Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 211

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15:42

Tue, Jan b CIRA

Thornhill Academy.

The Girl Who Refuses To Die

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Cage

–

Morning stretches itself slowly across the forest, pale light filtering through the branches in long, deliberate strokes. The trees stand tall and unmoving, their trunks silvered by frost, their shadows drawn across the path like dark ribbons. Nothing stirs except the rise and fall of breath from the enforcers as they pack up camp. It should feel peaceful, but there is a tension in the air that presses against the back of my skull the same pressure that sat there all night, keeping sleep shallow and restless. Boots crush brittle leaves as we begin our next hunt. Cloaks shift in the cold breeze, the forest smells of earth, iron, and early winter, a scent I have known all my life but somehow feels different today. The bond stirs again beneath my ribs. A faint pull. A tremor. A note of something soft threading through the iron weight in my chest. I let it brush against me, and the sensation spreads like warmth along a bruise. Allison’s emotions flicker across it – flashes of old sorrow, the quiet ache that’s lived inside her far too long, something tender and cautious beneath it all. It settles in my lungs as I walk, an ache I cannot swallow down.

Every nightmare from last night lingers behind my eyes. I see them all between the trees as we move, echoes of a childhood she should never have lived. My

jaw clenches as the path slopes downward and frost crunches under my boots. The sun hangs pale between the branches, watching everything with a dull, distant eye. I try to keep my breathing steady. I try to keep my expression blank. But every step forward drags another piece of truth through me — she survived this. She survived all of it. And I wasn’t there. The march continues with the steady rhythm of boots against earth until a sharp cry cuts through

the morning.

“Hold! Bring him here!”

Every soldier stops. A few scramble to form a half–circle as two enforcers drag a man out of the thicket. His clothes hang torn and muddy, his hair a wild

mat of dark curls. Sparks of uncontrolled magic flicker along his wrists, snapping through the damp air. He kicks once, twice, but exhaustion bleeds through

every movement. The moment they force him to his knees, he breaks.

“Please–please wait, don’t bind me-” His voice comes out hoarse and frantic, his words tumbling over each other in desperation. “I–I can give you

something, I swear, anything you want. Please, just listen-”

The enforcer behind him cuffs the back of his head. “Save it.”

But he keeps talking, words spilling too fast to stop.

“I know things. Real things. Just–don’t take me to the camps. I can bargain, I can trade-”

An enforcer steps forward with the unhurried confidence of a man who enjoys this part. His armour catches the pale morning light in harsh glints as he

crouches so they’re eye to eye.

“What could you possibly offer us?” His voice is quiet, almost conversational. “Unless you know where the siphon girl’s body ended up, you’re of no use to

anyone.”

The forest seems to inhale around us. The prisoner stills. His breath shakes once. Then something shifts in his expression

mouth.

“I’ve seen her.”

a slight, knowing tilt to his

Every sound in the open space drops away at once.

The enforcer’s gaze sharpens. “Say that again.”

“She’s alive,” the man whispers, awe threading through every syllable. “Alive. Black hair, thin, fast. She walked through a group of rogues like wind. I swear

on my life.”

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15:42 Tue, Jan 6 G.

The Girl Who Refuses To Die

My heartbeat slams into my ribs hard enough to rock me forward. Fuck.

The only thing I hear is the faint, steady pull beneath my sternum

–

the bond answering his words. Alive. And now they know it too.

The enforcer grabs the man by the jaw. “When?”

“Two nights ago. Near the broken ravine.” The prisoner’s eyes dart between soldiers, searching for even a flicker of mercy. “She wasn’t alone. Three, maybe four others with her. Strong ones.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The enforcer gripping him wipes his hands on his trousers in disgust before reaching into his jacket pocket. A small, sleek comm–device is pulled free – Council–issued, double encrypted, stamped with the insignia I have been trying not to look at since dawn. He lifts it to his ear.

“Patch me through to Lord D’Altair,” he says, voice clipped.

Every muscle in my body locks. My breath slows. My pulse doesn’t. It thunders, loud enough that I swear I can feel it in my teeth.

Static crackles.

“Report.”

Even over a device, my father’s presence wraps the air in frost. The enforcer straightens instinctively.

“We’ve confirmed movement, sir. A sighting.” His gaze flicks toward me. “The girl is alive and she wasn’t alone. Three, possibly four others with her.”

When Varyn D’Altair speaks again, his tone is a slow, precise cut.

“Alive. Of course she is. That girl never dies when she is supposed to.”

My lungs seize.

The enforcer swallows. “What are your orders, sir?”

There is a rustle of papers on the other end. Then my father breathes out something cold and amused.

“You’ll find this interesting. One of the Thornhill professors fled the academy. The one bonded to the girl.”

My stomach drops through the forest floor. I keep my face locked, unreadable, but something fractures inside my tibs.

“He was deployed at the Wall,” Varyn continues. “And you know what that means.”

“Yes, sir,” the enforcer replies quickly. He gestures to one of the trackers, who sprints forward and pulls a compact black scanner from his satchel.

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