Phoenix sat at the far end of the couch, a book balanced in one hand—but he wasn’t reading. Not really. His gaze flicked up to me more often than the page, as if sensing something shifting. Something he couldn’t quite name.
When I pulled out the wine, none of them blinked. I measured everything carefully—my glass first, then theirs.
They didn’t even notice.
And I felt like a monster.
Because you are one.
Then there was a knock.
The door creaked open, and Thorne stepped inside without waiting for an answer. In the shadows of the hallway, he looked like an interloper.
His eyes swept the room, taking in the scene—the three of his brothers resting near the fire, me curled up in the centre of it all like some kind of anchor.
I met his gaze.
But he didn’t step closer. I was glad.
Could he read my thought from there?
If he could, he didn’t show it. Instead, he just stood there uncertainly. He stayed near the door, one hand braced on the frame like he was debating whether to say anything at all.
“Just checking in,” he said finally. “You’re not on the board for training tomorrow, so... sleep in.” His voice was flat. Guarded. Like the words had been rehearsed.
“Fine,” I clipped out.
The others exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the room, but said nothing.
“Everything ok, Thorne?” Phoenix asked finally.
Thorne just kept his eyes on me. “Everything’s fine.” He snapped.
“You can go now.” I replied, my voice cold.
He nodded once and lingered for a beat too long before stepping back into the hall and closing the door behind him.
He left like he’d forgotten how to be one of us. Or maybe he never was.
**
Hours later, the Tower was asleep.
Even the stones seemed to breathe softer in the dark.
The nightshade had done its job quickly.
It was time to go. I dressed quickly and carefully, tightening my weapons around my body in the darkness. When I picked up the dagger Thorne had bought me, I held it in my hands for a moment. It weighted my hands like it belonged there. I ran my fingers over the handle with reverence and sighed.
It still felt like mine.
So, I strapped that on to.
At least this way, I had something to remember them by.
I pulled on a pair of black fighting pants, boots and a black shirt. A woollen jumper that was a few sizes too big, so it hung low to my knees.
I didn’t take everything. Most of my clothes I just left, neatly folded on the bed. I couldn’t take much more than what I was wearing.
