Page 55 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

“Hey, you look better,” he says, his gaze drifting from my boots to the mess of my bun, tracking the tendrils that have fallen around my neck.

My throat’s fully healed. No bruises, no marks. No physical evidence of what happened yesterday with my father. Now all that remains is just the hollow ache in my heart, heavy and grief-like, something I hope will ease slightly in his presence .

“Yeah, I feel it.”

It’s not exactly a lie. I do feel better. Just not from a sickness bug.

“Want to have breakfast with me?” I lift the brown bag and the tray of coffee.

“I would love nothing more, Red. Lead the way.”

We head toward the rose gardens to my favourite wrought iron bench.

The roses have bloomed wild, creeping along the trellises and spilling into the pathways.

This is when I love them most, when they’re untamed, messy, almost otherworldly.

Left to be what they want to be, not pruned or forced into something they’re not.

We sit in silence, content just to eat together, that tether between us humming with peace at how close we are. Warming and soothing.

“Missed you last night,” he says, licking lemon syrup from his thumb, and Gods, the sight nearly undoes me. “My arms felt empty without you. I even missed getting smothered by your hair.”

I smile, but I don’t say anything. I’m too afraid to voice just how much I missed his presence. How much better I sleep when he’s beside me. How deeply I crave him every second we’re not together—body and soul.

He frowns, concern softening his features. “You okay?”

“Can I show you something?” I ask instead. “I found out something the other day, and I don’t want to keep it from you.”

His frown deepens. He doesn’t like that I’ve dodged the question, but he lets it go, nodding as he stands with me.

I lead him toward the confinement bunker. Carter finally granted me access two days ago after much pleading and a shameful amount of begging. I even pulled the royalty card, which earned me the cold shoulder for twenty-four hours and a brutal new strength training routine with Sam.

The guards at the door simply nod this time and let us through.

The smell makes me feel physically sick.

It’s filling the entire container now, all the way up the stairs from the days it’s been kept down here.

The stench of overripe fruit and sulphur permeates the air.

Stone lifts his arm, burying his nose in his sleeve.

I grip his other hand tighter and lead him down.

“What is this place?” he asks quietly, as though sensing the need to whisper, to be quiet.

“It’s a containment shelter. Usually used for prisoners or captives before they’re moved.”

He glances at me. “And you know all this, how?”

His tone is gentle, curious. But it still makes me pause. I have to tread carefully. I hate that I can’t tell him everything, that I have to watch my words when all I want is to bare it all. To let him in. To show him every truth I carry.

Because I want to know everything about him, too.

I’m desperate for him to tell me his truths.

“Live at the castle as long as I have, and you learn a thing or two,” I say vaguely.

He doesn’t get the chance to question it, because that’s when we reach the iron prison.

The Malus is much the same as a week ago, other than some minor decomposition. Its skin looks more sunken than it did before, and several clumps of hair have fallen out, now scattered across the floor like a rug straight from my nightmares. But otherwise, it’s still intact.

It sees me first. A snarl tears from its throat, followed by a screech as it lunges in my direction. I’m ready this time, bracing for the slam of its body against the iron railings, but it doesn’t come.

Stone steps in behind me, his presence warm at my back.

And just like that, the Malus freezes.

Its eyes widen impossibly, though that feels like a stretch, considering it no longer has eyelids.

The thin flesh around its sockets has deteriorated to nothing.

Still, it stares. A low hiss snakes from its throat, more like a warning or communication than a threat.

Slowly, it creeps backwards until it’s pressed against the far wall. Then, it simply… stops.

Its body still trembles. Muscles twitch and pulse beneath exposed patches of skin. Tendons flex and clench like they’re responding to invisible shocks. But it doesn’t move again. Doesn’t act on the violent impulse that had once driven it so relentlessly toward me.

“Elina…” Stone whispers. “Is that what I think it is?”

I can’t quite read his tone. Shock, maybe. But there’s something else beneath it, something harder to place.

“Yeah,” I say absently, tilting my head as I study the creature. It’s so different than it was the other day, no longer a mindless beast consumed by the need to kill. “Gods know what’s wrong with it, though. I’ve never seen one so… still… so quiet.”

I’m mostly speaking to myself now.

“Why on earth is one trapped here?” Stone’s voice sharpens, tense.

“They’re experimenting on it. Studying it.” I glance at him. His jaw flexes, tight with what almost looks like anger. But maybe I’m imagining that. The lighting down here is terrible. “It’s classified, though,” I add quickly. “Please don’t say anything. Not to anyone.”

I trust him. I do. But I also don’t want to deal with Carter’s wrath again.

Stone snaps. “Can we get out of here? The stench is turning my stomach.”

He does look a little pale.

“Yeah, of course. Back the way we came—go ahead, I’ll follow.”

He disappears up the steps, and the moment he’s out of sight, the Malus explodes.

It howls, thrashing against the bars with wild fury, shrieking loud enough to rattle the ceiling.

It throws itself at the cage, skeletal fingers snaking through the gaps, desperate to reach me.

Its bony hand scrapes the air, knuckles clicking with frantic force as it tries to grab me, baring its blackened teeth.

Whatever the hell they’re doing to it down here, whatever tests they’re running… something’s clearly working.

Because this thing is acting fucking weird .

When I reach the top of the steps, Stone is waiting with his back to me. He drags a hand down his face, clearly trying to compose himself, unaware I’m watching.

By the time he turns around, the moment has passed. The colour’s returned to his cheeks, and there’s a soft smile on his lips.

“You good?” I ask, lifting a brow. I’m still a little thrown by how he was down there.

“Yeah. Those things just creep me out,” he says, brushing it off.

I laugh. “On that, we can agree.”

“Come on, let’s get to training,” he says, turning away before I can read his expression. He leads the way, but something in his stride tells me his mood is still off. And I can’t help but wonder if showing him the Malus was a mistake.