Page 79 of The Shadow Sanctum

Slowly, I step forward. His arms fold around me, solid and familiar, his chest warm even in the biting cold. I let my forehead fall against his pec and shut my eyes tight. For a fleeting minute, I allow myself to be small.

Thorne doesn’t speak. He doesn’t push or ask for more than I can give. He just holds me with his chin resting lightly against my hair, his breaths deep and steady like he’s trying to anchor us both.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I whisper into the fabric of his coat. “With the sickness. With Sawyer. With any of it.”

“You don’t have to know,” he murmurs back, voice rough but steady. “We’ll just… figure it out together.”

I squeeze my eyes tighter and hold on for just another second. Stealing comfort I don’t deserve.

Then I force myself to pull away, and the cold rushes back between us like punishment.

“Thank you,” I say softly, my voice raw.

Thorne nods, but his eyes are stormy and wet. He doesn’t reach for me again.

I turn to face the compound. I need to speak to my father before the situation gets any worse. The people will be demanding action.

Beside me, Thorne falls into step. Silent. Loyal. Always here.

Even if my heart insists on choosing someone else.

CHAPTER 23

SAWYER

Angel is nowhere on the compound.

My fingers prickling, I walk along the concrete path connecting the homes of the castes. My eyes scan as thoroughly as ever, only to come up empty again and again.

The most obvious places were eliminated first. The dining hall, the kitchen, the showers, even the fields, as if he decided to pick up farming as a hobby with the other cultivators.

Then the Seraphs’ mansion, thinking maybe he didn’t believe me when I told him Liberty was gone. Maybe he needed to check for himself.

No.

The Bower. Maybe he found out that’s where they housed her?

No.

Each failure ratchets the knot in my chest tighter. The Sanctum isn’t endless, but it’s big enough that a man can disappear if he wants to.

Or—increasingly likely—he’s gone. He did what he came here to do, and he no longer has reason to stay.

Unthinkable, twenty years of friendship refuses to believe it. But the possibility is there. Even with electric fences and Keepers guarding the gate, I know he could find his way out. Or more likely, force his way out.

But there’s been no talk of explosions or walls crashing down. So I keep looking.

Snow crunches under my feet as I veer off toward the edges of the Grove, circling back to see if he’s returned to his room. The air is sharp enough to sting my nose, and my toes go numb from snow melting over my shoes. The whole place feels too still, like the trees themselves are holding their breath.

A Cultivator girl, probably sixteen, hauls a bucket of water down the hill. Our paths line up, but her head stays down after seeing me wave. Even from a distance, her blush is vibrant.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice way too chipper for how I feel. When she doesn’t respond, I jog to catch up with her hurried steps. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but have you by chance seen my friend, Mr. Sanchez? He was with me yesterday, during the ceremony for⁠—”

As she slows to a stop, the bucket sways. Water sloshes onto the frozen ground. She stares down at the wasted effort with a frown.

“He—” She swallows, voice tiny. “He went to the Keep. Someone said he had business with Aurelius.”

The Keep…