Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 180

Chapter 180

Cassian

51

Kael clears his throat loudly, far too loudly to be accidental and drags the back of his wrist across his mouth, wiping away blood.

“This is very sweet and all,” he says, voice hoarse, pained, and deeply unimpressed, “but we should really keep moving before whatever the hells are left out

here decide we look like seconds.”

The moment between Allison and me snaps like a pulled thread, not painfully, but with the startled jolt of something fragile interrupted before it can fully

bloom. She steps back from me a fraction, enough for cool air to slip between us. Her eyes flick toward Kael and Evander, both now slumped, blood-slicked,

exhausted beyond reason, and she nods with grim resolve.

“Right,” she murmurs. “We move.”

Rhaziel moves before any of us can blink. Not with demonic speed or supernatural flair-no, the movement is almost gentle, an unsettling contrast to the

carnage still crackling through the clearing. His shadows soften around him, darkening to something velvety and quiet as he kneels beside Evander’s body.

He slips an arm beneath Evander’s shoulders, another beneath his knees, and lifts him with a reverence that feels… wrong on a creature made for war.

Evander’s head lolls weakly against the demon king’s chest, golden hair sticking to his cheek with sweat and blood. Rhaziel adjusts him carefully, almost

tenderly, as if Evander is fragile glass instead of a fully grown dragon shifter.

“Easy there,” he murmurs-so quietly I’m not sure I was meant to hear it.

The shadows around him twist upward instinctively, weaving themselves into a sort of bracing harness that curls around Evander’s limbs, supporting the

weight Rhaziel doesn’t want his injuries to bear. It is the closest thing to affection I have ever seen from him, and for a moment, it steals the breath from my chest. Allison exhales shakily at the sight, relief and guilt tangling across her expression. Rhaziel rises smoothly, Evander held securely in his arms, and when his eyes meet mine the violence there has shifted-still sharp, still deadly, but tempered now with something startlingly fierce.

“He will not be dropped,” he says simply. As if anyone would dare question him.

Kael grunts from where he’s leaning on a half-shattered tree. “If he gets carried, I get carried.”

“You still have legs,” I tell him, stepping under his arm before he can finish dragging himself upright. “They work. Mostly.”

“They hurt,” he mutters.

“So does your attitude. We are both making sacrifices.”

Rhaziel snorts, and Allison, despite everything, almost smiles.

“We move,” she says. “Now. The longer we stay here, the more likely someone is to send/reinforcements.”

Rhaziel’s voice slides through the clearing like smoke. “Lead us, Hummingbird.”

And she does.

The forest is harsh in daylight, too bright, too exposed, every

napped branch and blood trail a glaring, fluorescent invitation to anyone tracking us. She moves through it with the silent awareness of someone who has spent years using the trees as both shield and warning. She knows every sound. Every threat. Every shift in the wind. I follow with Kael leaning heavily into my side, his breath warm and uneven against my shoulder. The world stretches around us in long, slow breaths of sunlight filtering through the canopy, shadows shaking loose in trembling patterns across the ground. My own magic hums low beneath my skin, alert and attuned. I keep my mind reaching outward, scanning for intent, hostility, traps, lies. The forest carries many thoughts. Most

1/3

34

17:41 Thu, Jan 1 M

Chapter 180

aren’t human.

“You’re quiet,” Kael mutters against me.

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but now you’re quiet with feelings.”

I roll my eyes at the trees. “Walk, Kael.”

ས11

We leave the clearing behind. The smell of blood fades. The pulse of adrenaline unwinds from my spine. But still I can’t stop glancing at Allison. The way she holds her arms close to her torso today, conserving heat. The faint tremble in her fingers from magic depletion. The way her shadows flicker protectively every time a branch snaps under Rhaziel’s heavy stride. She’s steady on her feet, but only because she refuses to be anything else right now.

After nearly an hour of weaving through dense brush, stepping across fallen logs and ducking under low-hanging limbs, she stops abruptly at the edge of a slope overlooking a small valley. There, tucked between leaning pines and a ring of heavy boulders, is a cabin. It’s old, weather-worn, and half-forgotten by the world. My breath catches. I know this place. I have seen it, through her memories, through the echo of her younger thoughts. This is where she once

slept during winter storms, where she hid from trackers, where she cried alone.

Allison inhales, the sound sharp. “We can rest here. But only for a little while.”

Kael sags in relief. Rhaziel adjusts Evander in his arms, his expression unreadable, though shadows coil tighter in approval. We reach the door, and while Allison forces the warped wood open, Kael slumps onto a cracked sofa cushion so dusty it releases a puff that could be older than all of us. Rhaziel kneels with a predator’s care, settling Evander beside him on an old, flattened bedroll, checking the wound on his thigh with a scowl that promises violence to whoever caused it. I stand in the centre of the room, letting the memories settle, letting the weight of this place anchor itself beneath my ribs.

“I know what we need,” I say quietly.

Allison turns. “For what?”

“For them.” I gesture toward Kael, whose eyes are half-closed, and Evander, whose breathing is too shallow for my comfort. “A healing draught. Stronger than anything the Academy stockrooms ever bothered to keep.” My gaze sweeps the walls, the shelves, the broken jars she once hid food in. “You used to

gather ingredients near here.”

Her eyes widen slightly in recognition.

“You remember that?”

“Yes”, I say simply. “I remember everything in your mind.”

She swallows, something soft flickering across her expression. “And you know where they grow?”

“Most of them. Enough to make something useful.” I nod toward the door. “But some memories are patchy with direction.”

She lifts her chin. “So you’re saying you need me?”

“I’m saying,” I correct gently, “that the boys need this, and that I would prefer…not to let you out of my sight just yet.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify