Thorne slumped against the attic wall, the ache in his bones finally settling in as he let himself relax, the tension he’d been carrying seeping away with each breath. The soft morning light crept over the room, highlighting the dust motes swirling gently in the air, making everything seem oddly peaceful—almost as if the events of the night had been some feverish dream. But the lingering smell of smoke clinging to their clothes and the dull throb of his injuries reminded him that it had been all too real.

Jonah’s soft, rhythmic snores filled the space, grounding him further in the quiet of the moment. Thorne took a moment to study his friend’s sleeping face, the cuts and bruises on Jonah’s skin standing out sharply against his pallor. Ben was seated beside Jonah, carefully examining his friend’s injuries, his fingers barely grazing the cloth bandages. Thorne noticed the gentleness in Ben's touch, as if he was handling something precious.

When Ben finally settled down beside him, Thorne caught a glimpse of something heavy in the boy’s eyes—a quiet sorrow, mixed with exhaustion that seemed to go beyond the physical. Ben had been unusually quiet the entire journey back, his gaze distant as they’d walked. Now, leaning back against the attic wall, his eyes looked unfocused, almost haunted. Thorne wondered if the silence was Ben’s way of processing what he’d witnessed, but he couldn’t find the words to ask, not yet. They had all seen and endured too much, and now the silence was the only balm they had.

Thorne’s mind drifted to Sid. He’d scanned every soot-covered face on their way out of the Old District, searching for that familiar, scowling expression, that confident stride. But Sid hadn’t been there. His heart twisted at the thought of his mentor lost in the inferno, but he forced it down, telling himself that Sid was too resilient to fall so easily. He had to be. The alternative was a void he didn’t want to confront.

After a while, Thorne and his friends left at the urging of an older cousin, who looked ready to keel over from exhaustion. The older cousin's face was etched with lines of worry and fatigue, his clothes tattered and stained. Eliza and Rafe separated from them to go to the sewers and inform the rest of the cousins who had sought refuge there about what had happened.

Thorne let his head fall back against the wall, the rough wood pressing uncomfortably into his bruised skin, but it was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected. Darius’s heavy, steady footsteps still echoed in his mind. Thorne had been grateful for his presence, even though he’d told Darius repeatedly they’d be fine on their own. The older boy hadn’t taken no for an answer, though, and Thorne suspected he’d known that the reassurance of his strength was exactly what they’d needed. Darius had walked them back to the attic with silent determination, his broad shoulders shielding them from whatever might still be lurking in the shadows.

When they’d reached the attic, Darius had offered a quick nod before retreating into the streets, his weary figure disappearing into the morning mist. Thorne couldn’t help but think of the grief in his eyes, the exhaustion etched deeply into his face. The cousins had lost so many. The surviving cousins were few, too few. Thorne had seen dozens fighting the gravediggers, but only a handful managed to escape the inferno. It was a loss that left a hollow ache in his chest, one that he couldn’t yet comprehend.

Beside him, Ben’s breathing had slowed, and Thorne felt their rhythms sync as they both let the weight of the night settle over them. The sound of Jonah’s snores was a balm, a reminder that they were safe, even if only for now. Thorne closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax just a little more. The attic’s musty scent, the familiar creak of the floorboards, and the gentle warmth of the first light wrapped around him, pulling him into a fragile peace.

His mind drifted, lingering on fleeting memories—the distant cries of the battle, the feel of Ben’s trembling hand in his as they’d moved through the burning wreckage, the bodies of cousins and enemies alike strewn across the blood-soaked ground. But here, in the attic, all of it felt far away, as if the night had been swallowed by the dawn.

He could still feel Ben’s gaze on him every now and then, cautious yet steadfast, as though he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite put into words. Thorne didn’t have the strength to face that gaze fully, not yet. But he felt a small comfort in knowing that Ben was there, that despite everything they’d seen and done, they were here together, for however long this calm would last.

Thorne took a steadying breath, feeling his chest tighten as he prepared to speak. "Ben, there's something I need to tell you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He kept his eyes shut, unable to face his friend. "I… I’ve already formed my core. I have skills—magical skills.” The words spilled out in a rush, each one peeling away a layer of the carefully guarded secret he'd held close. This was the first time he’d ever voiced it aloud, a truth he hadn’t even dared to speak to himself.

He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, but after everything Ben had witnessed tonight, there was no hiding it anymore. The fear of Ben’s reaction twisted inside him, yet he felt a strange relief too, like a prisoner seeing light after years in the dark. “I’ve been hiding this for so long,” he continued, his fingers unconsciously twisting around the pendant his mother had left him, a comforting weight against his chest. “When I was younger, I realized I could do… things, things other people couldn’t. So I started training in secret, hoping to get stronger.”

A small sound told him Ben was moving around the room, the soft scrape of his feet barely audible in the quiet attic. Thorne’s heart raced, torn between relief and the sharp fear of rejection. But the floodgates were open now, and he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. "My past… it’s complicated. My mother was like me. She had powers, too." His voice grew faint, choked with emotion as he continued, "But she was killed, along with everyone else in my family. I had to run, leave everything I’d known behind. I ended up here, where Uncle eventually found me."

Ben remained silent, but the gentle rustling sound of dried flowers being crushed filled the room. Thorne took a shaky breath, pressing forward. "Since then, I’ve kept who I am hidden, trying to act like I’m… normal. But I’ve always known I’m different. And now…” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on his hands. "Now, I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing anymore."

A quick glance revealed Ben calmly mixing ingredients into a small jar of water, his face unreadable, his movements careful and precise. Thorne frowned, feeling the silence stretch, but he pressed on, his voice barely steady. “I’ve used my skills to survive—to fight. But tonight, I killed someone, Ben. A person, not just an animal. It… it changes things. It changes me.”

The weight of his own admission pressed down on him like lead. Ben didn’t say a word, just continued mixing the contents of the jar. Thorne forced himself to keep going, feeling as though he had to get it all out. “My family… their deaths, it was my fault. I showed my powers to the wrong person. I was just a kid, but it didn’t matter. They found out, and they came for us. I wasn’t strong enough to protect them.”

The tears he’d held back stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. "That’s why I have to hide it all now. If people find out… it could happen again. And I can’t lose anyone else."

Ben didn’t respond right away, but then he knelt down in front of Thorne and held out the small jar he’d been working on. He mimed drinking, his face calm but kind, urging Thorne without a word. Hesitantly, Thorne took the jar, peering at the bits floating within. With a half-hearted shrug, he lifted it to his lips and drank.

Warmth bloomed down his throat, spreading through his chest and easing the tightness that had settled there. A soft sense of peace settled over him, soothing the jagged edges of his thoughts. When he finally looked up, he found Ben’s steady gaze fixed on him, his eyes clear and understanding. Something unspoken passed between them, a quiet reassurance that Ben was here, that he understood in ways words could never fully express.

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“Thank you,” Thorne whispered, his voice rough, not only for the calming potion but for the silent acceptance. Ben nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. The silence between them felt lighter now, filled not with unspoken fears but with quiet solidarity, a bond strengthened by secrets shared and burdens lessened.

For a long moment, they sat together in the quiet stillness of dawn, the soft glow of morning light filling the room and casting warm, golden hues across the dusty floorboards. The air was thick with unspoken words, but neither boy broke the silence. It was a rare moment of peace after the chaos of the night.

Then, without a word, Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He handed it to Thorne, who took it with trembling fingers, uncertain of what he was about to see. As he carefully unfolded it, he found a simple drawing—a child's sketch, rough but deeply meaningful. Two small figures stood side by side, holding hands. The lines were uneven, the figures a little smudged, but to Thorne, it was perfect.

Ben gestured to himself and then to Thorne, his gaze steady. The message was unmistakable. We’re in this together.

Thorne swallowed hard, his vision blurring with unshed tears as Ben pointed to his heart, then mimed turning a key in a lock. The promise in that gesture was unmistakable. Whatever secrets Thorne had to bear, they were safe with Ben. The boy’s loyalty was unshakeable, his compassion unclouded by fear or doubt.

Thorne felt a surge of emotion so powerful it left him breathless. It was more than gratitude; it was a deep, unbreakable bond forged not just in friendship, but in trust and understanding. Ben knew everything now—the darkness, the power, the mistakes—and still, he was here, offering his silent vow of solidarity. Thorne's hands clenched the drawing, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

His voice shook as he managed to whisper, “Thank you, Ben. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” This time, the words were laden with a fierce conviction, a certainty he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Ben's hand moved to Thorne's shoulder, squeezing it gently, a wordless reassurance that he was here, no matter what. Thorne blinked, letting the tears slip silently down his cheeks, unashamed. The quiet understanding between them was deeper than any words could convey.

In that moment, as the dawn broke around them, Thorne realized he wasn’t alone in this burden. Whatever the future held, they would face it together. And for the first time since he had fled his old life, he felt a sliver of hope, fragile yet steadfast, warming him from within.

*

Thorne sat on a rooftop near the harbor, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Red, gold, and yellow hues painted the sea in beautiful colors. It was his favorite and most painful time of day. Every time he saw these colors, the scene of that fateful morning replayed in his mind, replaying his parents' deaths. Screams and the terrifying sound of metal echoed in his mind.

He absently played with his pendant, feeling its worn edges press into his palm, as though it alone could anchor him to the present. The distant caw of seagulls and the murmur of the crowd below had faded long ago from his mind. All his thoughts focused on his parents and Bea. Telling the truth to Ben, while liberating, had opened up a wound he had thought had scabbed over.

Somewhere in the background, seagulls cried, but their sounds were as distant as the crowd below; Thorne was far away, lost in his memories.

In his distraction, he didn’t hear the soft approach behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice broke the silence. “I’ve been looking for you all over the city.”

Thorne twisted around, his heart racing, and found Sid perched next to him, his gaunt face partially hidden in shadow. A new scar traced a jagged line from his ear to his throat, angry and red against his pale skin.

“You’re alive,” Thorne murmured, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Sid’s mouth twisted into a small, familiar smirk. “I’m not so easy to kill.”

Thorne’s chest tightened unexpectedly. Relief washed over him, mixed with something close to gratitude, though he couldn’t quite understand why he felt that way. When did this rough, often cruel man become a steady presence in his life? The feeling was unsettling, but he pushed it aside, returning his gaze to the last glimmers of sunlight on the water.

Sid broke the silence first, his voice unusually gentle. “You’re a stubborn little shit.”

Thorne couldn’t help but let out a short, surprised laugh, and it sounded strange in the heavy air, almost foreign after everything that had happened.

They both turned their attention back to the horizon, a quiet understanding settling between them. After a pause, Thorne ventured, “I thought… I thought you weren’t going to come to the gravedigger’s base.”

Sid shrugged, his fingers tracing the edge of his new scar absentmindedly. “I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.” He paused, pulling a bottle from his cloak and taking a long, deliberate swig. “But I kept an eye on you, just in case. When I saw you really going in… well, I knew I had a small window of time.”

Thorne’s brow furrowed. Sid… had followed him? He struggled to reconcile that with the callous indifference Sid usually displayed.

Sid continued, “I wasn’t about to face the entire gravedigger gang alone. So, I ran to Uncle. Told him we’d located the hideout and convinced him we could hit them hard with a surprise attack. He wasn’t thrilled,” Sid added with a dry laugh, “Too wrapped up in his precious schemes to consider it. But when I reminded him how much of a threat they posed, he finally gave the go ahead. I gathered every cousin I could find, and we launched the attack.”

He took another swig, his eyes distant. “We weren’t ready,” Sid admitted, his voice hollow in a way that Thorne had never heard. “If we’d been better prepared… maybe fewer cousins would’ve died. You helped, unknowingly, with the fire. Added to the chaos. But we’re weakened, Thorne. The gravediggers may be gone, but we’re still left scrambling, licking our wounds.”

Thorne absorbed Sid’s words, his stomach knotting as he thought of the cousins who hadn’t made it out. The faces he’d seen in battle, resolute and determined, flickered through his mind, now replaced by the memory of bodies scattered in the embers.

“We lost most of the senior cousins in the battle, and we will have to quickly regroup before a new gang rises to power. Uncle’s new influence will surely help." Sid paused, and his eyes flicked back to Thorne, his gaze sharp and searching.

“But the old man’s furious,” he said, his voice steady.

Thorne shifted, uncomfortable under Sid’s stare. “Is he mad at me?” The question slipped out, soft and small, and he cursed himself for how weak it sounded. No matter how much he tried to shake it, a part of him still craved his uncle’s approval, even feared his wrath.

Sid shook his head, his gaze unwavering. But there was something unreadable in Sid’s eyes that made Thorne’s heart sink.

“Then why?” Thorne pressed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sid hesitated, his eyes drifting to the horizon, where the last sliver of the sun vanished, leaving only darkness. “Last night was a win, but a costly one. Uncle’s grand plans, what he’s spent years building, took a hit that he wasn’t prepared for. In a single night, they’ve come crumbling down, and he…”

Sid’s voice trailed off, but Thorne already knew the answer. He dropped his gaze to his hands, clasped tightly around his pendant.

“And he... blames me.” Thorne supplied for him, feeling his shoulders hunch over.

Sid pinched the bridge of his nose, looking almost weary. “I wouldn’t say that…” he muttered, sighing. “But I’d avoid him for the time being.”

Thorne nodded slowly, trying to gauge his own reaction. To his surprise, the news barely registered; he’d expected nothing less from his uncle.

Sid hesitated, the usual sharp edge of his gaze softened slightly. “I told him about your part in the raid…” Sid’s voice wavered, and for a fleeting moment, Thorne could have sworn he caught a glimpse of regret there. “I told him you were the one who found the base. That you went in alone, rescued your friend, and… well, set fire to the whole damn place, which—ironically—helped us win.” He let out a mirthless laugh that held more bitterness than humor.

“I thought it’d calm him down,” Sid went on, rubbing a hand over his scar. “You know how he gets when he’s angry…” His words trailed off, and Thorne shuddered at the reminder of his uncle’s volatile fury.

“My words had… an unintentional effect,” Sid added, his expression darkening. He glanced at Thorne, then quickly looked away, his mouth opening as if he were about to say more, only to close again in silence. There was something on his face—a flicker of uncertainty, maybe guilt—that made Thorne’s stomach twist.

“What’s wrong?” Thorne asked, the worry creeping into his voice.

Sid’s gaze drifted to the distant horizon before he stood up, and his expression hardened into something resolute and cold. His usual air of indifference was gone, replaced with a quiet intensity that set Thorne on edge. “From tomorrow, we resume your training,” he said, his tone carrying a weight Thorne had never heard before. “No more playing around. No more games. None.”

Thorne frowned, unease pooling in his stomach. He didn’t understand the sudden change in Sid’s demeanor, but there was a raw edge to the man’s voice that made his skin prickle with apprehension. “I… understand,” he murmured, even though the words didn’t seem to lessen the chill creeping down his spine.

He wasn’t sure what had changed, but something had, and he could feel it like a shadow creeping over his shoulder, bringing with it an unshakable sense of foreboding.