Page 111 of Crown of Thorns
The timing. The silence. The way he looked at me before we split. This wasn’t chance. It was designed. I’ve been pulled away, distracted just long enough. And that means Noah’s in trouble.
I break into a run, every step a curse. My breath tears through my lungs as I double back—past the arched library door, past the half-lit corridor with the broken windowpane.
And now he’s gone. Doors locked. Corridors looping. My breath fogs the air, sweat slicking my spine despite the cold. I know these halls. But panic warps them, makes every step feel wrong.
Where the fuck did he go?
I retrace my path like a madman. He’s slipped through cracks I didn’t know existed. This isn’t just stone and shadow, it’s legacy. And I was never meant to belong.
But something’s wrong. The air feels heavier. Like the castle knows something I don’t. As if I’m not chasing him, but being led.
His office is locked. “If you’re here, open the damn door.” I yank on the knob a few times and curse when it won’t budge. “You don’t have to fight alone, baby. Let me in.”
I press my forehead to the cold wood, my voice cracking. “Please.”
The silence taunts me. Kicking at the door a final time, I look around like a man abandoned by God. The shadows offer nothing back. My pulse hammers against my skull, and all I can feel is this raw, gnawing ache in my chest.
I need him. Not just to find him. I need to touch him, to make sure he’s real, breathing, still mine. I can’t lose him. Not now. Not when everything in me is already unraveling.
I head to the other side, rounding a corridor that feels off-limits. Strange. A part of the castle even the Elders avoid. No one gets in without a purpose. I thought I knew every shadow Noah touched, but not this one.
The light in the corridor stutters, but it doesn’t stop me from advancing. Until I come to a stop when my eyes land on a massive painting of the castle at nighttime. It’s eerily beautiful. Especially with the crow flying in the air, its wings spread and its glare pointed right at me, as if it sees me. Judges me.
The same crow sits branded across my spine, born from legacy and fate. A mark of control. A symbol of guilt. It feels like it's watching not just me, but the path I chose. Or maybe the one I can’t escape. Its shape echoes the mark between my shoulders.
It’s too perfect to be a coincidence. It makes me wonder if any of this was ever a choice. Maybe the mask was never mine to take off. Maybe this was always waiting.
I place my hand on its head and feel it move under my fingers. Fumbling with the wall, it slides to one side, revealing the darkness of the dungeons. Alpha Fraternarii territory.
“Noah?”
A sound resonates through the dungeons, making the walls tremble. Quickly climbing down the stairs, I reach the ground floor when a door bangs shut, startling me. It’s dark down here, but when I start walking, light wavers to life, a faint glow that’s barely enough. The scent of mildew and old secrets clings to the walls like rot.
Is there some gathering going on I’m not aware of? I don’t have the position to sit around and watch the Elders, or any members of the Board for that matter, without an official invitation. The sound bangs through the cracks again, and my pace picks up.
Fucking fuck, they better not see me without cloak and disguise. Secrecy is a must, and disrespecting any of the values is a reason for your membership to be questioned, even for someone like me.
Another door slams shut. The sound rattles the walls once again. Flickers of light peek through the cracks of a door. With a gentle push I let it open on a creak.
“Noah?”
A bucket stands in the corner. A mop still sits in it, vapor stirring from the visibly hot water. Who’d be cleaning the damn dungeons at this hour of the night?
Inside the room, there’s a single chair, its legs scraping slightly against the uneven stone floor. The air is thick with the acrid tang of bleach and the damp musk of rot, like an abandoned hospital and a mausoleum combined.
The projector casts shaky images onto the wall: a club bathed in blue and crimson strobe, shadows jerking to music that seems to pulse from nowhere.
A part of me wants to back away. Close the door. Pretend I didn’t see it. But I move forward, like I’m being pulled by the throat.
The flickering light makes the room twitch around me, like it’s alive, and I suddenly feel like I’ve stepped into a trap I can't name.
I slowly make my way in, eyes glued to the wall.
“Look at that,” a voice croaks. “If that isn't the welp himself.”
A voice slithers from the shadows. I whip around, heart lurching.
“...Monsieur Z?”
