Elara's POV
The cage is a lie, but my body doesn't know that.
Day one in Commander Thorne's study, and I'm already going insane.
He arrives at dawn, unlocks my hidden room, and gestures silently toward the cage. I climb in without a word. He raises it to the ceiling, then sits at his desk like I'm just another piece of furniture.
Hours pass. My legs cramp. My back aches. The iron bars dig into my skin no matter how I position myself.
"Why did you save me?" I finally ask.
He doesn't look up from the document he's reading.
"At the execution square," I press. "You could have let me burn. Why didn't you?"
Silence.
"I'm trying to understand—"
"Then try quietly." His voice is ice. "I'm working."
I bite back a dozen angry responses. The cage sways slightly, chains creaking. Through the windows, I watch clouds drift past the mountain peaks. Free. Everything out there is free except me.
At midday, he lowers the cage just enough to pass food through the bars. Bread and dried meat. Water that tastes like metal.
"Thank you," I say, hating how desperate I sound for even this small kindness.
He's already walking away.
"For the food," I continue. "And for—for saving my life. I know I haven't said that yet, but—"
The door slams behind him.
I'm alone until evening.
When he returns, I try a different approach. Anger.
"You can't keep me in this cage forever," I snap as he works at his desk. "I'm a person, not a pet bird. You want me to break your curse? Then treat me like—"
"Like what?" He finally looks at me. His gray eyes are utterly empty. "Like a guest? A colleague? You're a convicted witch. The only reason you're alive is because I decided you might be useful. Remember that."
"Useful?" I laugh bitterly. "Is that what you call it? You need me. You're dying and I'm your only chance and we both—"
"Enough." He stands abruptly. "One more word and you'll sleep in that cage tonight instead of the hidden room."
My mouth snaps shut.
He leaves again without another word.
That night, lying in my hidden room, I hear him through the walls. The same sounds as before—crashes, gasping, strangled attempts to stay quiet while the curse tortures him.
Part of me wants to help. The other part wants him to suffer.
I'm not sure which part is winning.
Day two is worse.
The cage goes up at dawn. Hours of silence. My body screams from being cramped in the same position.
Around noon, voices echo in the corridor outside.
"Commander Thorne? High Inquisitor Vale sent us to check on the witch's containment."
My heart stops.
The door opens. Two Inquisition priests enter, hawk-faced and suspicious. Their eyes go straight to me hanging from the ceiling.
"Still caged, I see," one says approvingly.
"Where else would she be?" Commander Thorne's voice is bored. He doesn't even stand from his desk.
The priests circle beneath my cage, studying me like I'm an interesting insect.
"Has she provided any useful information about other magic users?"
"None." Thorne flips a page in his book. "She claims she doesn't know any other witches. I'm inclined to believe her."
"Then why keep her alive?"
"Because burning her immediately would waste a potential resource. If she does know something, terror and isolation will eventually break her. If she doesn't..." He shrugs. "Then she burns next week as planned."
The casual way he discusses my death makes my blood run cold.
One priest reaches up, rattling my cage. I flinch back.
"She looks properly terrified," he observes with satisfaction. "Good. The demon inside her should suffer before the final judgment."
They leave, reporting back that everything is "proceeding appropriately."
The moment the door closes, I expect Commander Thorne to lower the cage. To explain, to apologize, to show some hint of the desperate man from that first night.
Instead, he returns to his reading.
"You're really good at that," I say quietly. "Pretending I'm nothing."
No response.
"Does it come naturally? Or did you practice being heartless?"
He turns a page.
"The Stone Heart," I continue, my voice rising. "Is that name a warning or a confession? Do you actually feel nothing, or are you just so good at—"
"Be. Quiet." Each word is sharp as a blade.
"Why? Your spies are gone. You don't have to perform anymore. Unless this isn't performance. Unless you really are—"
He slams his book shut and stands. For a moment, I think he'll leave again.
Instead, he walks directly beneath my cage and looks up. Really looks at me for the first time all day.
"You want honesty?" His voice is dangerously soft. "Fine. I have executed fifty-three witches. Watched every single one burn. Some were guilty of actual crimes—murder, torture, real evil. Most were innocent. Children, sometimes. Desperate mothers. People whose only crime was being different." His cursed hand clenches at his side. "I did my duty. Followed orders. Believed I was protecting the kingdom."
"And now?"
"Now I'm dying from a curse that makes me relive their pain every single night. Every witch I burned—I feel what they felt. The smoke choking their lungs. The fire consuming their skin. The absolute terror of burning alive." His eyes are haunted. "So don't ask me why I'm not chatty during the day. I spend my nights in hell. The least you can do is let me work in silence."
He walks away, disappearing into an adjoining room I haven't seen before.
I sit in the cage, stunned. The curse isn't just killing him—it's torturing him with the memories of everyone he's killed.
Is that justice? Or just more cruelty?
I don't know anymore.
Day three, I break.
The cage goes up. Hours pass. My body has gone beyond pain into numbness. I can't feel my legs. My hands shake constantly.
Commander Thorne works at his desk, silent as always.
"Please," I whisper. "Just... talk to me. Say anything. I'm going insane in this silence."
Nothing.
"I'm trying to cooperate. Trying to be patient. But I don't understand what you want from me!"
He keeps writing.
"You saved me for a reason. You need me for something. But you won't tell me what and you won't talk to me and you just—" My voice cracks. "You just leave me hanging here like I'm already dead!"
He sets down his pen. Stands. Walks to directly beneath my cage.
And says nothing.
Just stares up at me with those empty gray eyes.
Something inside me snaps.
"JUST KILL ME IF THAT'S YOUR PLAN!" I scream. "Stop pretending! Stop playing games! If you're going to burn me anyway, just do it now! I can't take this anymore—this waiting, this silence, this not knowing if I'm a prisoner or a guest or a corpse you haven't disposed of yet! JUST END IT!"
Silence.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it: "Not yet."
"Not yet?" I laugh hysterically. "Not yet? What does that even mean? Not yet today? Not yet this week? Not yet until you've tortured me enough—"
"Not yet," he repeats, louder now, "because I need to know if you can save me."
The words hang in the air between us.
"Tomorrow," he continues, his voice strained. "Tomorrow we start real training. I'll teach you everything I know about curses from years of hunting witches. You'll learn to control your magic. And if you can break my curse..." He pauses. "Then maybe we both survive."
"And if I can't?"
His jaw tightens. "Then we both die. Me from the curse. You on the pyre. Because if I die, High Inquisitor Vale will have you executed within hours."
"So we're both prisoners," I whisper. "Just different cages."
"Yes."
He lowers the cage. Opens the door. For the first time in three days, he helps me climb out. My legs collapse immediately—too numb to hold my weight.
He catches me before I hit the floor.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and I realize it's the first time he's apologized for anything. "The cage is necessary. The silence is necessary. But tomorrow, I'll tell you everything. About the curse, about Elena Cross, about why you're the only witch in three years who could sense it."
"Why tomorrow?"
He helps me toward the hidden room, supporting my weight. "Because tonight, the curse reaches my shoulder. By tomorrow night, it'll be at my neck. We're out of time for pretending and games."
He opens the hidden door. Inside, I see something that wasn't there before—dozens of books stacked on the floor. Ancient texts with worn covers.
"What are these?"
"Everything I've confiscated from executed witches over the years. Spell books, curse theory, magical history—all forbidden by the Inquisition." His voice drops. "I kept them hidden. Studied them in secret, trying to understand the curse killing me. Now they're yours."
I sink onto the mattress, staring at the books. "Why didn't you tell me about these three days ago?"
"Because I needed to make sure you wouldn't run. Wouldn't fight. Wouldn't use your magic to escape the first chance you got." He meets my eyes. "The cage wasn't punishment, Elara. It was a test. If you couldn't endure three days of silence and discomfort, you'd never survive the training required to break a curse this powerful."
Understanding dawns. "And if I'd failed your test?"
"Then I'd have returned you to the execution square with a clear conscience." He turns to leave, then stops. "For what it's worth, most witches I've tested don't last one day. You made it three without completely breaking. That's... impressive."
The door closes behind him.
I'm alone with forbidden books and impossible expectations.
Tomorrow, real training begins.
Tomorrow, I learn if I'm powerful enough to break curses.
Tomorrow, I find out if the witch and the witch hunter can save each other—or if we're both already doomed.
I reach for the first book. Its cover reads: The Nature of Curses: A Forbidden History.
I open it and start reading.
Because tomorrow, everything changes.
And I need to be ready.