Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 195

Chapter 195

350

Cage

For a long, suspended moment after the shadows swallow her, I can’t breathe. The clearing is silent except for the faint echo of my own heartbeat pounding behind my ribs like something trying to claw its way free. My hands shake where they’re braced in the dirt. My vision blurs at the edges. My lungs stutter, seize, and fail entirely. She’s alive. She’s alive. Allison is alive. The words slam into me over and over, not gentle revelations but blows-hard, merciless, relentless-each one striking deeper until my chest feels flayed open. My head drops forward, shoulders curling in against the force of it, breath catching on something sharp and painful lodged in my ribs. I have a chance to make this right. I can beg for forgiveness for the rest of my life if she allows it. Another sob claws up my throat, and a laugh follows it. A broken thing caught halfway between both escapes me, trembling, unfamiliar, uncontrollable. She flipped me off. Right as she disappeared-swallowed by shadow, smoke, and a realm not meant for men like me-she lifted one hand… and gave me the finger. Another strangled sound bursts out of me. Half-choked, half-horrified, entirely undone. Then it becomes laughter. Real laughter. A cracked, breathless, hysterical laugh that shakes loose the grief lodged deep in my chest.

“Gods, Rivers…” I whisper, dragging a trembling hand down my face. “Of course you would.”

Of course she would say goodbye like that. Of course she would tell me she was alive by insulting me. Of course she would survive. She always survives.

The Wall. That’s what the demon king said. That’s where they were going. Then that’s where I’m going. But first-The thunder of boots explodes through the forest behind me, snapping me upright. Shit. That’s right. I scramble to my feet, swipe my sleeve across my eyes, and force my breathing into something that doesn’t sound like I was breaking apart on the ground moments ago. The hunting unit bursts into the clearing-everyone shouting orders like they think

volume equates competence. They skid to a stop when they see me.

“Cage?” one asks, brows knitting. “Why do you look like you’ve been crying?”

“I’m not,” I snap too fast. “Got dirt in my eyes.”

The commander squints. “Both eyes?”

“Forest’s windy,” I growl. “Shut up.”

They exchange looks, but no one pushes it. No one ever does-they’re afraid of the wrong things. They fear the commander’s insignia on my chest but not

what it takes to carve the kind of man who wears it. Someone steps forward, scanning the clearing

“Did you find her?” an enforcer asks. “Did you find the body?”

My stomach twists, but I keep my face blank. “No. Nothing here.”

That part, at least, is true.

“Hmph.” The commander grunts. “Search the shelter.”

Before I can stop them, trackers charge past me, storming the shack-the same shack/Allison stood in moments ago. The same shack she had found saftey in from us. The same shack soaked in the scent of her and the men she now travels with. I stand outside, forcing my breathing to stay even, every muscle locked. If they find anything that proves she’s alive… But they won’t. They can’t. Not after the demons. They would have handled that surely. A minute passes. Two. Finally, the trackers return, arms full.

“Look at this,” one says, tossing something at the commander’s feet.

A shirt. Kael’s, I think-too loud, too obnoxiously patterned to belong to anyone else. Then another-Evander’s, torn at the collar, dirt smeared across the front. An old tin cup clinks onto the ground and the smell of a concealment potion reaches my nose. Then another with remnants of a healing draught. And

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Chapter 195

then-

“Already skinned deer, sir,” a tracker adds, hauling the carcass out by the antlers.

The commander crouches, inspecting everything with the slow, methodical irritation of a man who really wanted a corpse today.

“So,” he says calmly, “either someone was here… or a very organised bear moved in.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter passes through the group. But the commander’s expression darkens.

“We must have just missed them,” he mutters. “Whoever they were.”

My pulse spikes.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Tracks are cold. Probably moved out right before we arrived.”

He glances at me, narrow eyes assessing, but chooses not to pry.

One of the trackers nudges the dirt with his boot. “Shame to waste the food, sir. And the shelter isn’t half bad.”

A low murmur of agreement hums through the group. The commander considers, then nods once.

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