Page 47 of Thunder's Reckoning

Devil’s voice cut loud from the doorway. He had turned around and came back into the room.

“Thunder. Stay a minute.”

The others glanced back, but Devil gave ’em one look and they kept movin’. The door shut, and it was just us.

Devil didn’t sit. Just stood there, hands braced on the back of his chair, eyes burnin’ through me.

“You claim her, you stand by her,” he said, quiet but steady. “That means when the fire comes—and it will—you don’t flinch, you don’t falter. You bleed before she does.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. Every word of it.

He studied me for a long beat, jaw tight. Then his voice dropped lower. “Don’t waste what you’ve been given, brother. You don’t know how fast it can be taken.”

Somethin’ passed through his eyes then. Pain. Buried deep, but still there, like an old wound that never healed right.

I held his stare. Didn’t ask. Wouldn’t. Devil’s ghosts were his to carry.

He gave the faintest nod, the kind that sealed it. “Alright. She’s yours to protect. That makes her ours too. Don’t forget that.”

Then he turned, boots hittin’ the floor slow, and left me in the smoke and silence.

***

THE BOX SAIDeasy setup, but it was lyin’. Either that, or I’d already forgotten how much of a pain in the ass these flatscreens were, especially with a Ten-year-old starin’ holes through my skull like I was defusin’ a bomb instead of hookin’ up a damn TV.

Malik sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, watchin’ every move I made. Kid hadn’t said much, but he hadn’t looked away either. His eyes—dark, too damn grown for his age—tracked each cable I connected like it meant somethin’.

And maybe to him, it did.

“You ever watched TV before?” I asked, keepin’ my voice easy as I slid the HDMI into place.

He shook his head once. “Wasn’t allowed.”

Figures. Gabrial probably thought entertainment was poison unless he was the one preachin’ it. Probably told Malik that men don’t waste time with games or cartoons. Didn’t matter that Malik was still missin’ baby teeth. In Gabrial’s world, a kid was expected to act like a soldier—silent, sharp, and ready.

“Well,” I muttered, powering it on, “you’re in for a treat.”

The screen lit up blue and flickered to life. Malik didn’t shift much, but I saw it, the slightest change in his expression. Not a smile. Not yet. Just that flicker of curiosity, raw and honest,like he didn’t know what to expect but maybe—just maybe—he wanted to.

Behind me, I heard laughter. Soft. Musical. I turned and spotted Sable sittin’ cross-legged on the floor with Zara perched in her lap. A pile of toys, stuffed animals, a couple dolls, a light-up wand that blinked and spun, was scattered across the rug like a treasure chest had exploded.

Zara giggled, holdin’ a plastic pony in the air like it could fly.

Sable was smilin’, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Not all the way. It was the kind of smile worn thin by too many years waitin’ for joy to go sour.

Still, she was tryin’. Cradlin’ that little girl like she was spun glass. Brushin’ curls back from her forehead and whisperin’ soft nothin’s that made Zara laugh harder.

Malik glanced over. He didn’t smile, didn’t move, but his jaw twitched like he was grindin’ back somethin’ edged and bitter.

“Those toys all for her?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I said, keepin’ my tone neutral. “All hers.”

He nodded, like he’d already figured that.

“I was gonna get you some too,” I added, glancin’ over at him. “Didn’t know what you liked.”

“I’m fine,” he said—too fast, too practiced.