Burning Hearts

Chapter Three

One of the inner rooms in the western wing of the manor was a completely different world from the cold reality of the basement. This place was built with dark wooden walls, thick carpets, heavy navy-blue curtains, and soundproof doors – not by accident. The room wasn’t officially registered. It didn’t appear on any blueprint or in any system. It was nothing more than a private, shadowed observation room.

Two screens glowed in the dark. One showed the basement hallway, captured from an angle that only changed when a guard passed by. The other: the cell.

Andromeda Carter lay curled up on the floor. Her body trembled; she was visibly in pain. Her face was pale, streaked with tears. At times she tried to sit up, but dizziness dragged her head back down, and she clutched the blanket like it was her last line of defense.

Lucian Thornewell stood before the screen, arms crossed. He wore a dark suit as always, his shirt perfectly fitted, his shoes soundless on the carpet. His gaze was fixed, his jaw tight.

Tobias stood beside him, a paper cup in one hand, the other in his pocket. He watched the monitor absently, taking occasional sips from his coffee.

“You know, boss…” Tobias said as Andromeda curled tighter on the screen, shaking her head as if trying to block out the sounds. “…considering we haven’t even started interrogating her, she’s cracking pretty fast.”

Lucian said nothing. He just watched. Tobias grinned and stepped closer to the screen.

“A small cell, a few cold walls, and look at that… we didn’t even have to ask anything. Didn’t even get to the part where we ask her favorite color and she’s already on the edge of a breakdown. Amazing how soft rich girls are.”

No response. Lucian didn’t turn toward him. Didn’t scold him. Didn’t smile. Just stood there, watching the girl.

Tobias tilted his head. The smile slowly faded from his face.

“Hey… I’m just saying,” he added more quietly. “I’ve never seen you stare at the screen like this. I mean… this long. With that expression.”

Lucian’s face remained hard. His eyes didn’t move from the monitor. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

On the screen, Andromeda sat up. She braced a hand against the wall, tried to stand – but dizziness overtook her again, and she collapsed. Her body curled up like a shattered bird.

Lucian saw something else. A memory, unbidden and unwanted, surged up like dark water from behind cracked walls.

A boy. Long ago. Smaller, younger. In a basement. Curled up the same way. A spotlight lit him from one side, his shadows stretched long and monstrous. For days.

Lucian blinked. The memory faded, but it left a weight behind. A tight, pressing hollowness in his chest. Tobias stepped back.

“You want me to go down there? Just talk to her… gently. Or less gently. Maybe now’s the right time—”

“No,” Lucian cut in quietly. His voice sliced the air like a blade against glass.

Tobias froze. Lucian kept his eyes on the screen for another second. The girl was motionless now. She might’ve fainted. Or maybe she just didn’t want anyone to see how badly she was shaking.

Suddenly, Lucian stepped away from the monitor. He said nothing, just pressed the button beneath the screen with a single motion. The feed went dark. Tobias nodded slightly, as if he understood, but didn’t ask.

Lucian walked to the door. As his hand touched the doorknob, Tobias spoke again, quietly:

“Don’t take it to heart, boss. You didn’t hit her. It’s not your fault she’s there.”

Lucian paused.

“No,” he said softly, without turning back. “But I allowed her to end up there.”

And with that, he left the room, soundless, like a shadow lingering behind him.

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The observation room was dark once more. But now, the blackness on the screens wasn’t just from the lack of camera feed. It meant something had come too close. And someone – Lucian – perhaps wasn’t just watching Andromeda anymore. He was watching his own conscience.

Lucian Thornewell moved silently through the dim hallways of the manor. He had locked the observation room behind him, but the thoughts swirling in his head wouldn’t let him go. With every step, he felt like the house itself was watching. The walls had seen too many secrets. Absorbed too much blood. Held onto too many unspoken pains.

The stairs to his room were long, smelled of old wood. At the top, he opened the oak door—it gave way without a creak. The darkness wrapped around him like an old companion. This was the only place on the entire estate where he didn’t have to wear the mask.

The bed was large, neatly made. The room orderly. Every book, every folder in its place. Every article of clothing folded with military precision. The space was clean, disciplined – a long-standing retreat of a general.

Lucian took off his suit jacket, folded it carefully over a chair. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and closed his eyes. Buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t one to brood. He didn’t make room for emotion.

But now… now he couldn’t shake that image. Andromeda’s face. The tears. The clenched fingers. The heart-wrenching tremble. Her body on the stone floor. And the realization: it wasn’t the pain that broke her. Not the fear either.

It was the confinement. The darkness.

Too familiar.

Lucian dropped onto the bed. The mattress didn’t even creak beneath him. He stared at the ceiling. Tried not to remember.

But the past lived in his bones like old fractures that ache before a storm. A childhood filled with cells, beatings, and commands. His own father had never allowed him to be weak. Not even as a child. Especially not then.

His eyes slowly closed. No peaceful sleep came. Just exhaustion.

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Before dawn, in that blurry space between sleep and waking, a knock broke the silence. Three taps. Firm. Familiar. Tobias.

Lucian sat up. He didn’t need to ask. He was already at the door, opening it. Tobias stood in the hallway, clothes wrinkled, eyes filled with concern.

“What is it?” Lucian asked, voice tight.

“The girl,” Tobias said softly. “On the camera… she hasn’t moved for hours. Still in the exact same position we last saw her. Not turning, not sitting up. Nothing.”

Lucian’s eyes flickered briefly, then shut down again. Like a door. Something opened inside, but he didn’t let anyone look in.

“How long?”

“At least three hours. At first, we thought she fell asleep. But the position… it’s wrong. Slumped sideways like she fainted. No IV. No fluids. Just that wound…”

Lucian didn’t wait. He was barefoot, but didn’t care. He grabbed the shirt from the chair, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped past Tobias.

“Get me a light,” he said quietly. “It’s darker at night on the basement level.”

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The manor’s early morning silence was different from its nighttime hush. More suffocating. The air felt colder. Lucian’s footsteps didn’t echo – the world seemed to swallow every sound. Tobias followed in silence.

When they reached the iron gate, the key turned easily. The stone steps to the basement groaned under their weight. The air reeked of mold, metal, and dampness. This time, Lucian wasn’t watching her through a screen.

When they reached the door, Tobias didn’t ask. He unlocked the cell. Lucian stepped inside.

Andromeda lay on the floor. Same position as before. Her hair was matted with something—maybe blood, maybe water. Tear streaks dried on her face. Eyes closed. Her chest barely rose. Lucian crouched beside her. Tobias remained at the door.

“She’s breathing. But it’s weak,” he said quietly.

Lucian watched. Didn’t touch her. Just looked. The light flickered faintly, and the darkness wasn’t outside anymore. It was inside – in his chest, his gut, his mind.

He didn’t know why he stayed there so long. Didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tobias to call the doctor. Didn’t know why he couldn’t keep watching.

He stood. The cell door creaked as he stepped out.

“Take her to the infirmary,” he said, voice raspier than ever. “Don’t ask questions. Don’t take notes. Just wake her up.”

Tobias nodded, but didn’t move immediately. He understood: something had changed. Lucian was already moving. Up. Toward the light. But he still carried the darkness inside him.

Tobias stood in the cell doorway, unmoving. The pale yellow light fell on his shoulder, and his eyes lingered on the girl lying on the floor. Longer than usual.

Then he sighed. Not in pity. But with something like… weary recognition. This was deeper than it seemed. Not simple exhaustion. Not an act.

He turned and signaled to the two guards waiting silently in the corridor like shadows.

“Stretcher. Now.”

One guard disappeared down the hall, the other stepped beside Tobias. The girl didn’t move. Her breathing was shallow and fast. Her lashes fluttered. Her body damp with sweat. Not deep unconsciousness – but not wakefulness either. A kind of dead end Tobias knew too well: a panic attack.

Within minutes the stretcher arrived. The men lifted her carefully. Tobias followed all the way to the infirmary. This wing of the manor was brighter, more modern – a place for healing the body. But what they had to treat now wasn’t physical.

As soon as the nurse saw Andromeda, she called the on-call physician.

“Quickly, over here! Pulse over 130, skin pale, cold, and sweaty. Breathing shallow and rapid. This is a panic state. Full-blown episode.”

The doctor, a man in his fifties, examined her quickly but expertly.

“She’s unresponsive, but the eye muscles are active. No cognitive impairment. This isn’t a coma. It’s psychological. A deep panic attack,” he said. “If we don’t break it, she’ll go into shock.”

“What do we do?” Tobias asked. For the first time, his voice betrayed concern.

“Cold. Physical shock. Quick reset. Shower.”

“Fully?” Tobias asked.

“Clothed. Don’t undress her. Just get her in. The skin needs an intense stimulus before the body overcompensates.”

Tobias nodded, and they moved quickly. One guard opened the shower room: steel walls, grated floor, sterile industrial setup. They placed Andromeda on the metal grate, still clothed. The cold tile touched her skin, but she didn’t react.

Tobias turned the valve and opened the ice-cold water.

The downpour slammed onto her body. Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then her body jerked. Her arms curled up against her chest. Her mouth gasped for air.

“See? She’s responding,” the doctor said. “Don’t stop. Twenty minutes. Minimum.”

Andromeda’s body tensed. She clenched her legs together, protecting herself. Her eyes flew open – but they didn’t see. Just fear.

“Where… where am I…?”

Her voice was a faint whisper at first. Then came the trembling. Tobias crouched beside her, his voice different now. Soft, but steady.

“You’re in the infirmary. You’re safe now. Your body just overreacted. Breathe slowly, alright?”

“Cold… it’s so… cold…” the girl whispered, trying to turn her face away from the water.

“I know. But listen to me. Let’s count together. One… two… three…” Tobias began. And kept going until her breathing slowly evened out.

After twenty minutes, her eyes finally focused. Andromeda wasn’t calm – but she was present. The doctor nodded.

“That’s enough. Wrap her up. Bed.”

As the water was turned off, Tobias grabbed a dry towel. The nurses hurried to change the sheets. Andromeda was wrapped in thick blankets, her hair dripping, her body still trembling – but no longer convulsing. Her eyes fixed on Tobias.

“You… you’re not a doctor…”

Tobias nodded.

“No. But this morning, I became one. Because no one else dared touch you.”

“Why didn’t you let me die?” Andromeda whispered.

Tobias didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the young woman who only hours ago had stood so proud, and now lay broken, soaked, trembling before him.

“Because he…” Tobias nodded upward, indicating Lucian, “…didn’t want it to end that way. And sometimes, that’s enough.”