Page 109 of The Shadow Sanctum

“The Head Keeper must accept.”

“She already has.” Thorne tosses me a conspiratorial glance. He looks so certain. Like he’s spent years thinking this through.

In a way, he has.

“Is this true?” Father turns his gaze on me. His tone is smooth, oiled with false neutrality.

The world slows.

Thorne turns to me, and for a long moment, it’s just us. No crowd. No fire. No Aurelius.

Just us.

His eyes find mine, storm-dark, but soft where only I can see it. I shake my head—subtle, small, a plea he’s not supposed to catch. But he does. Of course he does.

“Thorne.” My voice is barely more than breath.

No.

He steps closer until only I can hear him. He doesn’t touch me, not yet, but the space between us hums like a live wire. “You have to.”

“I can win.” My words are firm, but they taste like ash. And they’re such an obvious lie. “I can beat him. Don’t take this from me.”

At last, he takes my hand. Rough calluses graze my palm, and though I knew we could be no more, I nearly weep with the realization that one day I will forget his touch.

For now, his hand swallows mine like it has since we were children climbing trees we had no business on. His thumb presses into my palm, steady. Grounding.

“This isn’t for you,” he says, voice low so only I can hear. “It’s for them.” He tips his chin toward the crowd. Toward the faces watching, waiting, trembling.

Tears prick, but I hold them back. I will not cry. Not here.

He wouldn’t want me to.

“Love for the people is greater than love for oneself,” he reminds me softly. A mirror of words I once gave him. Words that cut deep enough to bleed.

I regret it.

I regret everything now.

“Thorne…” My throat closes around his name. “Please don’t do this.”

He smiles, but it’s broken. “It’s okay, my love… I promise, it’s all going to be okay.”

Father’s voice cuts in, oily and expectant. “Do you accept, Head Keeper?”

I look at Thorne. At the man who carried my burdens when I was too young to name them. At the friend who stood between me and every shadow. At the boy who grew into the man my people always deserved.

My lips tremble. My head shakes once more. He squeezes my hand until it hurts.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, barely breaking through the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just be strong.”

“I love you.” I squeeze his hand back. I mean every syllable.

It isn’t a romantic kind of love, but it’s love nonetheless.

“I know.” He gives me a sad smile. He pulls his hand from mine and backs up a couple of steps with his head held high and his hands clasped in front of him.