Page 108 of Thunder's Reckoning
One day, those memories will claw their way back. And when they do, I fear it won’t be me he blames.
It will be himself.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
THE SCRAPE OFthe lock was enough to send my stomach into knots.
I stood anyway. My body trembled, but obedience was safer than resistance. The punishment room was built for this type of confrontation. Every inch of it whispered of submission. Even the silence seemed to echo, as if the stone itself were waiting for me to break.
The door opened.
And Gabrial stepped inside.
The air shifted with him, pressing tighter. He never rushed. Each step was deliberate, his red coat brushing the stone floor like ceremonial robes. The scent rolled ahead of him—lavender, citrus, cedar oil. Not human. Not natural. A crafted mask meant to soothe while he carved you open.
His eyes locked on me, and I felt smaller, smaller, until the room itself seemed to bow with him. I dropped to my knees in submission just like I knew he expected.
“Sable.”
My name. Not a greeting, but a claim. A declaration.
“I trust you’ve had time to reflect.”
I bowed my head, lips sealed. My heart thrashed against my ribs, but he would only hear silence. He loved silence. He mistook it for surrender.
He began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. “I have decided on your punishment. I will not strike you. That is crude. That is how the outside world disciplines—violence and impulse. That is how the animals you ran to handle disobedience.”
His shoes clicked against the stone as he circled me, every step counted, measured.
“I am not crude,” he said. His voice softened, almost tender. “I am grace. I am order. Violence wastes beauty. And you, my flame, are beauty incarnate. But beauty must still be proven.”
He stopped in front of me, bending low until his face hovered close. His eyes bored into mine, endless and dark. His breath carried cedar and citrus, warm and cloying.
“You are too valuable to be marred,” he whispered. “Too beautiful. But value untested is nothing. You will be cleansed. Brought before the Flame in full ceremony. Before the congregation, you will kneel, and the fire will erase the lies of the world. Every memory of your time away—gone. When you rise, you will be pure once more. Mine once more.”
Bile rose in my throat. To forget Zeke. To forget freedom. I forced my shoulders to sag, my gaze downcast.
“Yes,” I murmured.
His lips curved into a smile.
“There is more,” he continued, voice smooth as glass. “Zara and Malik will watch. They must learn what rebellion earns. They must see how it is corrected.”
The fury that flared in my chest nearly broke me. I wanted to scream. To claw. To tear him apart with my bare hands. But the words from the hidden note rang louder:Just obey and be patient.
So I forced a whisper past my lips. “I understand.”
His head tilted, studying me as though I were a sculpture with a crack. “Do you? Then tell me, Sable. Why?”
The question hung like smoke.
He resumed pacing, slow, circling me like a predator. “Why did you run? You were my flame. My chosen. And still you ran. Why?”
The truth seared the back of my throat—to save Zara, to save Malik, to save myself from you.But truth would kill me.
“I was weak,” I said softly.
“Hmm.” His hand brushed my shoulder as he passed, almost tender, almost mocking. “Weakness I can forgive. Betrayal?” He leaned close, his lips near my ear. “That is harder.”
