets, and start the mile-long trek along the stone causeway out to sea. Thornegate waits in the distance: a slab of concrete and misery that extends into the Cynth. Home to the continent’s most ruthless.
Modern prisons with high-voltage gates exist for Mundanes and low-level offenses from Dylox, but this place is different.
There are two high-level penitentiaries: this one, and another by Old Hearth that’s been dormant for centuries.
The deadly sky keeps Dylox from manning it, and Mundanes are too weak to deal with the kinds of criminals that end up in a place like that.
The stone walls are weathered but sturdy, each row stacked smaller than the one below until they taper toward the top.
A lighthouse tower crowns the structure.
Hundreds of windows dot the facade—faint candlelight, not electricity.
Only one entrance connects to this fifteen-foot-wide walkway; high enough that the current won’t drag you, but low enough to splash the bottoms of your pants.
As I near the metal doors, I glance sideways at an unsteady exterior stairway that climbs to a little sitting area with two fold out chairs and no guardrail. Who in their right mind wants to sit out there?
When I reach for the right-hand door, it starts to swing open. I straighten, hand sinking back in my pocket. There’s a man standing in the threshold wearing a dark green guard uniform with a name tag that reads ‘Jozier’. Definitely not who I’m supposed to be meeting.
“Good afternoon. Butcher, I presume?”
“That would be me.”
His eyes go wide as he glances away from mine, taking in the wall of muscle standing before him. “He wasn’t kidding. You got another body stuffed under your skin there, big guy?”
There aren’t many things I hate in this world—which is saying something, considering how long I’ve been around—but being called big guy ranks high on the list.
Yeah, I’m built. Broad shoulders packed with muscle, every inch of me carved from too much tension and too little patience. My arms, chest, and abdomen all earned, not an ounce of me existing by accident. I’m just shy of seven feet—six-eight, maybe six-nine—so I get it. My size is intimidating.
My silence is enough to say I disliked the nickname. His smirk fades when he realizes I’m not laughing.
He clears his throat and steps aside, pale skin flushing red from under his collar all the way to his ears. “I’m supposed to take you straight to Warden Sook.”
“Right to it. Just how I like it.”
“Yeah…” He sounds young, this male. Probably a Mundane, though maybe not. Now that I’m beside him, there’s a faint scent of sea salt clinging to him. Could just be the sea bleeding through this place, but his scent cuts deeper. Maybe a Shifter. Either way, I don’t care enough to ask.
We move through what looks like a waiting room, though it only holds a few metal chairs and an empty water dispenser. A glass—or maybe plastic—reception booth sits against the wall, but the cushioned chair behind it is empty.
“Busy day.”
Jozier chuckles. “This is the busiest we’ve been in a long time.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “We don’t get many… visitors.”
You don’t say…
We reach a junction where the path splits ahead. Jozier veers right, the sign above the other reading ‘Medical Bay’, while ours says ‘Inmates’.
The walls here are the same as before: dark gray, damp-looking, but surprisingly free of any rot or stench. No fishy odor, which I half expected.
He turns a corner, leading us to a narrow stairwell. As we start to climb, windows break up the concrete, offering brief glimpses of the churning water below. By the time we’ve taken enough flights that the sea vanishes from sight, we’re at the top floor.
The corridor is nearly identical to the one on the first level—same walls, same silence. I follow him around the circular hall until he stops before a door that stands out from the rest.
Unlike everything else in this place, it’s wooden—polished, cared for, spotless. Someone clearly makes sure it stays that way. A little ostentatious, but whatever keeps the warden feeling important.
Jozier knocks, and I hear a male on the other side say, “Come in.”
I do as he says. The sooner I’m out of this place, the better. I’m not expecting much anyway—this Witch probably won’t talk to me. Why would they?
As the door shuts behind me, I take in the room. It’s small, plain. A wooden desk sits near the center, an open laptop and a single manila file laid neatly on top. Two bookshelves line the wall—more binders than books, all perfectly ordered.
The only splash of life in here is a multicolored rug, its warmth clashing with the cold gray of the rest of the space. Two windows break the monotony of concrete, one cracked open just enough to let in the faint scent of salt and the last light of day.
“Sergeant Butcher—”
“Oh woah, no, please don’t,” I huff and shake my head adamantly. “I’m retired and only called for contract purposes with the militia, Warden. No ranks here. Simply Butcher.”
He smiles, the motion carving deeper wrinkles into his golden skin and pulling his eyes nearly shut. It’s genuine—at least, it looks that way.
“Butcher, then. It’s that rank of yours that got you in here, so we can dismiss it between us.”
It isn’t said with any hint of condescension, thankfully. I’d hate to have to degrade him by making him call me sir.
“When I got a call from a rather interesting man, saying you were on your way… I’ll admit, I was curious.”
“Are we acquaintances of the same interesting man?”
“No. He didn’t even provide his name, just yours. It was all I needed. I’m ex-frontline militia. Didn’t climb the ranks, but everyone, even the grunts, know of your name.”
I definitely don’t need my ego stroked, but I’ll take it anyway.
“Good to know this wasn’t out of the kindness of your own heart. That would have worried me.” The edge of my lip pops up in a smirk.
He laughs while adjusting the collar of his black officer’s suit. “No, definitely not. Especially when it comes to inmate 0338.” There’s slight discomfort in the way he says the number. “So, let’s get down to business. You’ve got me intrigued.”
I’m not exactly eager to divulge my intentions. Something tells me a Vampire trying to open the gates to the Beyond wouldn’t be received too warmly.
“I’m in need of help from a Yldarwright, and that from my understanding, is what inmate 0338 is.”
“That’s technically classified information… but that is indeed the case. What sort of help?”
Clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I shake my head. “Classified.”
“Militia business?”
“No. Mine.”
He hums, and takes a deep breath. “Not entirely sure what they can do to help you inside of a prison. Are you looking to…” His words trail off, with his question lingering.
“Just talk to… them? Her? Him?”
“Do you really not know who inmate 0338 is, Butcher?”
I shake my head.
An amused chuckle vibrates his throat. “Inmate 0338 hasn’t had a single visitor since admission, which was seven years ago. They have a gender, but using it is… a privilege.”
Everyone that is here has done incredibly bad things.
It doesn’t matter to me what this inmate did.
Personally, I couldn’t care less. People that are sentenced to Thornegate are here for life, and aren’t here for simple murder charges.
You’ve got to do some pretty fucked up shit to land yourself a bed here.
“You wish to speak with it. That’s all?”
I nod.
“Alright, then. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”
“What’s their name?”
“Hmm, you aren’t familiar with their kind, are you?”
I shrug. “A lot of text is written in a language I’d need a translator for. I know just a little, but not much. Why does it concern their name?”
He shakes his head and begins walking around his desk toward me. Shorter than myself, he pats my arm and brushes past me. “This will be interesting.”
There’s no hesitation as I follow the warden out of his office. The officer who brought me up is gone, and the hall is empty—eerily so. The building’s maybe five hundred feet in circumference, and from up here I can see clearly down to the first floor. Only a handful of guards patrol each level.
“No one gets out,” Sook says as he steps beside me, as if reading my thoughts. “If you’re concerned we don’t have enough staff.”
I bite back a retort. I don’t concern myself with much of anything.
“Good to know.”
He leads me back to the stairway, where we go down three flights before circling the lone hall.
There are only four cells from what I can see on each level.
One on each point of the cardinal directions.
He takes me to the one that’s placed south, which I’m not entirely sure matters. Just taking stock of everything.
There is a metal table right outside, along with two chairs of the same material. Two officers, one of them being Jozier, stand on either side of the very, very, heavily barred door.
I pull out my hands from my pockets and cross my arms over my chest. “You weren’t kidding about no one getting out. This is metal made from Hearthrock.”
“Forged right here, or, well in Blackthorn.” Everyone but Mundanes will succumb to blisters and poisoning with even just a touch from this stuff.
Too much exposure will leave us Dylox incapacitated.
Very smart, I must admit. Now it makes sense why the warden is what he is.
“All the doors are made of this besides mine.”
I hadn’t looked at the back of the front door to this place, but if I had to guess, it’s likely made of the same material.
“Smart design. Have you had anyone try and escape?”
“A few,” Jozier states.
“Inmate 0338?”
“No,” the other officer, who I can’t see his name tag, clips. “0338 knows their place.”
Sook moves to the next door, his steps measured and sure.
“We have wards placed around the cells by a Witch. One specific Hexborn for inmate 0338, something about a coven or some bullshit. I don’t know.
” He shrugs his shoulders. “Anyway, every cell has a ward around it—soundproof, scent-proof, sealed off from everything else. None of them have windows.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “If they behave, there’s one place they’re allowed to step out for fresh air.”
That explains the odd little sitting area outside.
“We’re extremely cautious with our inmates,” he continues, resting his hand on the door’s reinforced handle. “This one is no exception.”
My gaze trails to the door. “I’m not here to set them free, so don’t worry. I’ll be in and out.”
“We will be joining you.”
I scoff. “No, that’s alright.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not a request.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Warden. I’m quite capable.”
He places his hand onto the handle and turns it. “I have no doubt.”
The door opens, and I’m expecting… something. Anything. But silence isn’t it.
No gasp, no sigh of relief, no curse under breath. Just stillness so thick it feels alive.
If not for the single, steady heartbeat pulsing somewhere ahead, I’d think the room was empty.
Sook gestures me forward, and I brush past him into the dim space. It’s larger than I expected, but stripped bare. The only piece of furniture is a thin twin mattress pressed against the far wall—and the figure sitting beside it.
“Today is my day off…” The voice is quiet, almost swallowed by the air itself.
A woman.
“This is inmate 0338,” Sook says. “Lily of the Valley, you have a visitor.”
Holy fuck.
Alaric, who the Beyond did you send me to?