Chapter 157

  The silence that followed was deafening. It wasn’t just the absence of Rafe’s jeers or the lack of scuffling feet, it was the stillness that came after violence. A stillness filled with judgment.

  Thorne stood amidst the wreckage, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. His hands trembled, faint traces of aether trailing from his fingers like restless fireflies. He looked down at them, his skin still humming with residual power, and for the first time, he didn’t feel exhilaration. He felt empty.

  A groan snapped him out of his trance. Ben.

  Thorne was the first to reach Ben. His knees hit the blood-streaked floor, his hands hovering over the dagger embedded in Ben’s stomach. Panic coiled tightly in his chest, every frantic breath making the room feel smaller. He pressed his palms against the wound, trying to stem the blood, but it was everywhere, warm and slick, and no matter how much pressure he applied, it wasn’t enough.

  “Ben,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Ben, come on. Stay with me. You’re going to be fine.”

  The words felt hollow, lies meant more for himself than the unconscious boy. The aether surged within him, wild and urgent, begging to be used. But what could he do? He’d never learned healing magic, and his power… it was meant for destruction, not saving lives.

  Behind him, he heard the hesitant shuffle of boots against the floor. Jonah and Darius had moved closer but stopped short, their silence heavier than the coppery tang of blood in the air.

  “Help me!” Thorne barked, his voice cracking as he turned to glare at them. “Don’t just stand there! Help me!”

  They didn’t move.

  Thorne’s gaze snapped to Jonah first, catching the fear in his wide eyes. Jonah flinched under the intensity of Thorne’s glowing gaze, his head jerking slightly, as though he couldn’t decide whether to run or step forward.

  Then his eyes shifted to Darius.

  Unlike Jonah, Darius didn’t flinch. His expression was hard, but there was something simmering beneath the surface, an anger that eclipsed the fear etched into Jonah’s face.

  “Help me, damn it!” Thorne shouted again.

  Darius’s jaw clenched. His hand twitched at his side before he took two determined strides forward. Thorne barely had time to register the movement before Darius shoved him hard, sending him sprawling back.

  “Stay the hell back!” Darius snapped, his voice rough and trembling.

  Thorne landed hard on the wooden floor, stunned. He looked up at Darius, his chest tightening as the man knelt beside Ben, taking his place. Jonah scrambled after him, his hands shaking as he ripped the hem of his shirt to fashion a crude bandage.

  “I...” Thorne started, his voice faltering.

  “Shut up,” Darius growled, not even looking at him. His focus was entirely on Ben.

  For a moment, Thorne could only sit there, frozen, blood still coating his hands. Jonah’s frantic murmurs as he tried to stop the bleeding blended with the pounding of his own heartbeat.

  “This is your fault,” Darius spat suddenly, his tone sharp and cutting as a blade. He looked at Thorne then, his face twisted in anger. “All of this... Your fault.”

  “I didn’t...” Thorne began, his voice low and hoarse, but Darius cut him off.

  “You lied to us, Thorne.” The accusation hung heavy in the air, and there was no denying the raw betrayal in Darius’s voice. “You brought us into this! Rafe, those other bastards... It’s your guild! Your people!” He jabbed a finger toward Ben’s prone body, his hand trembling. “And now look at him!”

  Thorne’s throat tightened. He couldn’t bring himself to argue, not when Ben lay motionless between them, pale and bleeding.

  Jonah was silent, his focus on Ben, but his avoidance of Thorne was almost worse than Darius’s fury. He couldn’t even look at him.

  Darius wasn’t finished. His voice grew louder, the anger spilling out unchecked. “What the hell were those powers? What the hell are you, Thorne?” His hand clenched into a fist, and he slammed it against the bloodstained floor. “You...” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked lost, his fury wavering into something closer to fear.

  Thorne opened his mouth, but no words came out. What could he say? That Darius was wrong? That he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen? The truth lodged in his throat, tangled with the weight of guilt and the still-simmering aether in his veins.

  “What are you?” Darius’s voice dropped, his gaze cutting into Thorne like a knife.

  Thorne’s hands trembled at his sides. He had no answer.

  Thorne sat motionless where he had fallen, the blood on his hands cooling and sticky against his skin. Darius’s words echoed in his ears, each accusation a jagged shard embedding itself deeper into his chest.

  What are you?

  The question lingered, louder than the pounding of his heart or the ringing in his ears. He wanted to yell back, to lash out, to defend himself, but the words wouldn’t come. Because a part of him knew Darius was right.

  You lied. You brought us into this.

  His chest tightened. He’d lied so much it was hard to separate truth from fiction anymore. But it wasn’t meant to hurt them. He’d lied to protect himself, to survive. But now… now Ben was bleeding out on the floor, and Darius’s anger felt like an iron weight on his shoulders.

  The aether within him stirred, crackling like a live wire. It pressed against his mind, urging him to push back, to stand up and show them why he wasn’t someone to be blamed or cornered. But he fought it down, burying the power beneath his guilt and fear. Not now. Not here.

  He looked at Ben, his dear friend, the only one who knew the truth and the only one who had ever accepted him fully despite it. The sight of him pale and motionless hit harder than any of Darius’s words.

  This is my fault.

  A rustle of fabric drew his eyes to Jonah.

  The man knelt beside Ben, his hands trembling as he tightened the makeshift bandage around the wound. Jonah’s face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t saying anything, he hadn’t spoken since Darius shoved Thorne back, but his silence was louder than any accusation.

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  Jonah’s hands faltered for a moment, his fingers slipping in the blood. He froze, staring down at Ben as if he might vanish entirely if he looked away for even a second.

  Then, slowly, Jonah lifted his gaze to Thorne.

  For a brief moment, their eyes met. Thorne expected anger, fury like Darius’s. But instead, what he saw made his stomach churn.

  It was fear.

  Jonah flinched, quickly looking away. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. His body language was loud enough, stiff, hesitant, as though Thorne might explode if he got too close.

  It was a look Thorne had seen before. He’d seen it in the eyes of strangers who glimpsed his power, in the cautious gazes of those who whispered his name in the guild. But to see it in Jonah, one of his oldest friends, it twisted something deep inside him.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Thorne said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of Jonah and Darius working on Ben.

  Darius whipped his head around, his eyes blazing. “Then what the hell did you mean to happen?”

  Thorne opened his mouth, but no words came. What could he say? That he’d held back? That if he hadn’t, they might all be dead? That the very power he was afraid to use could’ve saved them sooner?

  The aether flared again, a sharp pulse in his chest, as if it were taunting him, daring him to explain.

  Jonah’s voice finally broke the tense silence. It was soft, shaky. “You didn’t tell us.”

  Thorne flinched as though he’d been struck.

  Jonah didn’t look at him, his focus returning to Ben, but his words carried the weight of his disbelief. “You didn’t… tell us what you were.”

  What I am.

  The words cut deeper than Darius’s accusations because they carried something far worse than anger, disappointment.

  Thorne clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His voice came out strained. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t safe. For any of us.”

  Darius let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “Safe? That’s your excuse? Look around, Thorne! Look at him!” He pointed a shaking finger at Ben. “How the hell is this safe?”

  Thorne’s jaw tightened. He looked away, unable to meet their gazes any longer.

  Jonah’s hands hovered over Ben’s wound, his shoulders trembling. He didn’t speak again, but Thorne could feel the weight of his silence.

  The room was suffocating, the air thick with tension and blood and unspoken words.

  Thorne tried to push the aether down again, but it was relentless, surging with his frustration and guilt. It wanted to lash out, to demand their understanding, their forgiveness. But he couldn’t.

  Not when he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

  The tension snapped like a taut rope.

  Darius stepped forward, his face twisted with fury. “You think an apology’s enough? That ‘I didn’t mean it’ can fix this?” He jabbed a finger toward Thorne, his voice rising with every word. “Your secrets, your lies, your… whatever the hell you are, nearly got Ben killed!”

  Thorne stood his ground, his expression locked in an icy calm, but his hands trembled at his sides. “I didn’t force you to come,” he said evenly, though his voice was tight. “You chose to be here.”

  “Chose?!” Darius’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “We’re here because of you! Because Jonah went after some shady deal because your precious nobles are playing war again, because an enemy you made lured your so-called friends so that he could hurt you! And now... Now Ben’s bleeding out on a warehouse floor because we followed you!”

  “That’s enough,” Thorne growled, his calm slipping.

  “No, it’s not enough!” Darius shot back, stepping closer. He was limping, blood dripping from his wounded leg, but his anger burned brighter than his pain. “You’ve been lying to us this whole time! You’ve been playing some game while we’ve been...”

  “You think this is a game?” Thorne’s voice cut through Darius’s tirade like a blade. His aether-fueled eyes glowed brighter, his presence suddenly oppressive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Darius. You have no idea what it’s like to carry this, to live with it every day!”

  “Then maybe you should’ve trusted us!” Darius barked, his face flushed with rage. “Maybe if you’d told us the truth...”

  “You would’ve done what?” Thorne interrupted, his voice cold and biting. “Run away? Report me? Stare at me like I’m some kind of monster?”

  Darius’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching. “You’re damn right we’re staring at you. Look around, Thorne! You’ve been hiding this from us, lying to us, and now you’re surprised we don’t know what the hell to think?”

  The glow in Thorne’s eyes pulsed, his temper slipping further. The room felt charged, as if the very air might ignite. “You have no idea what it’s cost me to keep this all to myself, how difficult, how lonely! And all this to keep you safe!”

  “Safe?!” Darius roared, stepping closer until they were nearly nose to nose. “Ben doesn’t look safe! Jonah doesn’t look safe! Hell, none of us look safe right now, thanks to you!”

  Thorne’s hand twitched, his aether thrumming in time with his frustration. His control felt razor-thin, his restraint fraying with every word.

  Jonah’s voice cut through the rising storm like a hammer. “STOP IT!”

  Both men froze, turning to Jonah.

  He was kneeling beside Ben, his hands pressed against the wound to stem the bleeding. His face was pale, his expression tight with fury. “Ben is dying, and you two are standing there yelling like fools!”

  Thorne’s chest heaved, his anger warring with guilt as Jonah’s words sank in.

  “We need to get him to my shop,” Jonah continued, his voice shaking but firm. “I have potions and salves that can save him, but we’re running out of time.”

  Darius’s face twisted in frustration, but he let out a sharp breath and nodded. He knelt, carefully lifting Ben into his arms. The man’s body was limp, his head lolling against Darius’s shoulder.

  Jonah stood, brushing his bloodied hands on his pants. “This fight can wait. Right now, we save him.”

  Thorne swallowed hard, his throat tight. He nodded, stepping back to let Darius pass.

  The three of them moved quickly through the warehouse, their earlier tension replaced by a grim determination.

  Thorne followed behind, his aether still humming faintly, a constant temptation.

  The air in the shop was thick with tension as Jonah motioned for Darius to lay Ben on the table. Darius did so gently, his hands trembling slightly as he positioned his friend on the worn wooden surface. Jonah was already moving, muttering under his breath as he rifled through the shelves lining the walls.

  “Where is it… where is it…” Jonah’s voice was low and hurried, his hands darting between jars and vials. He pulled out several bottles, scrutinizing the labels before nodding sharply and setting them aside.

  He approached the table, his arms full of supplies. Setting them down, he pointed at Darius. “Hold this,” he said, handing him a small blue vial. Then he took another bottle, filled with a powdery substance, and slathered it directly onto Ben’s wound.

  Ben’s body twitched slightly at the touch, but he didn’t stir.

  Jonah grabbed a tall hourglass from a shelf and turned it over, the sand within beginning its slow cascade. “When the sand runs out, drop two drops of that liquid onto the wound. Wait for the reaction, then do it again. Three times in total.” His voice was clipped, focused, as he handed the vial back to Darius.

  Darius nodded, his face tight with worry as he watched the sand fall grain by grain.

  Thorne stood apart from them, his back against a barrel. His arms were crossed, his posture deceptively casual, but his chest felt like it was being crushed under a mountain of guilt and regret. His eyes stayed on Ben’s still form, flickering with faint aetheric light, though he made no move to step closer.

  The minutes dragged on. Jonah worked with steady precision, occasionally muttering to himself as he moved around the shop. Thorne remained silent, his presence like a ghost in the room. Darius didn’t so much as glance at him, his attention locked on the hourglass as he carefully followed Jonah’s instructions.

  Finally, Jonah stepped back with a weary sigh, wiping his hands on a rag. “That’s all I can do,” he said, his voice heavy. “I’m no healer. We’ll have to wait for him to wake up, let him finish the healing himself.”

  Darius exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He rested a hand on the edge of the table, his gaze lingering on Ben’s face.

  “Thank the dead gods,” Thorne muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

  Darius’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Thorne. “You’re still here?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

  Thorne straightened, his expression hardening. He opened his mouth to respond, but Jonah cut him off.

  “Enough,” Jonah said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

  Darius looked at him, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment, before he bit back whatever retort had been on the tip of his tongue. He turned back to Ben, his jaw clenched.

  Jonah turned his attention to Thorne. For a moment, his friend’s usually mild expression was replaced by something stern, even cold. His piercing gaze pinned Thorne where he stood, unflinching.

  “Speak,” Jonah said, the single word heavy with expectation.

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