Page 14 of The Scars Within (Twisted Thorn #1)

Hogboom is getting ballsy. After I risked my neck to slide that note under his chamber door… he had to go and say that in front of an auditorium packed with cadets.

The Grim has it out for him. I can’t say I didn’t try to warn him.

Scarlet Thorne is a mystery within itself. I can’t seem to figure her out. And from the digging I’ve managed on her past, I can’t help but feel like things aren’t adding up.

But the Grim left a note under my pillow last night with specific instructions to keep an eye on her... so I guess I don’t really have a choice.

The air was stale and musty, thick with the scent of old wood and dust. I strained my eyes, but there was no difference between open and closed; I was submerged in absolute darkness.

I wiggled my arms only to find the ropes growing tighter with every move I made.

By this point, they were burning through my delicate skin.

My breathing grew louder, echoing off the closed walls, making the space feel even smaller.

Dust stirred up with every exhale and invaded my nostrils with each inhale, making me cough.

My anxiety was building up through my veins, creating beads of sweat on my forehead.

My heart was drumming in my chest, echoing through my body and begging for relief.

“No, no, no, no,” my voice trembled. This was not happening. I was not back in this shed. Had my father taken me in the night and dragged me back here? Did he knock me unconscious?

Panic set in, and my stomach curled. The darkness was not just around me but within me, pressing in on all sides, making it hard to think and hard to breathe.

I escaped this hell just to be brought back.

I failed.

“I am meant—” I choked on the words. “Hit me!” I screamed.

The next second, I was surrounded by snow. I saw a flash of a man’s fist coming straight for my face, but I dodged it and grabbed his arm, flipping him over on his back in one motion.

Then, darkness.

I let out a ragged cry.

“HIT ME!” I screamed again, my voice breaking.

I jerked up, my forehead colliding with something hard.

“Ouch, Scarlet. Holy shit!” a familiar voice yelped.

My eyesight returned to focus when I realized I was in my bed. In my dorm. Safe.

I looked over to find Tatum rubbing her forehead, confused. My breathing was still uneven, and my heartbeat was racing.

Laney came into view; concern etched across her features.

“Ssh, ssshhh…” she whispered. “You’re okay. You were having a bad dream.”

Instinct took over, and I did what I never imagined myself doing. I jumped into Laney’s lap, wrapping my arms around her neck. She stiffened briefly before hugging me back, running her fingers through my hair .

A few seconds later, I felt two more sets of arms around me. Tatum was on my right, and Cleo was wrapped around my back. We all sat there in silence; it was like they knew exactly what I needed.

“You’re safe,” Cleo murmured against my shoulder.

“Yeah, I can’t say the same for my forehead. I can feel the dragon egg forming already,” Tatum grunted.

I arrived at my work assignment spitefully early, just so I could say– “You’re late.”

The door swung shut behind Rhodes as he stopped, staring at me in surprise. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Technically, I’m one minute early.”

I shrugged, clicking my tongue as I turned back to the latte I was brewing. “Later than your student. What if I had an emergency?”

I heard the faucet turn on as he started washing his hands. “And what kind of coffee emergency could you possibly have here, Thorne?”

“Hm, I don’t know. But neither would you since you weren’t here first.” I carefully poured the frothed milk over the espresso and walked over to the spice shelf. As I passed Rhodes tying his apron, he glanced over his shoulder at me.

Rhodes took an order for a caramel macchi—something—as I scanned the shelves for vanilla. Finding it, I returned to my latte, adding the syrup with a light stir and leaving it for the customer to mix to their liking.

As I handed the vanilla latte to a third-year cadet, Rhodes called from behind me, “Can you work on Yrene’s caramel macchiato while I grab more sugar from the kitchens?”

I turned to look at him but didn’t respond.

An awkward silence stretched between us, long enough to feel like an eternity .

“Did you hear me?” he asked, his voice edged with impatience.

“Mhm,” I nodded.

Rhodes raised an eyebrow, giving me a look I hadn’t seen from him before. “Can you… work on the macchiato?”

“Say please,” I mocked his tone from yesterday.

His eyes narrowed as if he could set me on fire with his element. The faint blue fleck in his right eye caught the morning light filtering through the windows. He swallowed, the tension clear in his jaw, and after a painful pause, he finally muttered, “Please.”

“Oh, sure,” I said with a smirk, walking over to grab a mug. “All you had to do was ask, Wylder.” I threw his sarcasm from yesterday back at him.

As I moved past, I caught a glimpse of him from across the station. His broad shoulders were rigid with tension. I hadn’t realized how much satisfaction I’d get from turning the tables after his attitude yesterday morning—and when I ran into him and Captain Thorne on the rooftop last night.

I smirked as I set the mug on the counter, but my smugness vanished in an instant.

“A caramel—what?” I muttered, though not quietly enough.

I heard Rhodes’s boots click on the stone floor as he turned around. “Caramel macchiato. I’m sure with all your experience , you’ve mastered that, right, Thorne?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Heat rushed to my chest and cheeks at his sly tone, provoking me. “Of course I have,” I snapped.

I heard him chuckle softly behind me.

Was he trying to die today?

I started the espresso machine for the macchi—whatever—and grabbed my favorite mug from the pantry while it brewed.

“That mug again?” Rhodes asked.

I glanced at him over my shoulder. He was nonchalantly leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest .

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting sugar?” I shot back.

“I’d rather watch you make a caramel macchiato,” he said with mock innocence. “You know. So I can learn from your experience.”

I glared at him.

He winked.

Yes. He was definitely trying to die today.

I moved between the coffee pot and the macchi–whatever, pouring milk into the frothing pitcher when Rhodes chimed in. “Too much milk. Macchiatos have less milk than lattes.”

I stopped mid-pour, breathed in, held it, and then let it out slowly. Setting the pitcher under the steaming wand, I pressed brew on the coffee pot with my free hand. As I poured the steamed milk over the espresso, the machine roared to life.

Grabbing the caramel syrup from the spice shelf, I was about to pour it into the mug when Rhodes spoke up again.

“Caramel macchiatos use vanilla syrup, not caramel.”

I twisted around, glaring. “Then why isn’t it called a vanilla macchiato?”

He shrugged. “I’m not the one to ask. Take it up with whoever invented the damn thing.”

My fingers tapped on the glass bottle of caramel syrup. “Then what part of the drink is caramel?”

Pushing off the counter, Rhodes walked over to the shelves, grabbed a golden squeeze tube, and handed it to me. “Caramel drizzle on top.”

I stared at the tube. “That’s it? That’s all the caramel? It won’t even taste caramel-y.”

His only response was a bored-as-hell expression.

Grumbling, I added the vanilla syrup and drizzled caramel on top.

“Your coffee—” Rhodes urged.

“I know! I’m doing it exactly how you said,” I scoffed.

“No— your s !” he pointed.

“Shit!” I cursed as the giant coffee pot started brewing—without the carafe underneath. Hot coffee poured all over the counter, spilling onto the floor in a growing puddle.

Panic set in as I frantically searched the station for the missing carafe, but it was nowhere in sight.

In desperation, I shoved my favorite mug under the spout.

The machine brewed fast, and within seconds, the mug overflowed, coffee spilling onto the counter.

I tried to stop the machine, but nothing happened when I pressed any of the buttons.

Rhodes and I frantically searched the station, eyes darting everywhere as the coffee flooded the floor.

“Ah!” I shrieked, spotting the carafe tucked away in one of the cabinets.

I sprinted toward the machine, but my victory was short-lived.

My feet flew out from under me, and I crashed onto the floor, landing squarely on my ass in the coffee puddle.

The carafe slipped from my grip and rolled across the station.

Instead of helping me up, Rhodes lunged for the carafe. I tried to stand but kept slipping, falling right back into the mess I’d created. The espresso station was a coffee lake, and I was stranded in the middle of it.

Rhodes took long strides back to the machine, muttering, “Thorn in my—”

Before he could finish, his foot slid out from under him, and he crashed down next to me. A splash of coffee hit my face as he landed with a thud. He tried to brush off the fall and stand up, but just like me, he kept slipping, tumbling back down every time he made the attempt.

I couldn’t help it—I started laughing.

“This is not funny!” Rhodes snapped, wiping his face, only to smear coffee across it.

That just made me laugh harder. I sat up, propping my arms on my knees as I tried to catch my breath, but the laughter took over.

“The machine finished brewing,” I wheezed between giggles.

“Um… I’ll come back later,” Rhodes and I looked over to find Davis walking away from th e order counter.