Page 106 of Thunder's Reckoning

“I tried to protect her,” she whispered, her voice frayed.

I leaned close, breath grazing her ear. “You failed.”

Then I drew back, smiling as though blessing her.

“I will break him,” I promised. “Slowly. Piece by piece. And when the truth burns through him—when he remembers what you did, what you made him witness, what you are—he will not come for you. He will spit your name like ash. He will know the truth before he dies.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. The tremor in her voice could not disguise the steel.

“I never am,” I whispered. “That is what makes me divine.”

She did not answer. Did not try to.

So I left her in the cold, the door closing behind me with the finality of a tomb.

Alone.

Exactly as she deserved.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

MIRIAM

CHILDREN OFthe Flame Compound

Punishing Cell

The door shut with a heavy click,sealing Gabrial’s poison behind it. His words still scraped raw in my ears:Zeke took what belongs to me. My flame. My chosen.

I sat stiff on the bench, nails biting crescents into my knees. The cold of the stone seeped into my bones, but it was nothing compared to the chill inside me. My mind betrayed me, dragging me backward. Back to the night I tried to run.

I remember Zeke’s hand in mine. Small. Warm. Trembling. We were almost to the door. My chest hammered so loud I was sure the whole compound would hear it. Just a few more steps, I told myself. Just a few more steps and we’d be free.

I reached for the latch.

The door slammed shut.

Tolen stood there, filling the frame like he’d been waiting all along.

“You disobeyed,” he said, calm as judgment. No rage. No heat. Just certainty.

His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled, his belt coiled in his hand. His face shone with sweat. His eyes with satisfaction.

Zeke froze at my side. My son. My reason. His tiny fingers clutched tighter around mine, squeezing until it hurt. His chest rose and fell too fast, shallow breaths he was trying to hide. His eyes—wide, wet—were locked on the man who called himself father. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried in months.

“I heard what you told the others,” Tolen said as he stepped closer, voice heavy with doctrine. “You think we’re wrong. That I’m wrong.”

He grabbed my arm before I could move, his grip bruising, twisting until my shoulder screamed. I bit down on a cry, not wanting Zeke to hear it.

“I think you’re sick,” I told him, my voice shaking but steady enough to stand. “You’ve twisted faith into something ugly. And I won’t let you take him.”

Tolen’s eyes dropped to Zeke. That long, claiming look that made my stomach twist. Zeke’s nails dug into my palm. His lips parted, a breath catching in his throat like he wanted to speak, but no sound came.

Then Tolen looked back at me.

“You were chosen,” he said. “The Prophet hand-picked you to carry the flame. And you’d throw it all away—for what? For a boy who doesn’t even know what he is?”

He yanked me closer, his belt snapping against the floor, leather hissing. He raised it like he’d done before. Zeke flinched hard, his whole body jerking, but no cry left him. Just silence.