Page 40 of Thunder's Reckoning

“Let this stand as truth,” I said, lifting my chin. “The flame does not forget. The flame does not forgive.”

I stepped down from the platform, robes untouched by soot, the crowd parting like the Red Sea before me.

One of the children whimpered again. Too loud this time. A boy, no older than Zara. His mother clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late, my eyes found him.

He froze. She froze. The whole row turned to stone.

I smiled, slow. Cold. “The flame hears all,” I said, my voice carrying across the silence. “Even the whispers of doubt.”

The boy’s eyes brimmed, but he did not move. The mother bowed lower, pressing his head down until his forehead touched the dirt.

Good.

Fear was obedience. Obedience was survival.

I turned from them and raised my arms once more to the crowd. “Let this be burned into you as it was into him. The flame does not forget. The flame does not forgive.”

The words hung heavy, sinking into every bowed spine.

Then I walked away, the smell of charred flesh clinging to me like incense, my flock trailing silence in my wake.

Patriarch Gabrial. Prophet of the Flame. Judge. Executioner. And I would not rest until my vessel was returned to the fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ZARA CURLED INTOme like a kitten, her smallfingers tangled in my shirt, her breath warm against my ribs. She always fell asleep this way, holding on. Somewhere inside her, she must have already known what her fate would’ve been if she’d stayed with her father.

Malik was already out cold, long limbs sprawled across the far side of the mattress. He’d started snoring a couple months ago, soft and wheezy, the kind of sound boys make when they’re growing too fast for their own bodies.

Zeke had helped get them both washed and fed, never saying much, but his quiet presence had calmed something raw in me.He didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. Didn’t crowd me or the children. Just carried weight where he could. The way he fixed Zara’s blanket without being asked. The way he sat cross-legged in the corner with Malik, answering questions about motorcycles like they were the only two people alive.

I didn’t know men like that existed. Men who didn’t tally up kindness like it was a debt. Men who didn’t demand payment back.

When the kids were tucked in and the room had fallen into that heavy nighttime stillness, Zeke stood near the door, thumb hooked in his belt. He glanced at me once, eyes catching in the dim glow.

“I gotta check in downstairs,” he whispered, low enough not to stir the kids. “You good?”

I hesitated. That was the kind of question I used to lie about. “Yes,” I said, but it came out too fast. Too automatic.

His gaze lingered, steady, not doubting me, but not letting me hide either. “I’ll be back up later,” he said finally. “You holler if you need anythin’. You got my number?”

I nodded. “It’s in my phone.”

A small nod, then he slipped out, pulling the door partway shut behind him. Not all the way. Never all the way. He already knew I didn’t like that.

The moment he was gone, the quiet rushed in. Too thick. Too loud. I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to Zara breathe, watching the shadows shift across the walls.

Sometimes silence felt like a gift. Other times, it was a trap.

I stood, checked the window even though I’d already locked it. I did it every night. Twice. Then the door. Then the window again. I knew it wouldn’t matter. If Gabrial wanted in, no lock would stop him. But rituals gave me the illusion of control. The same way counting had. The same way obeying once had.

The room was too warm, but I didn’t open the window. Instead, I slid down to the floor beside the bed and pressed my back against it, arms wrapped tight around my knees. I tried to breathe slow, steady. Tried not to fall back into it.

But memories seeped like light under a door. Quiet. Bright. Unstoppable.

The sharp sting of cedar smoke. The choking sweetness of burning sage. My skin still remembered the press of cold marble beneath my back, the way his shadow fell over me before his hands did.Chosen by the flame,he whispered every time he took me, like scripture in my ear, as if that could sanctify the filth. As if calling it holy stripped the sin away.

The weight of him had been suffocating, crushing me flat, turning every prayer into silence. His hands pinning me down had left ghosts I still felt when I closed my eyes.