Page 105 of Thunder's Reckoning

She laughed without humor, a sharp exhale. “Your father admired nothing but his own reflection. Tolen let him rape me. Let him break me. Lied for him. Protected him. And when Ithreatened to run, he said he’d take Zeke, raise him in the fire, away from me. Just as he raised you.”

The words dripped with venom, but I savored them.

I stepped closer, folding my hands behind my back. “You were supposed to be the example. The vessel. The mother of something divine. And you ran.”

“I chose freedom.”

“You chose murder.”

“I chose life,” she snapped. Her voice cracked the air like a whip. “For myself. For my son.”

The silence after was heavy. Almost holy.

“You didn’t just run,” I said, letting my tone soften into reverence. “You stole the boy.”

Her fingers curled against her knees. A tremor.

“He was mine.”

“He was ours,” I whispered, leaning forward, my voice both cruel and sacred. “You know what he is, Miriam. You’ve always known.”

Her face twitched—just once—but I caught it. I always did.

She rose to her feet slowly, deliberately, as though her body carried centuries of weight. For the first time, the silence between us shifted.

“You’re just as evil as your father,” she hissed.

“Judging by Zeke’s path in life I’m not alone.” I smiled, spreading my hands as if receiving confession.

The word hung in the cold air, thick with implication.

Her eyes burned with hate.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” I stepped closer, close enough to see her hands tremble, though she tried to still them. Close enough that the frost of her breath brushed mine. “He should know why he’ll burn in the fire.”

“You’re talking about your brother.”

“Half-brother,” I corrected, my voice slicing like glass. “Do not elevate him.”

Her chin lifted higher. “He is nothing like you.”

“No,” I said softly, shaking my head. “He’s a failed reflection. A shadow without fire. He could have been more. Imagine if you hadn’t polluted him with your weakness. If you hadn’t dragged him into the outside world. Imagine what he would’ve become if he had stayed here, under the flame.”

Her lips parted, but she closed them again. A silence that was not denial—only proof.

“You think you’ve protected him,” I murmured, circling her like a predator circling prey. “Zeke took what belongs to me. My flame. My chosen. Does he care for her?”

Her eyes flicked—barely, almost nothing. But enough. Always enough.

The crack.

“Ah,” I breathed, smiling. “So he does love her.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Oh, Miriam,” I said, almost gently. “I’m not surprised. Sable is beauty unmatched. My flame. My covenant. I am only disappointed that you thought you could hide her from me.”