Chapter 164

  Thorne’s focus had been so consumed by the oppressive aura of the mysterious man that he almost didn’t notice the shift beside him. The wrongness hit him like a delayed wave, sending a chill skittering down his spine.

  Eliza had gone completely still.

  He turned, his heightened senses on high alert, and froze. The sharp glint of daggers in her hands caught the faint shafts of light piercing through the room. Her knuckles were white against the grips, her arms steady. Too steady.

  “Eliza?” he said cautiously, his voice a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile calm.

  Then he saw her face.

  A single tear trailed down her cheek, catching the dim light before disappearing against her dark cloak. It wasn’t the tear that froze his breath in his chest; it was her expression.

  Her face was blank, eerily blank. No trace of the grief he’d expected, no trace of the anger or confusion that would have matched the chaotic situation. She was empty, stone-like.

  “Eliza,” he repeated, this time sharper, more insistent.

  She moved.

  Faster than he anticipated, a blur of black cloak and flashing steel. She slammed into him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs, and he hit the cold stone floor hard. His head cracked against it, sending stars dancing across his vision.

  “Eliza! What...”

  His hands instinctively went for hers, but her fingers jabbed sharply at the base of his skull, and before the words left his mouth, he felt it.

  A sharp, invasive spike of pressure lanced through him, followed by the disorienting, numbing sensation of a skill activating.

  Paralysis.

  A cruel, efficient move.

  Thorne’s body went limp, the connection between his mind and his muscles severed. His arms twitched, his legs spasmed once, but he was helpless, a prisoner in his own body. Panic surged as his mind screamed at him to move, to stop her.

  “Eliza, no!” he tried to shout, but his lips wouldn’t move. His voice was trapped, just like the rest of him.

  All he could do was watch as she stood, her cloak swirling behind her. The daggers gleamed in her hands, and her movements were silent, precise, deadly. She was already moving before his blurred vision could fully track her.

  Damn it! Move!

  He cursed inwardly, his thoughts a frantic storm. He counted the seconds, every one of them an eternity of helplessness. willing his body to shake off the effects of the skill. His fingers twitched once, then again.

  Come on. Come on.

  The oppressive weight of the skill started to lift, but his frustration burned hotter with every tick of time wasted.

  Aether flared at the edges of his awareness, tempting him. He could use it, unleash a surge to break free of her skill’s hold. One burst, just enough to break free. But the memory of the man’s overwhelming aura slammed into his thoughts like a hammer. If he used aether now, the man would notice. There was no doubt in his mind. He couldn’t risk it.

  If he notices, we’re both dead.

  Seconds crawled by like hours. His muscles burned with the effort to respond, but still, he couldn’t move. Finally, the paralysis broke like a snapped chain. His body unlocked all at once in a sudden, painful release and he scrambled to his feet with a guttural gasp. His limbs felt heavy, sluggish, but he forced himself to move.

  Thorne sprang to his feet and he cast one fleeting glance at Jareth’s lifeless form. The sight was a blow to his chest. He muttered a brief goodbye under his breath. I’ll make it right. Somehow.

  Then he ran.

  “Eliza,” he hissed under his breath, his voice laced with desperation. But she was gone.

  The stairs blurred as he descended, his boots barely skimming the stone steps. The moment his feet hit solid ground, he activated his Tracking skill.

  The faint traces of her path glimmered into view, a trail of disturbed dust, faint imprints on the carpets, even a scuff against the wall where she’d likely steadied herself mid-turn.

  Skill level up: Tracking!

  The notification flashed in his mind, but he ignored it. His focus was razor-sharp, his thoughts honed to a single objective: find Eliza before it was too late.

  He crossed the dim room in a blur, shoving open the door into the corridor beyond. The lord’s meeting room door hung ajar, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. He glimpsed blood staining the threshold. Jareth’s blood.

  Normally, he would have stopped to deal with the evidence, to erase any sign of their presence. But Eliza’s face haunted him. The tear, the emptiness, the knives. She was a danger to herself, to him, to everything.

  She could get herself killed or worse, expose us all.

  Her steps led him through the estate in a frantic chase. The twisting corridors, the lavish rooms, the muted light, all of it blurred together as he ran. He didn’t bother hiding his presence; he didn’t have time for subtlety.

  Every turn, every step brought him closer to her but also closer to something else.

  That oppressive aura.

  It was ahead of him, a looming specter of power that made his stomach churn. The man was moving, and the threads of his presence seemed to stretch through the walls, suffocating and vast.

  Thorne’s heart raced, his dread building with every moment.

  I have to reach her first.

  Thorne’s pulse thundered in his ears as he sprinted through the labyrinthine corridors of the Ravencourt estate, his tracking skill guiding him like an unseen thread. Eliza’s steps were erratic, her usual precision and skill giving way to a frantic, desperate flight. What are you thinking, Eliza? he wondered, dread pooling in his stomach.

  His mind raced as he pushed himself harder. She’s reckless, not suicidal... right? But the single tear he’d seen slide down her cheek haunted him. It wasn’t grief, it was something else. Resignation? Determination? He didn’t know, and that made it worse.

  The corridors blurred as his focus narrowed. His Tracking skill highlighted faint smudges of dust on the polished floors and the slightest disturbances in the rugs, clear signs of her passing. He ignored the occasional sideways glances from startled servants who quickly ducked out of sight.

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  Eliza was close. Too close to the man from the capital.

  Thorne’s chest tightened at the oppressive aura that pulsed faintly through the estate, growing stronger with each step he took. It was a pressure that seemed to compress the very air, making it harder to breathe. He had been focused on Eliza, but now his senses screamed a warning, he was heading straight for the man. His mind screamed at him to stop, to retreat, but his legs refused to obey.

  He rounded a corner and froze.

  The hallway ahead was deathly quiet, the flickering lanterns casting long, jagged shadows that danced on the walls. Eliza’s tracks led straight down the corridor, but they stopped abruptly, as though she had vanished into thin air. Thorne’s eyes darted around, his enhanced vision and Tracking skill working in tandem. His breath caught when he saw it.

  A trail of blood.

  It was faint, barely a few drops, but they led toward a side passage, hidden behind a tapestry. His heart sank further. The tapestry was ever so slightly askew, the corner fluttering faintly as though recently disturbed. He could feel it now, the man’s oppressive aura was stronger here, almost suffocating.

  Thorne hesitated, his instincts warring within him. He was trained to be cautious, to analyze, to avoid unnecessary risks. But Eliza was in there. And she was running headlong into a monster.

  Taking a steadying breath, he approached the hidden passage, sliding the tapestry aside with trembling fingers. A cold draft met him, along with the sound of muffled footsteps echoing down a narrow, dimly lit staircase. With his Veil Sense, he scanned the area and detected Eliza descending rapidly, her silhouette a faint shimmer against the gloom.

  And beyond her, further down the staircase, he could feel the man.

  Thorne’s grip on his dagger tightened. His thoughts spun wildly. What do I do? Do I pull her back? Confront her? Let her keep going and risk her dying or worse, exposing us both?

  “Eliza,” he hissed under his breath, his voice barely audible. She didn’t slow.

  Thorne took a step forward, the cold stone of the staircase pressing against his boots. He knew he was stepping into danger, danger he couldn’t predict or control. But leaving her alone wasn’t an option. He pushed down the rising panic and descended after her, each step drawing him closer to an encounter he wasn’t ready for.

  The man’s aura loomed like a storm cloud at the bottom of the stairs, an overwhelming presence that threatened to crush him under its weight. Eliza was a flickering shadow ahead, her form barely visible now as she moved with grim purpose.

  “Eliza, stop!” he whispered again, this time with more force.

  Her head snapped around, her face pale and eyes wide. For a fleeting moment, Thorne thought she would listen. But then she shook her head, her lips mouthing two words he couldn’t hear but understood perfectly.

  “Stay back.”

  Eliza’s form was barely a shadow against the faint light seeping through the stone walls of the narrow staircase. Her refusal to stop only deepened Thorne’s sense of urgency. His heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip on his dagger, his other hand brushing against the cold, damp wall for balance.

  Her mouthed words had been clear. Stay back.

  But how could he?

  Thorne descended another step, slower this time, his Veil Sense expanding to encompass the passage ahead. The oppressive aura of the mysterious man pressed against his senses like a vice, making his skin crawl. He could feel every ripple of power radiating from the bottom of the staircase. The sheer weight of it made him want to turn and run, every instinct screaming at him to retreat.

  She doesn’t stand a chance. None of us do.

  “Eliza,” he hissed again, trying to pierce through her resolve. “You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

  Her silhouette paused briefly, just a few steps ahead. Her head turned slightly, as if she were considering his words. Then, without a sound, she continued downward.

  Thorne cursed silently. His Tracking skill kept her path vivid in his mind, but the oppressive aura beyond her was like a black hole, consuming all rational thought. Think, Thorne. Think.

  His jaw tightened, and in a split-second decision, he weighed his dagger briefly in his hand and aimed for her leg.

  The blade sailed through the air with a faint whistle and struck true, slicing into her calf. Eliza stumbled with a sharp intake of breath, her momentum faltering as she fell to one knee.

  She spun toward him, her face a mask of fury, but the blankness in her eyes had cracked, letting emotion seep through. Her lips trembled as she struggled to push herself back up.

  “Stay back!” she spat, her voice breaking.

  “Eliza, listen to me!” Thorne barked, his tone cutting through her defiance. He slowed as he neared her, his hands raised in placation. “You can’t do this. Not here, not now!”

  Her fingers brushed over the hilt of a dagger at her waist, but she didn’t draw it. Thorne took that as a good sign and pressed on.

  “That man, he’s not someone you can fight, not someone you can outwit or outpace. You saw what he did to Jareth!”

  At the mention of Jareth’s name, Eliza’s expression crumbled, and for the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

  “Think, Eliza,” Thorne urged, his voice softening as he crouched before her, his own panic tempered by the need to calm her. “You’re hurt, and you’re angry, I get it. But this isn’t the way. If you go after him, you’ll die. And it won’t change what happened to Jareth.”

  Her breath hitched, her hand falling limply to her side. The tension drained from her body, and she looked down at the dagger wound on her calf as if seeing it for the first time.

  Thorne let out a shaky breath of relief, gently gripping her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She nodded faintly, her head dipping. For a moment, silence fell between them, broken only by their ragged breathing.

  Then Thorne froze.

  The oppressive aura he had been tracking... it was gone.

  A chill crept down his spine as dread clawed at the edges of his mind. He whipped his head around, his tracking skill flaring to life, but there was nothing. No sign of the man’s overwhelming presence.

  “Something’s wrong,” Thorne muttered, helping Eliza to her feet. “I can’t feel him anymore.”

  Eliza looked at him sharply, her confusion morphing into alarm.

  Before Thorne could say more, a low chuckle echoed through the corridor.

  Both of them whirled around, weapons drawn, their bodies tense.

  The man stood lounging against the wall a few paces away, his arms crossed casually over his chest and an eyebrow arched in mock amusement.

  “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice as smooth as silk but dripping with menace. “Isn’t this a touching little moment?”

  Eliza shifted slightly behind Thorne, her breathing sharp and uneven. Thorne felt her tension like a taut string at his back, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man. He didn’t dare.

  The man pushed off the wall, his movements deliberate, and started a slow circle, his boots silent on the stone floor. “Tell me, boy,” he continued, his tone almost conversational, “how deep do Uncle’s hooks go? I imagine it must be... suffocating, someone like you, in a place like this.”

  Thorne clenched his fists, his heart pounding. “Who are you?”

  The man stopped, turning his head slightly, as though weighing whether to answer. Then he smirked, the expression faint but sharp. “Oh, you wouldn’t know me. But I know you, Thorne Silverbane.”

  Thorne’s blood chilled. The sound of his name, spoken with such casual certainty, made his stomach turn.

  “I recognized your signature the moment I stepped into this drab little estate,” the man continued, stepping closer. “You left quite the impression back in Valewind. Good job, by the way. Lord Valewyn was a tedious man. Though I must say...” His voice dipped into a faint murmur, his gaze narrowing as it fixed on Thorne’s glowing irises. “These eyes of yours... fascinating. Tell me, does it hurt?”

  Thorne stood frozen, his mind scrambling for a response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice firmer than he expected.

  The man chuckled softly, his amusement cold and cutting. “Of course you don’t. But you will. You’re... different, boy. Special. Wasting yourself here in this backwater, playing games with Uncle. You could come to the capital, you know. I’d take you sightseeing. Introduce you to some friends. You’d love it.”

  “You are dead!” Eliza’s voice rang out like a whipcrack, and before Thorne could stop her, she lunged.

  Her dagger flared to life, the blade elongating with a burst of aether, sharp and brilliant as it aimed for the man’s heart.

  The man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at her.

  “Children,” he muttered, raising his hand almost lazily.

  A single speck of purple aether shimmered into existence, suspended above his palm. It blinked once, a tiny pulse of energy, before streaking forward. It struck Eliza square in the chest, sending her flying back with a force that rattled the walls. She crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

  “Eliza!” Thorne surged forward, his dagger drawn, but the man was faster.

  A cold hand clamped around Thorne’s wrist, stopping him mid-strike. Then the pain came.

  It started as a sharp, stinging heat that quickly grew into a searing, all-consuming agony. Thorne cried out, his knees buckling as the man’s grip tightened.

  “Ah, ah,” the man said, his tone almost mocking. “No need to be so hasty.”

  Thorne’s vision blurred as the pain intensified, spreading from his wrist to his entire arm. When the man finally released him, Thorne collapsed to the floor, clutching his hand.

  The mark pulsed on his skin, a crow etched in violet light, its edges flickering with faint arcs of aether.

  The man crouched beside him, his expression calm, almost curious. “With this, you will know when I am back for you.”

  Thorne’s breathing was ragged as he stared at the mark, the edges of his vision darkening.

  The man straightened, brushing invisible dust from his coat. “We’ll meet again, boy. Sooner than you think.”

  With a wave of his hand, the room plunged into pitch-black darkness.

  Thorne blinked, trying to fight off the disorienting effects, but the darkness wasn’t normal. It felt alive, like it was crawling into his skin, wrapping around his senses.

  He heard the man’s footsteps fading into the distance, each one deliberate and slow. The last sound was his voice, soft and taunting, echoing in the silence.

  “Tell Uncle his time is up.”

  When the darkness finally lifted, Thorne was on his knees, gasping for air. Across the room, Eliza stirred weakly, her hand pressing against her ribs as she groaned in pain.

  Thorne stared down at the mark on his hand, its glow now faint but persistent. His fists clenched, and a single thought burned in his mind: he was out of time.

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