Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 145

Chapter 145

GD

Cage

It’s well past midnight when I finally stop pretending I can sleep. The light from my desk lamp cuts a thin, yellow line across the wall, catching on paper pinned in uneven rows. Notes. Maps. Faces. Her face. Allison Rivers. I sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a mess that should make sense but doesn’t anymore. Lines of red string connect pages of handwriting, fragments of what I’ve learned about her-dates, times, reactions, everything she’s ever done that made the Bond flare like fire in my chest. I told myself I was just keeping track and staying ahead, being smart. But the truth is, this isn’t a strategy anymore. It’s an obsession. I rub the heel of my hand against my chest. The bond hums there, quiet but constant, a pulse I can’t silence. Sometimes it’s faint, like a memory. Sometimes it’s sharp enough to make me flinch. Tonight

it’s the latter.

“Shut up,” I mutter to the empty room.

The hum doesn’t fade. It never does. It only settles deeper, dragging me with it, whispering her name under my skin. I push myself to my feet and start pacing. My eyes skim over the mess I’ve made-her class schedule, her seating arrangements, the way her expression changes when someone pushes too hard. It’s all there. Proof of how well I know her. If I can’t turn the bond off, I can at least use it. That’s what Father would say. Use what you have. Don’t let it use you.

The memory of his voice slides in uninvited-cool, clipped, always in control. “You’ve done well, son. Keep her close. Make her slip.”

The praise had been simple, measured, and it had lit something in me that I hate almost as much as 1 crave. I stop at the desk, pick up a pen and start scribbling on the page already covered in my handwriting.

Weaknesses: pride, temper, attachment.

Triggers: the professor, losing control, being told she’s dangerous.

Goal: make her break.

The pen scratches faster the more I write. This is what m good at-pressure, precision and obedience. If I do this right, if she cracks when Father’s here, he’ll see me. Not the failure he trained too soft, but the son who finished what he started. The bond flickers again, hot and sharp. I press my hand to my chest and close my eyes. Images bleed through my mind-her smile, her voice, that odd flicker of blue under skin that I swear I saw for a moment in Hill’s last class. The memory burns.

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Chapter 145

“Stop it,” I growl, but my voice breaks halfway through.

The bond doesn’t listen. It never listens. It keeps showing me pieces I don’t want-her laughter, the warmth that hits when she’s near, the pull that makes me want to reach out instead of run. It’s not love. It’s a curse. I grab the bottle from my desk, take a long wallow, and drop into the chair. The map looms on the wall ahead, pins glinting in the dim light. Her name sits in the centre, circled in black. I trace the circle with my eyes like it might make the world steadier. This isn’t personal. It’s work. It’s duty. That’s what I tell myself, even though the bond laughs through my ribs as if it knows better.

The papers blur for a second, and I have to blink to clear them. My pulse hammers too fast. I turn to the smaller corkboard by the window-the one that’s less about tactics and more about… her.

Tiny details fill the space. The way she bites her lip when she’s thinking. The words she constantly mutters under her breath. The times she flinched when someone mentioned the council.

A note scrawled at the bottom reads: she trusts too easily when you smile. I hate that I wrote that. I hate that it’s true. I pull the pin out and crumple the paper. The motion sends a few other notes fluttering to the floor. I crouch to pick them up, but one catches my eye: a sketch of her hands, drawn absent-mindedly

on the corner of a page.

“You’re losing it,” I tell myself. “You’re absolutely losing it.”

Maybe I am. But at least madness feels like something can control. The phone on my desk buzzes once. I stare at it, half expecting the screen to light with Father’s name again. It doesn’t. But the echo of our last call still crawls through my head. That is the job. This is the life. This is what keeps me alive. But now, in the half-light of the dorm, surrounded by the evidence of what I’ve become, it doesn’t feel like enough.

I drop back into the chair and stare at the centre of the map. The bond hums again, slow and rhythmic. She’s awake somewhere. I can feel it. For a second, I let the connection pull, to see where it goes. A flicker of warmth hits, quick and dizzying, like sunlight breaking through smoke. Then it’s gone. I should be disgusted by how much relief that gives me.

“You’re the problem,” I whisper to the empty room. “You and this damn bond.”

But I don’t stop looking at her name. I don’t stop tracing the line between us, invisible but unbreakable. On the desk, I flip to a clean page and write the words owly, deliberately: Wednesday – Council arrives. She breaks, I rise. I set the pen down. The words stare back, too neat for what they mean. It’s simple. It’s clear. It’s everything Father ever wanted. So why does my stomach twist? I lean back, running a hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling until the shadow blur. My thoughts won’t stop circling. The plan’s perfect. The timing’s right. She’ll lose her temper, the council will see, and I’ll finally have proof that she’s

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Chapter 145

not just dangerous-she’s uncontrollable. He’ll finally look at me and see a soldier worth keeping. That should feel like victory but…it doesn’t.

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The bond throbs again, harder this time. A whisper pushes through-soft and unguarded. My name. Her voice. It hits like a punch to the chest. Cage… I jerk upright, hands gripping the edge of the desk. My pulse stumbles, breath catching. She’s not calling for me. It’s just my mind conjuring things.

“Get out of my head,” I whisper.

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