Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 219

The world steadies.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

It’s not said as a promise but a fact.

“I know,” I reply.

And then everyone moves into position. Hellhounds vanish into the undergrowth, spreading wide, flanking paths memorised down to the step. They don’t speak. They don’t signal. They simply disappear where the forest thickens, instincts sharp and ready. Dragons hold back, grounded and waiting, massive shapes hidden behind ridges and rock. Their power hums low, contained, patient. Spellcasters take their

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20:33 Thu, Jan 15

The Trap Springs

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28

places in clusters, overlapping fields of sight and power, fingers brushing wards and charms one last time. The demons disappear entirely. No trace. No shadow out of place. Just an absence where something deadly waits. Cassian and I take our position deeper in the trees, far

enough back to be unseen, close enough to feel the pulse of the ground beneath the old camp. He settles behind me, one hand resting

lightly at my back, the other braced against the tree beside us and we wait.

Time stretches thin. Minutes feel like hours. The light fades completely. The forest grows quiet in that unnatural way it does when

something is coming. I close my eyes and reach inward, slow and careful to feel my bonds. Kael first. Warm. Steady. Focused. Evander.

Controlled. Sharp. Ready. Rhaziel. Vast and patient, like the night itself. Cassian is right there with me, our bond aligned, smooth and

practised. Power flows between us in a controlled loop, exactly as we trained, no strain, no burn. Then, almost reluctantly, I brush against

another presence. Cage. His bond is tight with anxiety, a constant low thrum of fear and anticipation. Alert. Watching. Waiting. He knows something is coming. He just doesn’t know when. I withdraw and open my eyes and see a flicker of movement. At first, it’s just shapes between the trees. Then figures emerge, disciplined and quiet, armour dull, weapons ready. The Council’s soldiers move in tight formation, with confidence clear in every step. They walk straight into the empty camp, and then they slow down. I hear someone swear

softly.

A commander steps forward, scanning the area. “This is it,” he says. “The tracker says it’s here.”

Another voice, sharper now. “Where the hell are they?”

A hand lifts. “Spread out. Search for signs.”

Orders ripple through the group, and they break formation. Exactly like we planned. They fan out, footsteps crunching louder now, voices low but confused. Someone kicks over cold ashes. Another crouches, examining disturbed ground.

“They were here,” someone mutters. “They can’t be far.”

Then there’s a scream. Short. Sharp. Cut off too fast. Followed by the sound a body makes when it hits the ground. And everything

changes.

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20:33 Thu, Jan 15

Thornhill Academy

Walking Back into Hell

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28

Cage

The ladders go up. They’re massive things, built for siege and conquest, hauled forward with grunts and laughter as they’re slammed against the Wall. Hooks bite into stone. Ropes are thrown over, anchored tight, and tested with sharp tugs that twist my stomach. The Wall has always been meant to keep people out. Tonight, it’s just an inconvenience for them. The soldiers are buzzing. They’re too loud, too eager, they jostle each other as they line up, checking weapons, tightening straps, rolling shoulders like they’re about to walk into a tavern brawl instead of a fucking massacre.

“Easy night,” someone says behind me. “Council tracked them right to their beds.”

A ripple of laughter moves through the ranks.

“I want the siphon,” another voice adds, almost gleeful. “Heard she screams when you corner her.”

My hands curl into fists before I can stop myself, but I force them to relax. I force myself to smile, to nod, to play the part. This is what keeps me alive. This is what keeps her alive. I climb when it’s my turn, boots scraping against wood, hands gripping rope so tight my knuckles burn. Below me, the ground drops away. Above me, the sky is black and endless. Every rung feels like a countdown. Get her out. That was the deal I made with myself the moment I ran back. That was the price of everything I’ve done. I drop down the other side with the rest of them, landing hard, knees bending to absorb the impact. The air feels colder here, thicker, like the land itself knows something we don’t.

The march toward the camp is fast and confident. Too confident for me to be comfortable with. They move in formation, weapons loose but ready, boots striking dirt in rhythm. No one bothers to whisper anymore. Why would they? We’re walking into an execution. I keep my eyes forward, my expression neutral, my pulse screaming in my ears. Run, stray. I begged her to run and I hope she listened. I hope she didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t feel that pull in her chest and mistake it for something she owed me. She doesn’t owe me anything. The bond hums faintly, restless and tight. Anxiety coils there, sharp and insistent, but it’s not her panic. It’s mine. I reach for it instinctively, just enough to sense Steady. Focused. Present. My chest tightens because I don’t think she ran. We reach the camp, and my heart nearly stops. It’s empty. No movement. No light. No warmth. The tents are gone, and cold ashes sit in fire pits. She ran. Relief slams into me so hard my knees almost give out. Thank fuck.

–

“They fled,” someone says, disgusted. “Cowards.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself not to react.

Yes. Run. Please.

A commander steps forward, pulling the locator device free. The small screen flickers as he frowns.

“This is the spot,” he says. “Tracker says it’s right here.”

Murmurs ripple through the soldiers.

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