Page 1

1

Damian

Obsession is a hunting instinct. The most powerful predators aren’t the fastest or the strongest. They’re the most patient. The ones who stalk—step by careful step—following the tracks of something they’ve already decided belongs to them.

I knew the moment I set foot on Ashford University grounds that I’d become the Prior of Thornecroft. I’d already begun weaving the net. Every tiny choice I’ve made over the last three years has brought me to where I am now.

When the summons came—a black envelope slipped beneath my door in the dead of night—I wasn’t surprised, and I didn’t even hesitate. The Sacred Light calls, and you answer. No questions. No delays.

The heavy wooden door opens, and a man in black steps into the entryway. His face is expressionless, like all the servants who work for the Sacred Light.

“He’ll see you now.”

I follow him down a corridor I’ve walked before, though not for many years. As a child, I spent three summers here whenmy father decided I needed to learn our culture and history. The Sacred Light took me into his home and treated me with a gentleness my father wouldn’t have dared. Even if he were capable of it.

I used to love the Sacred Light—even though he was always masked, his voice always modulated—with the desperate, hungry love of a child starved for affection.

I know better now.

When I step inside, the scent of incense fills my lungs. Stone walls flicker in candlelight, casting elongated shadows across the form of the Sacred Light.

He wears the same mask every Sacred Light has worn for two centuries—its polished, golden surface marking him as the head of the three Sacred lights. The other two wear masks of dark wood.

“Damian.” His voice is distorted to something mechanical, otherworldly.

My pulse kicks up. I know why I’m here. There’s only one real reason.

Ben Cartwright is dead, and the position of Prior is open.

“You are my choice,” he says.

I take a breath.

Then another.

It takes a moment before his words hit, and then I’m filled with euphoria so electric it makes my body come alive.

“You were my only choice when the prior position became vacant. Do you know why?”

I shake my head, but I know exactly why.

He favors me. I’ve used what I learned from him all those years ago. He taught me restraint. That mercy is a tool, not a virtue, and that power is rooted in patience.

Over the last three years, I’ve embodied what he values. I trusted that his whisperers would bring word back to him.

It worked.

And now I’ve sealed my path for ascension. By the age of twenty-eight, I’ll be one of The Four Hundred.

“Your quiet resolve speaks volumes,” he says. “Let your calm be unbroken during your reign.”

Quiet resolve does not describe the burning exhilaration pumping through my veins. If it were visible—a glow on my skin—would his confidence waver? What if I told him what I did to make the position vacant?

No. He wouldn’t care. He’s a pragmatist, and he taught me to be one too.

We’re both in a world too ancient to change.

We both do what must be done.