Page 48 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

LOUIS

I t hits me too late.

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?”

The man steps forward. No cloak. No mask. Just a face I don’t recognize—until I do.

My stomach lurches.

The eyes are the same. Hollow. Always watching.

“You,” I whisper, throat going dry. “You were the cleaner. The one who never spoke…”

He smiles, slow and lecherous. “Please. Call me Zachary.”

And I know deep in my gut that if he was the one scrubbing the floors, Noah never stood a chance.

The ground tilts.

He gives me a leery once-over. “My my, aren’t you a fine specimen without your cover? And that mouth…” He grins when I shudder, remembering how I was once on my knees for him in junior year.

My gut clenches, a cold sweat breaking across my skin. It’s like the air thickens around me, charged with memory and disgust. The humiliation seeps into my bones, rewiring my posture, making me feel smaller despite the fury rising in my throat.

And now, I’m alone with him. No protocol. No mask. No protection. No witnesses. No one to pull him back if he crosses a line.

The air feels loaded, like something awful is about to happen, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop it.

“What the fuck’s going on? Is there a gathering planned? And where’s Noah?”

“Noah will be here shortly,” he says. “I was hoping you’d come down for the final blow. And look here.” Another filthy grin. “It seems like my prayers were heard.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

When he takes a step toward me, I fist my hands.

“Don’t you get close to me, you filthy motherfucker.”

“Language, young man. Sit.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “No fucking way. Where is he?”

Zachary’s grin widens. “You know, I thought he was the one pursuing you. But that isn’t true, is it? You wanted him. Did he also show you the bench where he slept on?”

An icy shudder runs through my spine. “How the hell do you know that?”

Zachary shrugs. “I don’t have to tell you that the Brotherhood knows everything. We are everywhere, our power knows no limits. Though I admit, he turned into a fine young man. Very clever, yet fucked up in the head.”

“I asked you a question, you filthy fuck. How do you know all that?”

“You already know the answer, brother.”

"Don't call me brother. This is not a gathering.”

“Yet here you are.” He cocks his head, making me feel vulnerable without my disguise. I've never seen him without his mask. None of us has. It never mattered. But then, I've never been with him in one space without the others.

Up close, he's even more intimidating.

“No need to come to his rescue, Louis. You can’t tame a rogue animal. They bite you when you least expect it.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“It’s quite the contrary, in fact. I know everything, especially about those I control. Noah’s always been mine. He just didn’t know it. Sit down.”

“Fuck you.”

“Take a seat.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What are the values of the Brotherhood?”

I lick my lips, unease building in my gut. “You know them yourself. I don't have to repeat them.”

“Traditions…” He begins, motioning me to continue.

“Loyalty. Respect. I've been around for a few years, you know.”

“It didn't stop you from disobeying. Now, sit and watch.”

I want to tell him to fuck off when someone shoves me from behind. Hard. I go down with an "oumph," taken by surprise. Turning over my shoulder, I stare into a black mask. He shoves me again, preventing me from getting up.

“What the hell? You fucking fucker.”

“You’re not just breaking the rules. You’re breaking your brother.”

“You like to shake things up. Just like your father, disrespecting established values,” Zachary rasps.

Suddenly, a heavy blow lands against my side. I gasp, stumbling as someone steps from the shadows. It’s another masked figure. Before I can react, a second punch cracks across my jaw. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.

Someone else enters the room. I lash out instinctively, but they’re faster. A kick drives into my thigh, and I go down hard. My palms smack the cold stone floor, pain blooming across my knuckles.

Another hit slams into my ribs, and I curl instinctively. Their laughter is muffled behind masks, but I hear it. Each blow is deliberate. Calculated. Ritualistic.

Like the punishments we’re warned about during our initiation ceremonies, but this isn’t a ceremony. It’s retribution. It’s the Brotherhood turning on one of their own and I never saw it coming.

I thought I belonged. I thought I mattered. But in this moment, I'm just another body for them to use, to punish.

And in the back of my mind, I see Noah. Bloody, cornered, helpless. This pain isn’t just mine. It’s his, too, a shared legacy of betrayal and silence.

The shimmer from the projector cuts again. And this time, it shatters me.

The image changes again: a younger Noah running through a graffitied alley. His curls bounce as he stumbles, chased by laughter and jeers. The camera follows as he falls hard, skinning his knees. They surround him, shadows with hands, voices that mock and touch.

I choke on air. My heart claws against my chest.

"No," I whisper, throat raw.

Another clip. A bench. Noah curled around his backpack like a lifeline. A familiar, tattooed hand reaches out. A crow inked on the thumb. It strokes through his hair like he’s a pet.

My fists strain against the invisible bindings of helplessness. My stomach turns. The air feels thinner, like the walls themselves are pressing in.

I can’t watch.

But I do.

It rips something loose. Not just for him. For me. I remember being small, voiceless. Not the same pain, but the same silence.

Tears prick, hot and furious.

Just hours ago, I stormed through these halls like I owned them, like I could fix everything by force of will. Now I’m on my knees, staring at a truth so raw it undoes me.

This is what he never said. What I never saw. What I should have seen.

I was too busy claiming him to protect him. Too arrogant to notice he was already bleeding.

I failed him. And I see it now. It’s not just in the flickering light of the projector, but in every decision I made that brought us here.

The crow on my back burns. Not from ink, but memory. Control, guilt, power. It all means nothing if I can’t keep him safe.

And it’s tearing me apart.

I want to smash the projector, to claw my way through the screen and take him back. I want to kill every last one of them who laid a hand on him.

But all I can do is kneel here—bleeding, fractured, and burning with the need to make someone pay.

Not for me.

Not even for revenge.

For him. Because I love him. And I didn’t see it until it was already too late.