Thorne leaned heavily against the barrel, the weight of Jonah’s command pressing down on him. He felt the sharpness of Darius’s glare, cutting deep. Jonah’s calm but unyielding tone made it clear that evasion wasn’t an option. Not entirely.

  The silence stretched as Thorne tried to gather his thoughts. He straightened, his eyes shifting between the two of them. Darius’s barely contained fury and Jonah’s quiet intensity painted a clear picture: they deserved answers, but how much could he afford to give?

  “I’m…” Thorne hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He glanced at Ben’s pale, motionless form on the table before meeting Jonah’s gaze. “I have abilities. Aetheric ones.”

  Darius scoffed, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “Yeah, no kidding. Try telling us something we don’t already know.”

  Thorne shot him a warning look, but his voice stayed calm. “I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. And yes, I’ve kept them a secret. For good reason.”

  Jonah tilted his head, his expression unreadable but intent. “You’re saying this isn’t new? That this… glow of yours, these powers, they’ve always been there?”

  “Not like this.” Thorne gestured vaguely to himself, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as he tried to rein in his emotions. “It’s been changing. Evolving, I guess. But the truth is, it’s dangerous for people to know.”

  “Dangerous for who?” Darius shot back, his voice sharp. “For you? For us? Or for the people who’ll come looking for you?”

  Thorne’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay composed. “For everyone. If the wrong people found out, they’d stop at nothing to take it. To take me.” His voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping in. “Do you think Uncle kept me around all these years because he liked my company?”

  Jonah’s brows furrowed at that, concern flickering across his face. Darius, however, didn’t back down. “So, what? You’re saying the aether stuff, the way you ripped those guys apart, it’s because of some secret power you’ve been hiding all this time?”

  “Yes,” Thorne admitted, meeting Darius’s gaze head-on. “I’ve trained to keep it hidden, to control it. But I didn’t have a choice tonight. I wasn’t going to let them kill Jonah. Or Ben.”

  “And now everyone who was in that warehouse is dead,” Darius snapped. “What happens when someone finds out what you did? When more of those ‘wrong people’ you’re so afraid of show up?”

  “That’s why I’ve been careful,” Thorne retorted, his voice hardening. “I didn’t ask for this, Darius. Do you think I wanted to live my life constantly looking over my shoulder?”

  Jonah cleared his throat, stepping between them slightly, his tone calm but firm. “Enough. We’re not going to get anywhere if you’re at each other’s throats.”

  Thorne turned to Jonah, who was watching him with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. “You’re asking us to keep this secret, but why tell us now? Why tonight?”

  Thorne hesitated, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Because I trust you,” he said finally, his voice soft. “You’re my friends. The only real ones I have left. But that doesn’t mean I can tell you everything. And Ben only knows because...”

  Darius’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “Ben,” Jonah repeated, gesturing to their unconscious friend. “He’s known about this?”

  Thorne hesitated, then nodded slowly. “He figured it out years ago. He saw something I couldn’t explain, and he didn’t push for details. He just… kept my secret. Like I hope you will.”

  Jonah studied Thorne carefully before finally sighing. “Ben’s smarter than the rest of us combined. If he thought you were worth protecting, I suppose that says something.”

  Darius’s expression softened, but only slightly. “You could’ve told us,” he muttered, his voice tinged with hurt.

  Jonah raised an eyebrow. “The rest of us weren’t worth telling?”

  Thorne sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t about worth, Jonah. It was about keeping you safe. All of you.”

  Darius muttered something under his breath, his shoulders stiff with tension. “You should’ve trusted us,” he said finally, his voice heavy with emotion. “We’ve been through hell together, Thorne. I thought we were brothers.”

  “We are,” Thorne said quickly, his voice softening. “I swear, Darius. I never meant to hurt you. But this… It’s not something I could share. Not with anyone.”

  For a moment, the room was silent, the tension thick and suffocating. Then Jonah cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

  “Well,” he said, his voice light despite the weight of the conversation. “I guess that explains why you always won at hide-and-seek. Not fair, by the way.”

  Thorne blinked, caught off guard, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Even Darius let out a short, grudging laugh, though he quickly masked it with a cough.

  “Typical Jonah,” Darius muttered, shaking his head.

  “What? Humor is how I cope,” Jonah said defensively, crossing his arms.

  The tension in the room eased slightly, the weight of the revelation still present but no longer suffocating. Thorne straightened, meeting their gazes one by one. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “For not telling you. For keeping this from you. But I need you to trust me now.”

  He leaned back against the barrel, his head tilted toward the ceiling, trying to process the weight of the moment.

  Darius sat on a chair with a heavy sigh, exhaustion and frustration etched on his face. “Jonah, get something to drink. I think we all need it.”

  Jonah snorted. “What do I look like, your tavern wench?” he grumbled, but he got up and rummaged through the shelves. A moment later, he let out an indignant shout. “Who drank this?”

  Thorne smirked faintly, raising a hand. “Ben and I. Earlier.”

  Jonah shot him an annoyed glare. “Figures. The one time I save something decent, and you two decide to have a private party.” He sighed dramatically but retrieved another, far dustier bottle from the back. “I hope this one’s strong enough to make me forget tonight.”

  The three of them sat around the table, the tension from earlier still lingering but softened by the shared drink. Jonah poured generously, and Darius wasted no time downing half his glass in one go.

  “So,” Darius said, setting his glass down with a thud. “You gonna tell us everything now? Or are we still playing the ‘Thorne has secrets’ game?”

  Thorne’s smile was faint but genuine. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Jonah leaned back, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “Well, this should be good.”

  Thorne hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he began. “You know about my sister, Bea.”

  Both men nodded, their expressions somber.

  “She was taken when I was a kid. Along with my mother’s body, after they…” He trailed off, his voice tightening. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out what happened to her. Every lead, every clue, it always pointed to one place. Aetherhold.”

  Jonah’s brow furrowed. “The magical academy?”

  Thorne nodded. “It’s more than a school. They research aetheric beings there. Elder Races. People like me.”

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  Darius leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Wait. You think Bea’s there? After all these years?”

  “I don’t know,” Thorne admitted. “But it’s the only lead I’ve got. I can’t ignore it.”

  Jonah tapped the rim of his glass, his expression unusually serious. “And Uncle? He’s known about your powers this whole time?”

  “I think so,” Thorne said bitterly. “He’s kept me close for a reason. Maybe he saw potential, or maybe it was just control. Either way, I’ve been his pawn for years.”

  Darius frowned deeply, his shoulders tense. “So that’s why you’re leaving? To find her?”

  Thorne nodded, his gaze distant. “I have to know what happened to her. If there’s even a chance she’s still alive…”

  Jonah whistled low, breaking the heavy silence. “Aetherhold, huh? That’s a hell of a move, Thorne. You sure about this?”

  “I’m not sure about anything,” Thorne said quietly. “But I can’t stay here. Not with Uncle breathing down my neck. Not with the city like this.”

  Darius’s voice wavered, the tension in his expression replaced by a pained look. “Do you really have to leave?”

  Thorne met his friend’s gaze, his smile tinged with sadness. “I do, Darius. I wish I didn’t. But I can’t let this go. I need answers.”

  Darius’s jaw clenched, but he nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But you better come back. And you’d better not die.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Thorne said with a faint grin. “But I need you to promise me something. Don’t tell anyone about this. Not a soul. If Uncle finds out…”

  Jonah and Darius exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison.

  “You’ve got our word,” Jonah said firmly.

  A soft groan interrupted the moment, and all three turned toward the table where Ben lay. His fingers twitched, and his eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused.

  Thorne was the first to move, leaning over his friend with a worried expression. “Ben? Can you hear me?”

  Ben blinked slowly, his lips moving soundlessly.

  “He’s alright,” Jonah said, relief flooding his voice. “Give him a minute.”

  Thorne stayed by Ben’s side, watching as the young man’s breathing steadied. Once he was sure Ben was stable, he straightened and turned back to his friends.

  “I need to go,” he said abruptly, his voice firm.

  Darius frowned. “At this hour? Where are you even going?”

  Thorne’s lips curled into a grim smile. “To clean up the mess.”

  Jonah raised an eyebrow. “Mess?”

  “The bodies,” Thorne said simply, his tone cold. “We can’t leave them there. Someone might find them.”

  Jonah whistled low, his humor returning despite the situation. “You know, Thorne, you really know how to liven up an evening.”

  Thorne snorted softly but didn’t respond. He cast one last glance at Ben, his expression softening, before heading toward the door.

  “Be careful,” Darius called after him, his voice gruff.

  Thorne paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Always.” Then he slipped into the night, the door clicking shut behind him.

  *

  The morning sun filtered through the cracks in the kitchen shutters, casting soft golden streaks across the worn wooden table. Thorne sat slouched, his hair still damp from a quick wash, chewing mechanically on a slice of crusty bread. Beside him, a bowl of porridge steamed, half-forgotten. His thoughts wandered to the night before, to the catacombs, and the grim task he had completed.

  Rafe and his friends would never torment anyone again. Now, they would serve as training tools for the recruits who braved the shadowy underworld of the Lost Ones. Thorne smirked darkly at the thought, though a pang of guilt lingered at the edges of his mind. He shoved it away with another mouthful of bread.

  “Awfully early, young master,” Matilda chirped as she bustled around the kitchen. Her gray curls bobbed as she moved, gathering ingredients and fussing over a pot on the stove. “Something on your mind?”

  Thorne grunted noncommittally, too tired to engage.

  Matilda wasn’t deterred. She set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him and wiped her hands on her apron, her sharp eyes scanning his face. “You’re anxious, aren’t you?”

  “Anxious?” Thorne repeated, frowning around a mouthful of bread. “About what?”

  Matilda waggled her eyebrows knowingly, her tone turning conspiratorial. “Don’t play coy with me, young master. I heard whispers.”

  Thorne blinked, his mind still sluggish from exhaustion. “Whispers about what?”

  “About you,” Matilda said with a teasing grin. “And young lady Ravencourt.”

  He froze mid-chew, his brow furrowing as he tried to process her words. Then his eyes widened. “Oh.” The muffled exclamation escaped before he swallowed hurriedly. “Oh! The party!”

  Matilda nodded sagely, placing a cup of tea beside him. “I suppose it’s natural to be nervous. She is a beauty, and from a powerful family to boot.”

  “I’d completely forgotten,” Thorne muttered, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. Of course he had. With the chaos of the past day, the fight, the revelations, and his friends... It had slipped entirely from his mind.

  Matilda chuckled, misinterpreting his reaction. “That smitten, are we? Don’t worry, young master. You’ve got charm enough when you’re not brooding.”

  Thorne gave her a flat look, his appetite wavering. “It’s not like that.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, unconvinced, returning to the stove. “Well, you’d better make an impression. Ravencourts don’t throw parties lightly, you know. It’s a rare opportunity for alliances, favors…” She cast him a sidelong glance. “And romance.”

  Thorne sighed, pushing his plate away. “It’s not about romance, Matilda.”

  “Whatever you say,” she replied airily. “But if you don’t want to look a fool in front of her, I suggest you finish your breakfast and get some rest. You look like you’ve been dragged through the dirt.”

  He gave her a faint, grateful smile. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”

  Matilda waved him off with a laugh, the kitchen filling with the comforting sound of sizzling bacon.

  Thorne leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The party. Another performance. Another game to play. And somewhere in the shadows, Uncle’s influence would be waiting, twisting every interaction, every move.

  For now, though, he allowed himself a moment of quiet, the warmth of the kitchen and Matilda’s teasing chatter a small reprieve from the storm ahead.

  *

  He slept for the rest of the day, only to be awakened by Jory when it was time to get ready for the party. Thorne barely stirred as Jory bustled around, lighting the lamps and opening the wardrobe.

  “It’s time, young master,” Jory said softly, a mix of apology and urgency in his voice.

  Thorne groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. But there was no escape. He knew better than to defy the watchful eyes that would soon follow.

  Jory, with Arletta’s commanding presence soon looming at the door, wasted no time. Thorne was bathed, dressed, and groomed under her meticulous supervision. The air was heavy with lavender and mint, the scents from the soaps lingering as Jory combed through his hair.

  “You could stand to lose the sulk,” Arletta said dryly, her sharp gaze assessing him from head to toe. “You’re representing the house tonight. Act the part.”

  When at last they were satisfied, Arletta stepped back and gave a sharp nod of approval. “Go find your Uncle. He’s waiting to brief you.”

  Thorne sighed in defeat, though a small ember of comfort flickered inside him. It would all end soon. He wouldn’t have to see that man again, not for much longer.

  The thought carried him to the living room, where he found Uncle in his usual spot. He was seated in a plush armchair, a goblet in one hand, the other scribbling notes in his ever-present small ledger. Thorne had often wondered what secrets were written in that little book, what calculations dictated their every move.

  Uncle’s eyes flicked up as Thorne entered. His gaze swept over him, appraising, though their eyes never truly met. When satisfied, he gave a curt nod and returned to his notes.

  “Your mission is simple,” Uncle began without preamble. His tone was clipped, efficient. “Observe and listen.”

  Thorne nodded. That much was easy enough; he would have done it regardless.

  “I want to know Lord Ravencourt’s allies,” Uncle continued, his eyes darting across the room, never landing on Thorne. “How devoted are they? Can they be swayed? Any future schemes you overhear are, of course, welcome.”

  Thorne’s teeth ground together, his patience fraying. Uncle’s deliberate avoidance was infuriating. Still, he held his tongue, waiting silently for further instructions.

  When none came, Thorne finally asked, “Is there anything else, or am I excused?”

  Uncle didn’t respond, his eyes glued to his ledger as if Thorne had already left. Annoyance bubbled beneath Thorne’s carefully maintained mask. He took a step back, assuming the silence was his dismissal.

  But Uncle raised a hand, halting him. “One more thing,” he said, his voice measured.

  Thorne waited, his irritation mounting.

  “I want you to be charming,” Uncle said, letting the words hang in the air.

  Thorne frowned, unsure where this was heading. “Okay,” he replied uncertainly.

  Uncle’s lips curled into a smirk. “Particularly toward young Lady Ravencourt.”

  Thorne’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

  “I want you to charm her,” Uncle said, his tone almost conversational. “Charm her enough to bed her.”

  Thorne froze. He surely hadn’t heard that right.

  “What?” he exclaimed, his voice louder than he intended.

  Uncle finally looked at him, his expression calm, calculated, and utterly devoid of shame. “I want you to sleep with her and ensure someone catches you in the act.”

  Thorne’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

  Uncle’s smirk widened. “It would be an incredible bargaining chip, a backup plan, in case our negotiations with Thornfield falter. A scandal like that would give us leverage over the Ravencourts. They’d have no choice but to cooperate.”

  For a moment, Thorne could only stare, words eluding him.

  “You’re insane,” he muttered at last, his voice low and dangerous.

  “Am I?” Uncle asked, his tone light, as if they were discussing the weather. “I’m simply playing the game.”

  Uncle chuckled, raising his goblet as if in a toast. “You’ll do as you’re told, boy. You always do.”

  For a moment, Thorne’s vision swam with red, the aether humming faintly beneath his skin. But then a simple word escaped his lips.

  “No.”

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