Help me.Her eyes begged it. Screamed it.HELP ME!
“I’m trying—!” I rasped. “I’m trying!”
And then something—spike, shadow, metal—punched through her chest from behind.
Her back arched. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.
And she fell.
Dead.
I screamed.
I screamed like my soul was being torn in half.
The chains shattered—
And I hit stone.
Hard.
Reality returned like a slap. I was back in the throne room on my knees.
Gasping. Shaking. Broken.
Allison sat in her chair, tears streaked down her face.
Blood trickled from her nose, her ears. Her lips trembled.
She was hurting. Hurtingbecause of me.
And Ashton?
He stood just off to the side, his arms folded, his expression calm.
And he was smiling.
Like he'd just watched a dog finally learn it couldn't run past its leash.
I curled my fingers tighter against the floor.
The only thing keeping me upright was the cold.
The sharp, steady bite of it. It grounded me, kept me from floating away into whatever fractured place Allison had just dragged me through.
My gaze shifted—unwillingly, unavoidably—to her.
Allison sat slumped in her chair like a broken marionette, blood streaking from her nose, her lips pale and trembling. She looked hollow—spent—as if conjuring that nightmare had cost her the last piece of whatever was left inside.
Ashton’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and final.
“Now, Thorne. I will give you one chance to redeem yourself.”
He stepped forward, gaze cold. “Find whoever broke my wards for the girl. And end them.”
He paused, just long enough to let the weight of it settle.
“Or that nightmare?” He smiled. Slow.
