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. Hispresence 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 mycheek 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.
