Page 94 of Thunder's Reckoning

One of the men lunged. I grabbed the first thing my hand found—Miriam’s sewing shears—and slashed. The blade tore across his arm, blood spraying the counter. He cursed and caught me anyway, wrenching my wrist until the shears clattered to the floor.

Miriam fought like a woman possessed. She swung a chair into a man’s chest, the crack echoing through the kitchen. He stumbled, snarling. Another grabbed her braid and yanked. She spat in his face, nails clawing blood, but he slammed her against the table so hard the wood split.

“Stop!” I screamed, thrashing, but a pair of hands yanked me back, iron tight.

And there—still at the door—stood Leena.

Not crying anymore. Not desperate.

Smug.

Her mouth curled, a small, evil smile that made bile rise in my throat. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

“You,” I rasped, rage searing through the fear.

Her smile widened, slow and cruel.

Behind us, Zara wailed louder, Malik’s voice breaking as he kicked, shouted, fought.

“Get the kids in the van!” one of the men barked.

“No!” I thrashed, teeth sinking into the arm across my chest. Blood filled my mouth. The man cursed, slamming me against the wall. Pain flared through my shoulder, but he didn’t hit me again. He just pinned me tighter, forcing my arms behind my back, careful. Ordered not to break me.

Miriam roared, still fighting, even as blood streaked down her face. She crumpled, then clawed herself back up, spitting, swinging, refusing to stop.

But there were too many.

Two men dragged Malik down the hall, his heels scraping wood, fists flying uselessly. Another scooped Zara, her bunnytumbling to the floor. She sobbed, her tiny hands beating at his chest, screams tearing the air.

The sight split me in half.

I lunged again, but the grip was iron. A hand smothered my mouth, muffling my scream.

The man leaned close, breath hot against my ear. “The Prophet’s been waiting for you. The flame remembers its chosen.”

The word lit every nerve like fire.

And suddenly, I was back there, years ago, in the darkened chapel. The hiss of flames eating wood. Kneeling, head bowed. Gabrial’s voice rolling like thunder, saying the burn was holy, that pain was proof of devotion. The heat against my skin, the ash pressed to my chest, his hand lingering too long. The smell of smoke, strong and sweet, clinging to my hair until it felt like it lived in me.

“No…” The memory ripped out of me raw, my body jerking even as the man dragged me closer to the door.

Gabrial had played it perfect. Lured Zeke away. Sent Leena with her poison words to distract me. While we argued at the door, his men had already slipped in through the back.

And I’d fallen for it.

Leena’s eyes found mine, smug and unblinking. She wiped the last trace of tears from her cheeks and tilted her head, smiling like she’d just collected her reward.

They dragged us into the night. Miriam’s breath ragged. Zara sobbing. Malik thrashing until his strength gave. The porch groaned under our weight, the swing rocking in the dark like it mocked us.

The stars burned cold overhead.

And all I could think was—

The nightmare had come back. And this time, it wasn’t letting go.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHARLESTON HAD ITSown kind of darkness. Neon bledoff wet streets, laughter spilled outta bar doors, and the air carried salt and rot from the harbor.