Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 170

Chapter 170

Cassian

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The abandoned towns blur together as Rhaziel and I travel west-silent streets draped in moonlight, broken rooftops, doors hanging crooked on rusted hinges, the wind moving through empty alleys with the quiet persistence of breath through a dying body. Every step feels heavy with the memory of people who once lived here, people who fled or vanished or simply gave up, and I cannot help thinking that this is exactly the kind of place Allison would have slipped into-not because she belonged in the ruins, but because she understood them far too well. Rhaziel walks beside me like a blade moving through

water, his presence a strange contradiction of fluidity and menace, shadows bending around him as though they would rather not test his patience. For a long stretch, neither of us speaks, our footsteps crunching over fragments of stone, our breath mingling with the cold night air. But every so often–quiet, subtle, almost tender for a man forged from darkness-his gaze drops to the bracelet around his wrist. The small charm glitters faintly each time it shifts through another colour. And I know exactly what it is. A mate bracelet. Academy-made. Student-crafted. An introduction to magic that most people tuck

away in drawers or toss into the bottom of a bag, never expecting it to matter. Except his matters.

“You kept yours,” I say, unable to stop the thread of surprise woven through my voice. He is a demon king; the idea of him wearing something delicate is so

absurd it borders on touching.

He does not look at me, only smooths a thumb over the gem, eyes softening in a way that should be impossible for a creature born of shadows. “Why

wouldn’t I?”

“You know,” I remind him gently, “the staff mostly use those bracelets as teaching tools. Half of them don’t even work. And the other half end up forgotten when someone realises they aren’t going to meet their mate in some star-crossed academy hallway.”

“It works,” he replies, and the simplicity of the statement carries an entire universe of certainty.

My eyes drift down to the bracelet. The charm flares with colour-flickering from muted amber into a sharp cut of storm-silver, then deepening into a rust- red that makes something uneasy coil low in my stomach.

“So,” I murmur, “shouldn’t you be able to feel her emotions directly? Through the bond?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I can feel her. But the bracelet is… different. Sometimes it offers clarity when the bond is too loud. Sometimes a visual reminder helps me keep my own instincts in check.”

That surprises me more than I want to admit. “In check? You?”

He casts me a sideways look that borders dangerously close to amused. “You think a demon king reacts gracefully when his mate feels fear?”

The bracelet flickers again-silver to rust to a nearly violent red. “And what does that particular combination mean?” I ask because I have never been one to keep my curiosity subdued and because the silence in this empty town feels like a pressure chamber waiting to implode.

Rhaziel’s voice dips low. “I researched all the colours immediately after I was gifted this.” The admission slips free without ceremony, but it hits with the weight of confession. “I wanted to understand every piece of her that was available to me.” He gestures to the charm as it pulses. “Rust is worry. Silver is anticipation. Those darker undertones-anger. She is feeling all three.” He pauses. “Strongly.”

My breath thins. “Do you think something bad is happening to her right this moment?”

His steps remain steady, but his jaw tightens enough to crack stone. “Something bad,” he says, “is already happening to her.”

I look at him, and in that single moment, I understand what he truly means-not danger, not injury, not fear. Absence. She is not with him. Not safe. Not where the bond says she belongs.

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Chapter 170

We continue down the road, passing silent houses and shattered windows and the skeletons of old storefronts. The moon hangs low, pale and heavy above

Rhaziel breaks the silence first. “I do not understand why we are walking when I could shadow-travel us closer.”

“To where?” I ask.

“To wherever she is.”

“Do you know where that is?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. “No.”

“Then shadow-travel won’t help.”

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He huffs, irritated. “But you know where she might hide.”

“Yes,” I say. “But you can’t read my mind.”

He stops walking long enough to stare directly into my soul. “You could show me,” he says, as if offering to braid my hair rather than intrude on my psyche.

“No.”

“Cassian-”

“Absolutely not.”

He exhales dramatically. “You are being unnecessarily difficult.”

“I am being appropriately cautious.”

“You are slow.”

“You are welcome to walk faster.”

He mutters louder.

We make our way through another cluster of abandoned buildings, and for a time the silence between us feels strangely companionable-two men bound by purpose, bound by fear, bound by a woman who has no idea how fiercely we orbit her. Eventually, curiosity presses against my ribs again.

“What is she like,” I ask quietly, “as a mate?”

The question seems to ripple through him. His steps remain steady, but his aura shifts. When he finally speaks, his voice is not the voice of a king, not a creature from another realm, but a man remembering the first warmth he ever felt.

“She is… extraordinary,” he says. “Not because she tries to be. Because she simply is. Fierce in the ways that matter. Gentle in the moments she allows herself to be. She carries the weight of her past as though she expects to be crushed by it at any moment, yet she keeps walking. She keeps fighting. She keeps choosing to survive.” His expression changes, enough for me to see the awe buried beneath his calm exterior. “She makes the shadows quiet,” he admits. “I did not think anything in this realm could do that.”

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