Page 2 of The Devil's Thorn

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That’s the most dangerous thing.

I shift slightly, narrowing the focus of the scope. His eyes flick to the side as someone places a phone in front of him. For a second, the corner of his mouth tightens. Just a flicker. And then it’s gone.

But I saw it.

The monster cracked.

The smallest fracture. A flash of something human.

I press my cheek harder to the scope, teeth clenched. My finger edges closer to the trigger.

Do it. Do it now. Make him bleed. Make him feel even a fraction of what you’ve carried every goddamn day since they died.

But my finger stills.

Because what if I’m wrong?

What if that photo… the letters… the whispers in the dark… what if it’s all been a game?

A setup?

A lie?

My heart thuds once, low and sick in my chest.

I breathe through my nose. In. Out.

“Iz?” Kellan’s voice again. “We’re running out of time. The guards are cycling. You’ve got ten seconds or you back out.”

Ten seconds.

To decide whether to kill the man I’ve been chasing for fifteen years.

Ten seconds to become a murderer.

Ten seconds to let go of the only thing keeping me alive:the need for revenge.

I let out a slow breath. Then I lower the rifle.

“I’m not pulling the trigger,” I whisper.

Silence.

Then, Kellan again. “Copy that.”

I roll off the edge of the scope and sit back, legs folded, rifle resting beside me. My pulse is steady. Too steady.

I don’t feel relief. I feel something worse.

Unfinished.

I reach for the small black locket tucked under my shirt, the one I’ve worn since I was seven. Inside is the last photo of my family—before the blood. Before the fire.

I press it to my lips.

I’ll find the truth. Even if it kills me.

I stay still for a few more seconds, long after I’ve lowered the rifle. The cold presses into my skin, slicing through my clothes, but I barely feel it. It’s not the wind that makes me shiver. It’s the weight of hesitation.

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