The headquarters of the Thorn hid beneath the oldest quarter of the city, carved into the stone foundations of a forgotten opera house. At street level, the building was derelict, boarded windows staring like blind eyes; below, chandeliers still burned with electric light and the scent of wine and dust hung in the air.Gabrielle had been here countless times, yet tonight the corridor felt narrower, the guards more alert. He adjusted his cuffs as Antonio walked beside him in silence. The hum of conversation filtered from the hall ahead like a hundred whispers, a single heartbeat of ambition.Cordelia waited at the head of the long mahogany table. Her gown was the color of storm clouds, pearls wound through her hair like pale serpents. Around her sat the council old men in tailored suits, women in sharp black, each bearing the small silver thorn pinned to their lapels.When Gabrielle entered, their murmurs thinned to silence.“Casanova,” Cordelia said, her voice carrying easily thr
Last Updated : 2025-11-10 Read more