Page 56 of Dark Elf Makes Five

Zerion's command carries absolute authority even as rain streams from his silver hair. "Leave no stone unturned. Find those children."

The assembled group disperses immediately, spreading across the grounds like hunting hounds released from their leash. I watch them disappear into the storm's gray chaos as Zerion strides toward the manor with determined steps, my protests lost in the thunder's endless rumble.

The covered porch feels like a cage as Zerion sets me down, his hands remaining firm on my shoulders to prevent another escape attempt. Water drips from my soaked hair onto the stone floor, creating small puddles that reflect the lamplight streaming from the manor's windows.

"What in the abyss were you thinking, running into a storm like that?"

His pale eyes blaze with fury as he towers over me, rain still streaming from his silver hair. The controlled mask he usually wears has cracked, revealing something raw and dangerous beneath.

"I was thinking about my little siblings!"

The words explode from me, causing him to step back. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, my waterlogged dress clinging to my skin like a second layer of ice.

"I was thinking about how no one can find them, and they're out there somewhere in this storm, probably terrified and alone!"

My voice breaks apart on the last word, but I refuse to let the tears fall. Not now. Not when they need me to be strong.

"So you decided to stumble around blindly in weather that could kill you?" Zerion's tone carries the sharp edge of someone barely restraining himself from shaking sense into me. "What good would you be to them dead?"

"Better than standing here doing nothing while they're missing!"

I lunge toward the garden steps again, but his arm shoots out to block my path. The solid wall of his forearm stops me as effectively as an iron bar.

"I'm going to look for them, Zerion. You can't stop me."

"You will do no such thing."

The words crack like a whip, carrying absolute authority that makes the air between us thrum with tension. His eyes narrow to grey slits as he steps closer, using his height to emphasize the command.

"You will remain here where it's safe while my guards conduct a proper search."

"Safe?" I laugh, the sound bitter and sharp enough to cut glass. "Safe while my family disappears? Safe while three children who depend on me are gods know where?"

"They are not your responsibility alone anymore⁠—"

"They are my responsibility! They've been my responsibility since our parents died, and I won't abandon them now because some storm makes you nervous!"

The wind howls around the porch's supports, sending fresh sprays of rain across the stone floor. In the distance, I can hear voices calling through the storm—guards searching the grounds with methodical precision.

"Your reckless heroics will accomplish nothing except getting yourself killed."

Zerion's voice drops to that dangerous quiet that usually precedes violence. "I will not watch you throw your life away on a foolish⁠—"

Heavy boots pound against the stone steps, cutting through our argument like a blade. A guard emerges from the storm's gray chaos, his armor streaming with water and his face grim with purpose. He clutches something dark in his gloved fist.

"My lord!"

The man's voice carries urgency that makes ice form in my veins. He stumbles up the final step, breathing hard from whatever sprint brought him here through the storm.

As he draws closer, lamplight illuminates the object in his hand. The leather is scuffed and worn, with familiar scratches along the toe and a distinctive patch where Lysa mended a tear with careful stitches.

Bran's shoe.

The sound that escapes my throat belongs to some wounded animal—raw, broken, inhuman. My knees buckle as though someone has severed the strings holding me upright, and I crumple toward the stone floor like a marionette with cut strings.

They're gone.

My family has been taken.