Thorne stood frozen, his breaths shallow and uneven as his mind raced. The crow etched into his hand pulsed faintly, its light soft but steady, a reminder of the man’s parting words. A chill had settled deep into his bones, unshaken even by the warmth of his blood pounding through him.

  Move, he told himself, but his body refused to obey.

  Instead, his Veil Sense surged outward, more expansive than ever before. He reached deeper, stretching the limits of his ability, driven by equal parts desperation and anger.

  Cores flickered like candles in his mind, hundreds of them illuminating his senses. Their shapes revealed everything, levels, strengths, identities. He was looking at the very essence of the people around him, and it was overwhelming, like staring into the heart of a roaring flame.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  He pushed harder, straining to pierce through the veil that cloaked the estate, to find the presence that had left him shaken to his core. He scanned every corner of the mansion, every flicker of energy.

  The mysterious man was gone.

  A low ache throbbed in his temples as he strained again, his senses scraping against the limits of his reach. He found nothing. No trace, no flicker, no echo of that oppressive aura. It was as if the man had evaporated into thin air, leaving nothing but the weight of his words behind.

  Thorne’s shoulders sagged as realization hit him. He doesn’t want to be found. And I can’t find him.

  Even this ability, the rare ability he had acquired from a special trait, was useless against someone like him.

  A rustling sound behind him broke through his focus. Thorne let his Veil Sense withdraw, the sudden quiet in his mind almost dizzying. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch Eliza in the corner of his vision.

  She was upright, though unsteady, her movements stiff with pain. Her face was blank, her professional mask firmly in place, but her hands moved with mechanical precision as she pulled a vial from her pouch. She uncorked it with her teeth and downed the contents in one swift motion.

  The faint scent of herbs and mint wafted toward him, sharp and bitter.

  Eliza tossed the empty vial aside and knelt. She tore a strip from her cloak and wrapped it tightly around the wound he had given her. Her hands didn’t tremble, her face didn’t so much as flinch, but Thorne could see the tension in her shoulders, the sharpness of her breaths as she pulled the makeshift bandage taut.

  A wave of guilt flickered through him, though he quickly smothered it.

  When Eliza straightened, she approached him with deliberate steps, her expression unreadable.

  “Who was that?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with something sharp.

  Thorne ran a hand over his face, willing the ache behind his eyes to subside. “I have no idea,” he muttered, his voice low. “Someone powerful. Very powerful.”

  Eliza’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her tone stayed calm. “Someone who knows things. A lot of things.” She paused, her voice dropping as she added, “He knows about you, Thorne. He knows about Uncle.”

  Thorne nodded, but his gaze drifted to the mark on his hand. The crow glowed faintly, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. It wasn’t just a mark. It was a message. A promise.

  “I know,” he said, his voice tight. But his thoughts were spinning, the same phrase repeating over and over in his mind: Tell Uncle his time is up.

  The words didn’t feel like a threat. They felt like a lifeline.

  Maybe, just maybe, this man wasn’t his enemy. Maybe he was something else.

  Maybe he was my salvation.

  The idea stirred something dangerous in Thorne’s chest. He wasn’t naive enough to think there wouldn’t be consequences, there was always a price to pay. But the thought of being free from Uncle’s iron grip made him want to smile.

  Thorne shook his head slightly, dusting off his jacket and straightening his collar. He needed to clear his thoughts. He needed control.

  “I have to get back to the party,” he said abruptly, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’ve been away too long.”

  Eliza’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing into a glare. “Screw the party,” she snapped, stepping in front of him to block his path. “The family is in danger! Jareth just died, Thorne, our friend!”

  Thorne scoffed, sidestepping her. “He wasn’t my friend, Eliza. Just someone we worked with on a few missions. Nothing more.”

  Her growl deepened, frustration radiating from her in waves as she followed him. “Uncle has to know about this. Now.”

  Thorne paused and turned his head, his expression unreadable. “And I’ll inform him as soon as I return. But right now, I have a mission.”

  His words seemed to stop her in her tracks. He felt a flicker of relief until he caught the faint whisper that followed:

  “So do I.”

  The words sent a chill through him. Thorne whirled around, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me you’re going through with the assassination.”

  Eliza met his gaze, her face calm, her tone matter-of-fact. “Of course. I was given an assignment. I have to complete it.”

  Thorne closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as a wave of frustration washed over him. “You know what?” he said, his voice low and clipped. “Do whatever you want.”

  Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode away.

  Eliza didn’t follow.

  Thorne expanded his Veil Sense as he walked, keeping a thread of his attention on her. She remained rooted in place, her presence a fixed point in the currents of the estate.

  The echoes of the party grew louder, filtering through the stone halls. Laughter, conversation, the clinking of glasses, all of it pressed against his senses like a weight.

  But his thoughts lingered on Eliza’s final words, on the cold determination in her voice.

  So do I.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  The crow on his hand pulsed faintly as if in response, its glow casting shadows against the dim walls. A chill ran through Thorne’s chest as the stranger’s voice echoed in his mind:

  The crows are circling.

  Thorne paused just short of the ballroom entrance, the hum of voices and clinking glasses spilling into the corridor like a faint tide. He shifted his weight, prepared to step inside, when a glimpse of movement caught his attention.

  Selene.

  She moved through the hall with an air of graceful determination, her gown gathered in her hands to allow her hurried steps. Her head turned as though searching for something, or someone, and the soft glow of the lantern light played across her features.

  For a moment, Thorne simply stood there, watching her. She looked so untouched by the shadows of his world, so far removed from the lies, betrayals, and bloodshed that defined his life. There was a purity to her presence, an innocence that he couldn’t help but admire.

  I shouldn’t get closer, he thought, his chest tightening. I’ll only taint her.

  But Selene suddenly turned, as if sensing his presence. Her gown fluttered about her like the petals of a delicate flower, and her wide eyes lit up with recognition. Relief washed over her face, softening her features in a way that made Thorne’s breath catch.

  He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, his strides purposeful.

  “Thorne,” Selene began, her voice carrying a mix of concern and warmth. “I...”

  Before she could finish, Thorne reached her, his hands slipping around her waist.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “What are you...?”

  But her words were lost as his lips met hers.

  She yelped softly in surprise, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest. For a moment, Thorne feared she might push him away. But then...

  Then she melted into him.

  Her arms slid up, wrapping around his neck as she leaned into the kiss. A soft, breathy sound escaped her lips, and she pulled him closer, deepening the embrace.

  Thorne’s body felt alive, every nerve ignited by a storm of emotions. His eyes glowed brighter, faint tendrils of aether vibrating in turmoil around him, responding to the intensity of the moment. It was overwhelming, chaotic, and utterly perfect.

  When he finally broke the kiss, Selene looked up at him, her expression dazed and her cheeks flushed.

  “Thorne,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  He managed a faint smile, his voice hoarse as he asked, “Is there a...?” He coughed lightly, clearing his throat. “A more private place?”

  A faint scuffling sound reached them, voices from a nearby corridor—nobles, arguing and heading their way.

  Selene hesitated, glancing toward the sound. Then, a glimmer of mischief sparked in her eyes.

  “I know just the place,” she whispered, grabbing his hand.

  Thorne let her lead him, the warmth of her fingers against his own grounding him in the moment. They wove through the twisting halls of the estate, slipping past clusters of nobles and servants. Selene moved with a quiet urgency, her light steps leading him further from the noise of the party and deeper into the shadows of the Ravencourt manor.

  Finally, she stopped before a door. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she pushed it open, revealing a modest but elegantly furnished room.

  As they stepped inside, Thorne’s heart raced. The room smelled faintly of lavender, the soft glow of a single lantern casting long shadows across the walls. Selene shut the door behind them, turning to face him with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

  For a moment, Thorne hesitated. The weight of the night pressed against his chest—the mark on his hand, the memory of Eliza’s icy words, the lingering presence of the mysterious man.

  But then Selene stepped closer, her gaze meeting his, and the storm within him settled.

  If my time is up, he thought, his lips curving into a faint, almost reckless smile, I may as well use it how I like.

  *

  Thorne buttoned his shirt with slow, deliberate movements, his mind racing even as his body remained calm. The faint hum of the party carried through the walls, distant and muffled, like an echo from another world. Behind him, Selene stood before the tall mirror, attempting to refasten her gown.

  Her fingers fumbled as she worked, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “I need some help,” she said, turning her head to glance at him.

  Thorne crossed the room silently, his steps measured. When he reached her, his fingertips brushed lightly over her shoulder, trailing down to the small of her back. Selene shivered at his touch, her body instinctively leaning toward him.

  With ease, he began fastening the pearl buttons on her gown, each motion deft and precise.

  “You’re good at this,” she remarked with a chuckle, her reflection meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I may have to fire my maid and hire you instead.”

  Thorne smirked faintly. “Sleight of Hand,” he murmured. “Makes the task laughably easy.”

  “Ah, a useful skill,” she teased, her tone light and playful.

  “Done,” he announced with a faint note of pride, letting his hands linger briefly on her waist. Thorne leaned down, planting a kiss on the curve of her neck. Her giggle was soft, warm, and it sent a pleasant hum through his chest.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning to face him. Her arms slid up around his shoulders, her touch light and inviting.

  Thorne’s breath caught as she met his gaze, her expression both tender and curious. “A man full of mysteries,” she murmured, her smile tinged with playful intrigue.

  Thorne froze, but Selene didn’t notice his sudden tension. Her fingers brushed against his face, tracing the faint glow of his eyes.

  “Glowing eyes,” she began softly, her fingertips trailing along his jawline. “Weird markings...” Her hand moved to the crow etched on his palm, her touch delicate but lingering. “And an unreadable face.”

  Thorne swallowed hard, unable to find words.

  Selene’s gaze lifted to meet his, and her voice dropped to a breathless whisper. “Lord Silverbane, you have me completely entranced.”

  She kissed him again, her lips soft and insistent, drawing him into her warmth. But this time, guilt clawed at him, rising like a dark tide in his chest.

  Eliza is plotting her father’s death.

  The thought struck like a dagger. And Uncle... Uncle had instructed him to oversee it all. Just as he had overseen so many other missions. So many lies, so many omissions, so many half-truths.

  If she ever found out...

  His stomach twisted. She would hate him. She would loathe him.

  Selene pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing as she studied him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

  Thorne forced the thoughts away, shoving them into the recesses of his mind. None of that mattered now.

  He looked down at her, his eyes meeting hers, and saw the soft glow of his irises reflected in her gaze. The light bathed her face in a warm, ethereal hue, and for a moment, everything else faded.

  He smiled faintly. “For a moment, you took my breath away.”

  Selene’s expression shifted, her uncertainty replaced with a playful smile. She slapped his chest lightly. “Liar!”

  Thorne chuckled and kissed her again, this time briefly, savoring the simplicity of the moment. When he pulled away, he took her hand.

  “We should get back to the party,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Our absences have likely already been noticed.”

  Selene sighed in mock defeat, her shoulders slumping theatrically. “Indeed,” she muttered forlornly.

  They stepped out into the corridor together, their hands still intertwined as they walked. The faint hum of the party’s noise grew louder with each step, pulling them back into the world of politics and pretense.

  “When will I see you again?” Selene asked hopefully, her voice breaking the quiet.

  Thorne’s mind raced. If Eliza succeeded in her mission, then Selene’s world would crumble. Her father’s death would change everything. But still, a flicker of hope stirred in him, selfish and unrelenting.

  He stopped, turning to face her. “Tomorrow night,” he said, his tone steady. “At the tavern where we met with the guys. Remember?”

  Selene nodded, her face lighting up.

  “There’s a side street,” Thorne continued. “It leads to a set of stairs. At the top, there’s an attic. Meet me there after sundown.”

  “I can’t wait,” she whispered, her voice full of quiet excitement.

  As they reached the edge of the ballroom, Thorne released her hand. He waited until Selene slipped back inside, her gown flowing like water behind her as she disappeared into the crowd.

  Thorne lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing the mark on his hand. Then, with a deep breath, he followed her.

  The noise hit him like a wave, nobles laughing, talking, boasting. Their eyes flicked to him as he entered, curiosity and calculation flaring in equal measure. The chatter of nobles engulfed him almost instantly, their voices blending into an incessant hum. But one voice cut through the noise like a blade.

  “If it were in my hands,” Alaric Ravencourt’s voice boomed, full of self-assured arrogance, “I would have the Thornfields at their knees already begging for my mercy!”

  Thorne clenched his jaw, schooling his expression into one of practiced indifference as he turned toward the source of the voice.

  Alaric stood at the center of a small cluster of nobles, gesturing emphatically as he spoke. His face was flushed with drink and pride, his eyes glinting with a cruel sort of amusement.

  Thorne’s gaze narrowed slightly. Here we go.

  P.S.

  If you’re curious about what I’ve been working on lately, you can now check out the first few chapters of my new book (for free!!!) over on Patreon! ??

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