The night pressed against the fortress walls like a living thing—thick, heavy, carrying a silence that felt too calculated to be real. Lyra had felt danger before, but never like this. Never with her heart split between fear for herself… and fear for Thorne.
He stood across the dimly lit chamber now, pacing like a caged beast. His shadow stalked the stone walls, sharp and restless.
"We shouldn't stay here," he muttered under his breath. "Not after what Ara said."
Lyra tightened her grip on the edge of the carved wooden table. "We don't have a choice until sunrise. Shadow Brand patrols are everywhere outside."
At the mention of them, he froze.
His curse pulsed.
Lyra saw the flicker of darkness ripple up his arm, like smoke twisting beneath his skin. The curse was waking again—faster, stronger. Thorne clenched his jaw and forced his breathing steady.
"Talk to me," Lyra said softly, stepping toward him.
He exhaled, shaky. "It's spreading. I can feel it pulling toward my chest now."
She swallowed hard. "Ara said the curse reacts to truth. That means we need answers. The real ones."
"And you think my mother had those answers?" he asked, bitterness slicing through his voice.
Lyra hesitated. "She didn't just lead the Shadow Brand… she created the curse."
Thorne's fists tightened so much his knuckles cracked.
Silence.
Finally he said, "If she made it… she knew how to break it." His voice was low, dark, dangerous. "Which means she didn't just betray me. She left me to die slow."
Lyra reached for him. "Thorne—"
But he stepped back sharply.
"Don't," he whispered. "If I touch you when it flares, I could hurt you."
Her chest twisted painfully. "You never have. Even when you were losing control."
He laughed, hollow. "Because I fought it. But every hour it gets harder. The curse wants blood. Any blood."
Lyra lifted her chin. "Then we find the truth before it takes you."
A soft knock at the door interrupted them.
They both turned sharply.
Thorne moved first, stepping in front of Lyra automatically—protective even now.
"Who is it?" Thorne demanded.
"It's me," Ara's voice whispered through the crack. "I have the records you asked for."
Thorne opened the door only enough to let her slip inside.
Ara carried a stack of old scrolls, tied tightly and sealed with the Shadow Brand's black wax.
Lyra's stomach knotted.
Those seals belonged only to one person:
The Shadow Brand Leader.
Thorne's mother.
Ara set the scrolls on the table. "These were hidden in the restricted vault. I had to break two wards to get them. If they find out…"
"They won't," Thorne cut in.
Ara's eyes flicked to his glowing curse-mark. "You don't have much time."
Thorne unrolled the first scroll.
Lyra leaned close, reading the neat, curved handwriting.
Experiment: Vessel #03.
Subject: Thorne Kael Draven.
Age: nine years.
Status: resistant. Curse absorption: 42%. Requires stronger emotional trigger.
Lyra felt her blood freeze.
Thorne's hand trembled.
He didn't speak. Didn't breathe.
Lyra touched the edge of the parchment. "Thorne… she experimented on you?"
Ara nodded grimly. "She believed the curse could be controlled if bound to a child's developing core. A vessel who could contain darkness without breaking."
Lyra stared at Thorne. "You weren't cursed by accident."
"No." Ara's jaw clenched. "He was made to be a weapon."
Lyra felt sick. "Your mother did this to you."
Thorne didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on the scroll—dead, hollow.
He whispered, almost too softly to hear, "I don't remember any of this."
"That was part of her work," Ara murmured. "Memory suppression. She needed you loyal."
Thorne inhaled sharply, and darkness shivered beneath his skin.
Lyra reached for him instinctively.
He didn't pull away this time.
He looked at her with a rawness she'd never seen—like a wounded animal unsure whether to run or collapse.
"Lyra," he whispered, "everything I am… everything I thought I survived… it was all her design."
"No," Lyra said firmly. "What you survived—what you became—was because of your strength. Not hers."
His breath shook, and he closed his eyes.
Another scroll lay half-open on the table.
Ara hesitated. "You should read this one."
Lyra unrolled it.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
Contingency Plan:
If Vessel #03 shows signs of independence or rebellion, engage the fail-safe tether. Emotional trigger: attachment.
Target: Lyra Arien Vaylen.
Lyra's skin went cold.
"What?" she whispered.
Thorne snatched the scroll, scanning it—and then his eyes widened in horror.
"No." His voice cracked. "No, this can't—"
"They targeted you," Ara said quietly. "From the beginning."
Lyra's hands trembled. "She tethered the curse to me?"
Ara nodded. "Your bond with Thorne—whatever connection you two formed—accelerated the curse's power. It fed on the attachment."
Thorne stumbled back a step.
"Lyra… I'm the reason you were hunted. You were never just in danger because of me. You were chosen because of me."
Lyra moved toward him. "You didn't choose any of this."
"But she did," Thorne rasped. "She tied my curse—my entire existence—to you. Like you were… like you were part of a plan."
Lyra swallowed. "Then we break the plan."
Thorne stared at her, stunned. "You're not afraid?"
"Of your mother?" she said. "Terrified."
"Of me."
Lyra stepped closer until her chest brushed his.
"Never."
His breath hitched.
But then—
A violent pulse ripped through his curse-mark, surging up his neck. He dropped to one knee with a harsh gasp.
"Thorne!" Lyra knelt beside him.
The darkness crawled over his skin like wildfire.
Ara backed away fast. "It's reacting to the truth—this is the strongest flare yet!"
Lyra grabbed Thorne's face with both hands. "Stay with me. Look at me."
"It—hurts—" he choked out, forcing the words.
Lyra pressed her forehead to his. "Listen to my voice. You are not a vessel. Not a weapon. Not hers. You are Thorne. And you're mine to save."
His breathing steadied.
Slowly… painfully… the darkness retreated.
Thorne sagged against her, shaking.
Ara exhaled. "That tether—whatever emotional bind she created—Lyra, I think you're the only one who can calm the curse."
Lyra held Thorne tighter. "Then I'll stay with him."
Thorne weakly gripped her wrist, his voice ragged. "Lyra… I can't keep fighting this."
"Yes, you can," she breathed.
He lifted his eyes to hers—desperate, wild, vulnerable.
"Tell me the truth," he whispered. "Not the one she forced. The real one. Why do you stay?"
Lyra's heart pounded.
This was it.
The curse responded to truth.
So she gave it.
"Because I love you," she whispered, fierce and unshakable.
Everything stilled.
Then—
Thorne's curse erupted in blinding light.
Darkness burst outward like a shockwave, rattling the stone walls.
Ara ducked behind a pillar.
Lyra clung to Thorne as power exploded through him, tearing the oppressive weight from the air.
When it finally dimmed…
Thorne looked up—
And the curse-mark on his skin was transforming.
Not spreading.
Changing.
Lyra gasped. "Thorne… it's different."
He stared at his arm, disbelief flooding his face. "It… stopped."
Ara stepped closer, awe in her eyes. "No. It didn't just stop. It rewrote itself."
"What does that mean?" Lyra whispered.
Ara swallowed.
"It means the curse isn't killing him anymore."
"It's obeying him."
Thorne rose slowly, his eyes glowing like storm-lit shadows.
A new power radiated from him—controlled, sharp, lethal.
Lyra felt her pulse quicken.
The curse had awakened.
But this time… it wasn't consuming him.
It was crowning him.
Thorne looked at Lyra—dark, fierce, certain.
"We're going after her," he said.
"And this time… we end it."