Page 49 of The Shadow Sanctum

Instead, hidden away inside the Bastion, all I hear is the occasional murmur passing Thorne’s door or the thump of footsteps from the room above. Cinder is snugly tucked at my feet while I lie on a mattress too soft, too safe.

I shouldn’t be safe here, but Thorne estimates all but a quarter of my fellow Keepers are grateful for my father’s decision to pardon me for my crimes. And still, two Keepers stand outside Thorne’s door with machine guns slung over their shoulders. Keeping others away? Sure. Keeping me in? Certainly.

I could do it myself.

My eyes close at the recurring thought—more frequent today.

The door opens with a gentle creak but no knock. Thorne. He steps through with a steaming bowl in hand, and the scent of rich broth fills the small space as Cinder crawls up my body to snuggle beneath my arms. I stroke her fur with my gaze pointed at the ceiling.

As the mattress groans beneath Thorne’s weight, I roll onto my side facing away. Cinder’s low rumble vibrates my hand, and I squeeze her gently. After everything Thorne’s been through the last two days … now is not the time for Cinder to express her everlasting disdain for him, despite his many attempts at befriending her.

I close my eyes and try not to think of Sawyer. But he comes into my consciousness anyway like an intruding thought I’ll never be able to control.

He could be dead by now.

The soup bowl clanks on the nightstand. “Do you want to talk?”

My vision blurs. I blink away moisture.

“I brought your favorite… Blessing bowl.” The bed dips with Thorne’s movements, my body rocking with the mattress. “It might not be very good. I, uh…” He attempts a laugh. “I made it myself.”

Cinder whines, low but insistent. I gasp when I realize how tightly I’m squeezing, and as soon as my arms loosen, she flees.

“Thank you,” I force out, my voice gravelly. Pathetic. I clear my throat and shift. “That’s very kind… I’ll have some shortly.”

I wish with every fiber of my being that I could love this man the way he deserves. How could I have ever faulted him?

And yet, I allow his discomfort to grow in the silence that stretches. Every moment pushes him further away—I can feel it, but I don’t let it stop. Raven must understand, because since Father put her in charge, Thorne has worked double shifts. She’s requested his attention at every lull.

Or he’s lying and has been with Echo.

Thorne sighs. “I don’t know what to do when you’re like this…”

Run. Please.

“This isn’t you, Luna.” Thorne shoves to his feet. Anger. Thank God. “You need to get up. You need to… to do something.”

Do something…

While prisoner to this room. Banished from the Keep, stripped of authority, my—the—people outside demanding my execution.

I am without use.

“You’ve been sulking in here for two days like some… Like a…”

Coward.

Weakling.

Wounded dog.

“Like a woman.”

A laugh tries to lurch up my throat but catches halfway, and something close to a mewl grinds out instead. I sit up and face him; tilt my head. His mouth opens and closes as he searches for better words. He waves to the wall. “On the outside. Those women. The… The weak ones.”

“The weak ones.”

He nods. “Yes. I… Luna, it kills me to say it, but it’s true. I love you. But this isn’t you. This isn’t⁠—”