Chapter 5 #2
“I know you would, Elle. I know.” His voice was barely a whisper. “But you were always meant for something more. Something greater than this life. Greater than me.”
“Don’t say that” I breathed. “I love you, Finn. You’re my family. The only one I’ve ever known.”
He exhaled a ragged breath, pain etched into every sound. “And now I’m a liability,” he said, wincing. “You can’t save me. Not this time.”
I bit back the tears burning behind my eyes. “Then I’ll stay with you.”
I felt so small beside him, like a child again—helpless in a world that never stopped taking. I just wrapped my arms around him and held on tight. He didn’t resist.
After a moment, he murmured, “Can you do me a favour?”
“Anything,” I whispered.
“Will you sing to me?” His voice cracked. “I always loved it… when you sing.”
I forced a trembling smile through the ache in my throat. “Of course.”
I closed my eyes and let the soft tune flow.
“Down by the river where the wild winds sigh,
Lived a maiden fair with a star in her eye.
She danced in the dusk, bare feet on the stone,
And sang to the moon when the night left her lone.
Oh silver moon, so high, so wide,
Take me with you o’er the tide.
I'll trade my voice, I’ll trade my tune,
Just let me lie in love with the moon.
She spoke to him soft through the hush of the trees,
With lips full of longing and songs on the breeze.
The moon never answered, just shimmered above,
But her heart lit afire with a dreamer’s love.
Oh silver moon, so high, so wide,
Take me with you o’er the tide.
I'll trade my breath, I’ll trade my tune,
Just let me lie in love with the moon.
The villagers whispered, “She’s lost her mind,”
But the maiden just smiled, sweet, gentle, and kind.
For each night she danced in the glow’s silver sweep,
While the world fell away and she drifted to sleep.
Then one cold morning, the maiden was gone,
No trace in the meadow, no print on the lawn.
But when the moon rises, bright over the lea,
A shadow still dances beneath the old tree.
Oh silver moon, so high, so wide,
She walks with you now, on the other side.
You took her heart, you took it soon,
The maiden who fell in love with the moon.
“Do you think… there’s a heaven for people like us?
” Finn whispered at last, his voice so thin and brittle it almost broke apart in the air.
He lay trembling in my arms, every breath a battle.
His skin still burned beneath my fingertips, damp with sweat and fever.
I dipped the cloth again into the water and pressed it gently to his brow, blinking through the blur of tears.
“Of course there is,” I choked, trying—failing—to smile. My voice trembled with the effort to stay strong for him, though the truth was, I was falling apart.
His lips parted, cracked and dry. “What… do you think it’s like?”
I paused, pressing my cheek to his forehead. “I think it’s a place where no one goes hungry. Where you don’t have to steal or hide or run. There’s food—so much food, more than we’ve ever dreamed of. Pies and roasted meat, berries sweet as honey, bread warm from the oven.”
He gave a faint huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Sounds… like a dream.”
“There’s more,” I whispered, brushing his matted hair away from his face. “There are soft beds, and warm fires. Books stacked to the ceiling. Rain that smells clean, not like smoke. Stars so close you could reach up and touch them.”
Finn’s breathing grew shallower. His eyes fluttered closed, but he wasn’t asleep. Not yet. “Will you… be there?”
My throat tightened. “I’ll find you,” I said. “No matter where they send us—I’ll find you, Finn.”
He gave a tiny nod against my arm. “Good. Couldn’t stand it without you.”
And then he went still again, his breath barely stirring the air. I held him tighter, as if I could anchor him to this world with nothing but my will.
“I’m right here,” I murmured into the silence. “I’m not letting go.”
I don’t know how long we sat there.
Time had splintered into something shapeless and cruel, measured only by the ragged rhythm of Finn’s breathing. He hadn’t spoken in what felt like hours, but his heartbeat still pulsed faintly beneath my hand. Weak, but there. Steady enough to hold on to. He wasn’t lost to me yet.
Then the air shifted.
I felt it before I heard anything—the tension, the weight. Like thunder rolling low across the sky. Something ancient and implacable pressed against the walls of the room, warning me in silence.
They were here. It was too late.
They had come for me.
I didn't need to see them to know. The atmosphere itself had curdled, thick with purpose and power. A storm was gathering behind the door, and I was caught in the eye of it.
There was nowhere to run. No clever escape. No shadows deep enough to swallow me this time. All I could do was curl tighter around Finn’s limp body, wrapping him in my arms as if I could shield him from gods and monsters alike.
I whispered a prayer—not to any god I knew, but to the memory of love, to the stars overhead, to the quiet that used to mean peace. I prayed that if they took me, they would leave him. Just let him live.
The door creaked open, slow and deliberate.
I didn’t look up when the heavy boots stepped inside. I didn’t flinch when the floorboards groaned under their weight. I was past fear now. Past rage. I was hollow. Bone-deep weary. A vessel cracked and drained.
I felt him before I heard his voice. His presence was like an icy breeze on a summer’s day. I shivered at the cold. It was him.
The mind raper
Thorne.
I could feel his eyes on me. On Finn. On the broken, desperate little scene we made on the floor of that forgotten shelter. His presence didn’t ignite panic the way it used to—it was quieter now, more complicated.
Still, I didn’t lift my head. I didn’t have the strength. If this was the end, I’d face it with Finn in my arms. The useless, scattered medicines now scrambled at my feet.
He took a step toward me. I threw out my hand, and shadows surged from my palm, forming a jagged wall between us. A barrier. A warning.
“Stop,” I whispered, barely able to breathe.
He paused, watching the dark tendrils flicker and twist like living things—born from pain, from fear, from whatever was left of my strength.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said again, softer this time.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. A short, cracked sound that tasted like salt and steel. Desperate. Bitter.
“I guess I’m safe, then,” I murmured, my voice thick with grief. My arms tightened protectively around Finn’s limp form.
The four of them exchanged a glance. Uneasy. Hesitant. Like they weren’t quite sure how to handle me.
Thorne’s eyes lingered. Cold, green, unreadable. “You know why we’re here.”
I met his gaze head-on, all the fury and fear bubbling up into my glare. His jaw ticked. Something in his expression shifted—darker, harder—as if my defiance tugged on something in him.
“And what if I don’t go?” I asked quietly.
“You don’t have a choice, little shadow” he replied, voice like stone.
“Don’t I?” I countered, lifting my chin. Shadows stirred faintly at my back, a quiet warning. I pulled Finn closer, pressing my cheek to his damp hair. His skin was growing too cold. My heart pounded with the weight of him.
Thorne stepped forward. Just a fraction.
My wall of shadows raged higher.
“You can’t stay like that forever.” Thorne said, stepping forward.
I laughed again—sharp and bitter. “Maybe not. Maybe I’ll die here. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”
“You don’t want that,” Leo said gently, stepping closer. His golden eyes flicked to Finn, then back to me.
“I don’t want to be caged like a rat,” I spat. “Locked in one of your little torture cells, drugged and chained. Death would be preferable to that.”
The men exchanged a glance. Unspoken words passed between them—some silent calculation. Phoenix stepped forward, eyes steady on mine. “We can keep you safe. Maybe even help your friend.”
“You mean kill him,” I snapped.
“No,” Leo said firmly. “I promise.”
“A promise from a Shade?” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
Phoenix didn’t flinch. “What’s your name?”
That threw me. My breath caught. “…Why?”
“I just want to know what to call you,” he said quietly. Another step. Closer.
My shadows whipped out in warning, black tendrils lashing at the air. But my limbs were trembling now. The strain was catching up with me. My hold on the dark was slipping.
“Elira,” I rasped.
Phoenix smiled. It was small, cautious. “Elira. That’s a nice name.”
I tried to snort, but it came out as a breathless gasp. My arms shook. My knees buckled. I was unravelling, thread by thread.
“You can let go, Elira,” Phoenix said, his voice strangely soft. “We won’t hurt you.”
I wanted to scream at him, to curse him, to fight. But I didn’t. Because, deep down, I wasn’t afraid. And that terrified me more than anything.
Because I knew I was caught. Surrounded. Out of time.
Now it came down to this—leave with dignity, or be dragged.
The shadows flickered once more—then snapped out of existence.
And with them, I fell.