Page 38 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

Maybe the rumours were true after all. Whispers of wealth, land, and a name once held in high regard.

He had owned property, perhaps even businesses, and lost them all somewhere along the line.

Maybe that loss is what drove him to drink.

The fall from influence to obscurity. The weight of a name he couldn’t carry alone.

Inside the shed, I light a few candles and head straight to the desk.

My hand grazes the edge, fingers landing on the wedding photo.

Mom and Dad on the church steps, young and radiant.

It’s one of the few I didn’t take to the office.

I slide it into my bag gently, as if that can protect it from whatever storm is coming.

Most of the other photos have been moved already, but a few still linger on the walls.

Ghosts of a life I’ve only just begun to understand.

That’s when I feel it—movement, curling at the edge of the trees. A flicker of red and gold. Childlike laughter cuts through the quiet. Shadows slip between trunks like serpents, cloaked figures blinking into view.

My blood goes cold.

I grab the cloak. Fumble with the fabric, heart pounding. It smells of wax and old wool, of something ancient. I pull it around my shoulders. The moment it settles, I vanish into shadow.

A twig snaps.

Laughter again. Low. Strange.

Panic flares. I knock over the candle snuffer, wax splashing onto the floor. Blow out the flames too fast. Darkness swallows the room.

“Out past curfew,” someone whispers.

I duck low. Yank the hood up.

They don’t see me. Not yet. But they’re here.

The Alpha Fraternarii.

SoI bolt. Out the shed, air sharp in my throat. Trees blur past. My boots slip on moss and roots. The wet ground pulls at my steps, slick and unforgiving. I don’t risk a glance behind. I just run.

Cloaks. Masks. Firelight. A silent court in the woods.

I wasn’t meant to find them tonight.

But somehow remembering turned into becoming.

Is that a horse?

There’s no time to properly freak out. Instead, I make my way inside and go straight to my office. It’s too late to be there now, but my mind is too turbulent to head for my room and into the space I share with Louis.

The door is unlocked, and for the weirdest of seconds, I expect that mute cleaner inside, sweeping my floors, or my little devil lounging in my chair.

No one’s there.

I eye the punching bag but don’t swing. I’m too wired and too hollow. I’m still carrying the cloak but place the mask on my desk. The mini-fridge stares at me. Should I open a bottle of champagne and sit the night out while lounging on my chair?

A knock on the door startles me.

There’s a swishing sound, as if someone’s wiping off the wood, and the fact that I already know who it is…The Brotherhood, closing in.

Did I lock my door?

The thought makes my heart nearly jump out of my ribcage.

I reach for my phone, switch it on. Louis left me tons of messages. I don’t open any of them. My thoughts are spiraling too fast, and right now, I don’t want comfort. I want clarity.

I’m not a coward. Not anymore. I’ve faced worse things than fear. Cold streets, empty nights, hands that only knew how to take. I survived those. But this? This is different. This is personal. And it’s closing in.

“Who’s there?” I bark at the sound. It stops instantly, followed by another knock that has my heart leap to my throat.

I should have opened that bottle of champagne.

I won’t be scared. Not in my own office. Whoever’s out there wants a reaction. It’s way past midnight. I reach for the mask. Not out of ritual, but resignation. I slide it over my face. It settles there like a second skin, the final piece of the transformation I’ve been dreading.

Then I head for the door. My breath tumbles out of my mouth as I turn the doorknob, hand clammy with sweat.

The corridor is empty, but the castle vibrates with malice.

As I make my way to the horror corridor, I can feel it whooshing through my veins. I can hear the sounds. Secrecy and sins.

Sliding the painting aside, I slowly make my way down. The walls are buzzing. Whoever was outside before has moved inside Monterrey. That should be reason enough to head back up and hide in my dorm. But I have nowhere to go.

Maybe I should stay put. Lock the door. Wait it out. But something pulls me, stronger than logic—some combination of fear and fury, curiosity and instinct. I need to see how deep this rot goes. If I’m already marked, I want to know who’s holding the knife.

They’re creeping around my office, and I can’t see Louis now, can’t have him spill my thoughts. They’re chaotic.

Wrapped in similar attire of cloak and mask, he gives me a smile I can’t place. My heart lurches.

“You coming? We’re late.” I nod, unable to speak. There’s something familiar about the man, though I don’t recognize his voice. Have we met before? Following him through the dungeons, I see that the torches have been lit. Just like that first time.

There they are. The brothers of the Alpha Fraternarii. And here I stand. Dressed like them, but nothing like them at all. There are at least fifteen of them, dotted around me. Shiny masks in the dim light.

Which one of them is Louis? Someone stares too long. Someone shifts like they know. I feel him, if not with my eyes, then in my bones. But I can’t tell which mask hides him. Or if one of them does.

Suddenly, I regret not having replied to his messages.

If I slip, if they recognize me, this won’t just destroy me, it’ll burn everything I’ve tried to build.

Louis might be watching. And if he is… god help me.

And my present, my future, my everything, is standing here, behind a mask, deciding whether I deserve to be forgiven or destroyed.

I itch to feel his smooth skin. To hear his jokes and easy banter. He’s my reminder that the world isn’t such a bad place after all. That there’s good, too.

But there’s no good here. This here is the definition of the deprived rich. The true power. This is what happens behind the curtains and in ivory towers.

“Good evening, brothers,” my companion says, greeting the others who have gathered. Some of them dip their heads, looking like monks of the most carnal sin.

The old man with the cane wobbles through, accompanied by someone else. “Thank you for hosting tonight’s gathering, Monsieur Z.” Everyone steps aside like the parting sea.

“Tonight, we are rewriting our sanity,” Monsieur Z says, his cane scraping the stone as he steps forward, a man known to some only through whispers, his connection to my grandfather still a theory I haven’t dared confirm.

His voice is hoarse. “Sanity, you heard me well. Because not all of us are sane. Not everyone is in this for the same reason. And a cause, gentlemen, is what we need. A communal cause. That’s how this works.

Unison is power. And power is what we crave. Follow me.”

Someone blows a horn while we shuffle toward one of the rooms.

Monsieur Z stands by the window, two other cloaked men on either side of him. They’re staring at me. Goosebumps erupt on my skin. Everyone’s staring at me.

This man, cloaked in something older than the Brotherhood itself, looks at me like he’s seen every failure I’ve tried to forget. His presence floods the room like poison gas—slow, invisible, lethal. And I realize with cold certainty: this isn’t just a show. He’s been waiting for someone like me.

“It seems that our long-lost stranger has returned,” he croons, his voice curling with familiarity, like he’s known me longer than I’ve known myself.

His grin is smeared across his face. Light flickers up behind him.

It’s coming from the forest. Blinking, a strange sensation settles in my chest. It stings my eyes and makes my insides clench.

I smell it first. Burning wood, and something more acrid. Sweet, like photographs curling into blackened petals. It’s the shed.

It’s blazing to the ground, bringing sorrow and regret to destruction. Mom and Dad’s wedding photo. Unspoken words, unanswered questions, and unsolved arguments.

The ink on her letters, gone. The only photo of us, gone. Her voice, gone.

My past is burning down. I can’t breathe. My knees threaten to buckle, but I force myself to stay upright. Something in me snaps, silent and absolute. Not just grief. Guilt. Rage. A final tether, burned away.

This wasn’t random. It was staged. Deliberate. The Brotherhood wanted me to see it. This is what happens when you look too deep. When you come back.

Is he here tonight? Could he know?

Monsieur Z tilts his head and laughs. One pale, yellowing eye gleams beneath the edge of his mask.

The brothers stare outside the window, in awe at the fire.

“A show of power.” He cocks his head and stares right back at me.

Around me, brothers have formed a circle, their empty stares on me.

“It’s a privilege to be part of the Alpha Fraternarii.

A privilege that binds as much as it empowers, where every misstep marks you, and every silence can be a sentence.

” His breath hitches with agitation. “A privilege that can be taken from you if you don’t respect our values.

Because by not respecting our values, you’re not respecting yourself, nor your brothers.

And by not respecting your brothers, by confronting them with lies that ruin their lives and their future, you don’t just stab them in the back. ..”

He’s panting now, rage and hurt carved into his grimace, while he still has those cruel eyes on mine.

“But you also set a target on your own. Those betrayed will seek retribution. Those left bleeding will strike back. And the ones you love most? They'll bear the cost. Because brothers who betray are like infected limbs, we cut them off. And I wonder, in that stifling moment, if Louis already sees me that way. If this fire, this gathering, this speech, if it’s all just a performance meant to show me what I’ve lost.” His voice has shifted to a hoarse whisper.

“They will find revenge. No matter how long it takes. They will find them, hunt them down, and squash them.” His laugh is diabolic, the sound freezing my insides.

“And then this…” He gestures to where the shed’s burning to ashes, “is the result.”