Thorne sat at the edge of the old lighthouse, his secret hideout, watching the sunrise spill across the horizon. The first light of day crept over the sea, turning the water gold, the waves catching the light in a way that should’ve felt calming. But inside, all he felt was a storm.

  Anger bubbled up inside him, a constant pressure that made his hands clench into fists. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth, and his pulse pounded in his temples, like a war drum matching the intensity of his thoughts. He didn’t even register the beauty of the scene before him, his favorite place in the city, his sanctuary. All he saw were flashes of Uncle’s smug face, the sickly smile he had given Thorne after that disgusting confession.

  Thorne had been played again. And worse, it had worked. He had walked right into Uncle’s scheme like a fool, blindly believing that everything had unfolded naturally, that it was Rhea and Vance's betrayal alone.

  His stomach twisted as he thought of Rhea. Her blood, her final words. That horrified look in her eyes when she realized she was going to die by his hand. All of it was orchestrated. Every step of the way, Uncle had been pulling the strings.

  He had killed her, not because she was a traitor, but because Uncle had made her into one.

  Thorne squeezed his eyes shut, leaning forward and digging his fingers into his hair. His body trembled, the weight of everything crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to destroy everything around him. Instead, he forced himself to stay still, his breaths shallow and ragged as he tried to control the rage that threatened to spill out of him.

  This was the price of his freedom. Every time he thought he had outsmarted Uncle, every time he thought he had control over his life, something like this would happen. Uncle always had another trap, another scheme waiting in the shadows. And Thorne? He was always the puppet, dancing on the strings.

  His eyes snapped open, glaring out over the waves. His fingers twitched with the urge to lash out, to break something, to channel the fury coursing through his veins into violence. But there was nothing here to fight. Just the cold, unfeeling expanse of the sea, stretching out endlessly before him.

  He was angry at Uncle, furious with the man who had raised him, molded him into this weapon. But more than that, he was angry at himself.

  How had he let this happen again?

  His hands dug into the stone ledge he sat on, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the rough surface. He could feel the stone biting into his skin, but he didn’t care. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the torrent inside him. It gave him something real to focus on, something tangible he could control.

  Thorne bit the inside of his cheek, his thoughts swirling like a maelstrom of bitterness and self-loathing.

  He hated himself for caring. For once again, allowing himself to be manipulated. For thinking, for even a moment, that maybe Uncle had some real affection for him. The confession of love… He could still hear Uncle’s slurred words echoing in his mind, mocking him.

  "You are the son I never dared to dream of..."

  Thorne clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms. His eyes burned with the familiar sting of betrayal, but he refused to cry. He wouldn’t give Uncle that satisfaction, not even here, alone in his hideout.

  Every time he thought he had broken free, that he could make his own choices, Uncle found a way to pull him back. It was maddening. It was like a prison he couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard he tried.

  But the worst part, the part that twisted the knife even deeper, was the truth that lurked beneath all the lies.

  He was like Uncle. Maybe not now, maybe not in every way, but the potential was there. The cold, calculating cruelty. The manipulation. The need for control.

  It frightened him.

  His breath hitched as he leaned forward, bracing himself against the edge of the ledge. The cold morning air brushed against his face, but it did little to cool the fire burning inside him. How long could he fight it? How long could he keep himself from becoming exactly what Uncle wanted him to be?

  Thorne ran a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly for a moment before letting go. He let out a long, slow breath, watching the sun climb higher, the warmth slowly spreading across the water. His hideout had always been a place of peace, but today, it felt hollow. No amount of sunshine could thaw the ice inside him.

  He had to stop this. He had to stop him.

  But how? Uncle had spent years building his web of control, twisting everyone and everything to his will. Every time Thorne thought he’d broken free, he ended up more tangled than before. How could he fight that?

  The rage surged up again, hotter this time, more desperate. He needed to do something. Anything.

  He needed to make Uncle pay.

  But more than that, he needed to prove to himself that he could. That he wasn’t just a pawn, forever locked in Uncle’s game.

  “I’ll kill him,” Thorne whispered to himself, his voice barely audible above the crashing of the waves. His eyes narrowed, his jaw set. “I’ll kill him, and I’ll be free.”

  It was the only way.

  He didn’t know when or how, but the decision was made. Uncle had to die, and Thorne would be the one to do it. And when he did, he would finally have control over his own life. Finally be free of the man who had bound him in chains since the day they met.

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  But for now, he stayed at the lighthouse, watching the sun climb higher, his thoughts dark and twisted like the storm that brewed within him.

  Because despite everything, despite the anger, the resolve, and the hatred, there was still a part of him, a small, broken part that wasn’t sure if he was ready to do it.

  Not yet.

  But soon.

  Thorne sat in silence, his mind still reeling from everything Uncle had said the night before. The weight of it all was crushing, like a boulder pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, staring at the sun rising over the ocean, that he didn’t even notice Sid until he spoke.

  “It’s not that easy,” Sid’s voice came from behind him, calm but firm.

  Thorne whipped around, his heart leaping into his throat, to see Sid casually leaning against the wall of the lighthouse. His posture was relaxed, but his face was deadly serious, his sharp eyes fixed on Thorne.

  Thorne grumbled, irritation flaring up immediately. “I hate that you know about this place.”

  Sid just gave a nonchalant shrug, pushing off the wall and walking over to where Thorne sat. He sighed as he approached, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was already exhausting him.

  “I’m serious, kid,” Sid said, his voice dropping into that tone he used when he wasn’t joking around. “If you try to kill Uncle, you’re going to fail.”

  Thorne scoffed, looking back at the rising sun, the waves below crashing against the rocks in rhythm with his turbulent thoughts. “You don’t know that.”

  Sid didn’t respond at first, just stood beside him and stared out at the ocean. Then, without warning, he asked, “Do you know Uncle’s level?”

  Thorne nodded, his jaw tightening. His Veil Sense skill had revealed to him the grim truth long ago. “I know it.”

  “Then you should know,” Sid continued, turning to face him now, “you can’t just kill someone at his level by sticking a dagger in his eye and calling it a day. It doesn’t work like that.”

  Thorne frowned, his irritation bubbling up again. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “I know you’re not,” Sid said, his voice patient but unyielding. “But you’ve never fought anyone with a level that high. Not really. So far, you’ve been up against people who are weaker than you or, at most, close to your level. You’ve had it easy.”

  Thorne shot Sid a sharp look, but Sid wasn’t finished.

  “People like Uncle… They’re a different kind of monster,” Sid said, his voice grim. “Their attributes are off the charts, their health points are sky-high. You could stab Uncle in the eye, sure, he might lose the eye, but he wouldn’t die. He’d just be pissed.”

  Thorne’s frown deepened as Sid’s words began to sink in. He knew Uncle was tough, but the way Sid was describing him… It made Thorne feel like a child playing at being an assassin.

  “Uncle’s not some great fighter,” Sid went on, crossing his arms and leaning against the lighthouse’s stone wall. “He’s not fast, he’s not agile. But he’s like a fortress. He’s built for survival. That’s how he’s stayed alive for so long, with all the enemies he’s made. His health points are ridiculously high, and he’s got every skill you can think of when it comes to defense, against poison, magical damage, physical attacks. He’s got it all.”

  Thorne clenched his fists, feeling a fresh wave of frustration wash over him. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Sid raised an eyebrow at him, then, without warning, slapped Thorne on the back of the head, hard enough to sting.

  “Ow!” Thorne snapped, glaring at him.

  “I’m telling you this to stop you from doing something stupid,” Sid said, his voice sharp. “And because I care about you, you moron.”

  Thorne blinked in surprise, his irritation momentarily forgotten. Sid wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. Sure, he’d softened toward Thorne over the years, but he had never outright said something like that before.

  Thorne stared at him for a moment, feeling caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What, first Uncle, now you? Am I special or something?”

  Sid rolled his eyes, smirking. “Yeah, real special. I’m not about to start writing poetry about you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Thorne grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a reluctant smirk. The momentary levity didn’t last long, though. He looked back out at the ocean, the weight of his thoughts dragging him back down. “Are you going to tell him what you heard?”

  Sid shook his head, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve kept your secrets this long, haven’t I? I’m not about to stop now.”

  He flashed a rare smile, one that exposed his rotting teeth, but there was warmth behind it.

  Thorne sighed, his shoulders slumping as he stared out at the sea, feeling more lost than ever. “What am I gonna do?” he murmured aloud, more to himself than Sid. “I can’t… I can’t keep living like this. Always wondering. Always second-guessing. Every interaction, every decision… It’s exhausting. I can’t trust anyone. Not even myself.”

  For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below, the silence between them heavy and suffocating. Then, finally, Sid spoke up.

  “The answer is simple.”

  Thorne looked up, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. “What is it?”

  Sid sighed, his gaze distant as he stared out at the horizon. “You’re going to run away.”

  Thorne’s heart sank, and the small spark of hope was extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. “Run away?” he repeated bitterly, his voice laced with frustration. “You know I’ve thought about that a million times. He’d find me. He’s training assassins specifically for that kind of thing. He’d send them after me the moment he realized I was gone.”

  Sid didn’t respond right away. His eyes were still fixed on the ocean, his thoughts seemingly miles away. “We’d have to plan it carefully,” he said after a long pause, his voice almost absent-minded. “We’d have to pick the right moment. When he can’t afford to send the Lost Ones after you.”

  Thorne frowned, his heart skipping a beat. He had caught the word Sid used: we.

  He turned to Sid, his brow furrowing. “We?”

  Sid snapped out of his daze, shaking his head as if clearing his thoughts. He gave Thorne a small, almost sad smile. “I’m not coming with you,” he said softly. “I can’t. But I can help you. I can make sure you get out.”

  Thorne stared at him, feeling a rush of emotion swell up inside him. He didn’t want to let that hope take root, but Sid’s words were hard to ignore. “You’d really help me?”

  Sid smirked, leaning forward and ruffling Thorne’s hair like he was still a kid. “Of course, shortie. I’ve seen what that man does to people. I’ve seen what it’s done to you. You’ve gotta get out before it’s too late.”

  Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but Sid’s next words stopped him cold.

  “Or else,” Sid said, his voice quiet and full of meaning, “you won’t want to leave.”

  Thorne frowned, confused by Sid’s strange tone. “What do you mean?”

  Sid didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the sun, watching as it climbed higher into the sky. Thorne studied his profile, his mind racing, trying to decipher Sid’s cryptic words.

  But before he could press further, Sid spoke again. “Leave everything to me. I’ll organize your escape. It’s not the first time I’ve had to plan something like this.”

  Thorne shook his head, doubt gnawing at him. “And what if it doesn’t work?”

  Sid gave him a sharp look, his voice firm. “It will. But you’ve gotta trust me. Let me handle this.”

  Thorne looked at him, his heart pounding. The idea of leaving, of finally escaping Uncle’s grasp… it was everything he had ever wanted. But the fear of failure, of what would happen if Uncle caught him, loomed over him like a shadow.

  “You have to trust me,” Sid repeated, his voice softer now. “I’ll make sure you get out. I promise.”

  Thorne nodded slowly, the hope in his chest flickering back to life. For the first time in a long while, he felt like there might actually be a way out. A way to be free.

  Thorne stayed silent, still processing everything Sid had said, but the one thing that stuck with him was the quiet, lingering dread that had settled in his chest.

  Sid was right. If he stayed much longer, if he let Uncle keep controlling him, there might come a day when he wouldn’t want to leave at all.

  And that thought terrified him more than anything else.

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