ELITE by Maclaw

Chapter 6

**the throntons estate **

Meanwhile, in the Thornton estate above, the council gathered in their grand meeting chamber. Tension rippled through the room as they argued over letters from the mysterious writer.

Thaddeus pounded the table in frustration. "This writer has been taunting us for a month now! This is a direct threat to the law itself!"

Lucas leaned back in his chair, unbothered. "It's probably some fool trying to mess with us. Nothing more."

Hector stood, his gaze steady as he looked around the table. "We all know these are no idle threats. The more we dismiss this, the greater the danger becomes." His eyes landed on Lady Eleanor Thornton, a sharp edge in his voice. "We cannot continue to ignore this."

Eleanor's lips curled into a slight smile as she spoke. "We do not fear the unknown."

Charles leaned forward, his voice low.

"But the unknown seems to know everything about us."

Gabriel stepped out of the shadows, his presence drawing the attention of the entire room. "Indeed," he said. "We have received a letter, too. Should I tell them, sister? Or would you prefer to do the honors?"

The room stilled as Eleanor rose to her feet, meeting her brother's gaze with cold defiance. "Yes," she said. "I received a letter."

"And you kept this from the council?"

Hector demanded.

Eleanor's expression didn't falter.

"Naturally. I am a Thornton."

A ripple of outrage spread through the room as the council erupted into argument, voices clashing in fury. The chaos only ceased when the sound of the fourth bell rang out, sending a wave of silence across the estate.

Dong-the fourth bell signaled a shift.

In a corner of the room, Maeve leaned toward Emilie. "Why are the bells ringing tonight?" she asked softly.

Emilie smiled faintly.”It’s Eve’s Night, darling… five rings and the gates to every slave's pen swing open, just like that. They spill into the fields, starved and driven mad with lust. By now, the seedsmen will have chosen their maidens—marked them like cattle. Tonight, they will claim them. It’s a night soaked in hunger, in desperate, brutal need. Wonderful, indeed.”

---

**Back at the Slave Camp**

**Jeremiah’s POV:**

Every muscle in my body quivered, straining against the panic surging through my veins. My mind was sending out signals faster than I could process—my body felt like it was on fire. I could feel each tendon stretching, ready to snap. I had never killed a man before, and the taste of that truth stuck in my throat like bile. I stood frozen, trembling on the edge of the storm, every second pulling me deeper into an abyss.

It was all planned in my head. I had the steps. I could do this. I *had* to do this. *I can pull this off,* I lied to myself over and over.

Goth was coming. His massive frame pushed through the chaos, his fist clenched like a hammer ready to fall. One blow and I’d be dust. The first time, I survived by luck. *Don’t waste it. Don’t f**k up. Don’t f**k up.*

Then it came—the *bong* of the fifth bell. The sound echoed in my bones.

The cell gates screeched and rattled, chains pulling them open, and I felt my heart stutter. In less than a second, they were wide open, and the air filled with the stench of sweat and desperation. Naked, ravenous bodies flooded the hallway, eyes glazed with hunger, lust, madness.

“*Eves!*” they screamed, voices hoarse and broken, tearing at the silence.

They lunged at each other, hands clawing, teeth bared. The ground beneath us groaned under their weight, a rumble deep in the earth that seemed to match the frantic beating of my heart. It was chaos. Brutal, raw chaos. And Goth was somewhere in that madness, a predator cutting his way through the frenzy, hunting me down.

*It’s time,* I thought, and my body finally responded.

I pushed off the wall, the world snapping back into focus. *Run!* The voice screamed louder this time. My feet slammed against the stone floor, the heavy axe weighing down my grip, my robe hanging on by shreds from Goth’s earlier blow. I could barely hear anything beyond the rush of blood in my ears. I didn’t think—I just moved, each breath a desperate gasp as I bolted toward the closing doors.

I flung the axe ahead of me, watching it spin through the air, desperately hoping it would jam the door. I slid across the filthy ground, the rough stone scraping my skin raw, my robe tearing away completely. Pain surged through me as I squeezed through the closing gap, my body bruised and bloodied. I had no idea what lay beyond the door, but I didn’t care.

*CRAM!* The doors slammed shut behind me. The axe came spinning back toward me, and by some miracle, my hand shot out and caught it mid-air. My chest heaved, the cold night air stabbing into my lungs, sharp and real. I stayed on my knees for a moment, the world still spinning, the dust settling in my mouth.

Then I looked up, and the moon greeted me, pale and watchful in the sky. Its light draped over me like a cool balm, a brief respite in a world of torment. My lips curved into a smile, slow and unfamiliar. For the first time in years, I felt something close to joy.

“Freedom,” I whispered, the word barely leaving my mouth.

But the moment shattered.

“Hey!” a voice barked from the darkness.

Four guards, maybe more, stepped into view, their faces twisted in anger and fear. But I wasn’t afraid anymore. My heartbeat slowed, the adrenaline kicking in, sharpening my focus.

I gripped the axe tighter, feeling its rough handle dig into my palm. My body tensed, every muscle poised for violence.

I let out a roar that tore through my throat, primal and fierce. "*Arrrrrrrrr!*" I launched myself forward, the ground blurring beneath me as I charged, the axe raised high, ready to tear into flesh.

The night was mine.…………

**back at the estate **

The council room of the Thornton estate was thick with tension. The meeting had turned into a swirling debate, letters from the mysterious writer laid out before them like grim portents of doom. Eleanor Hayes sat at the head of the table, her steely gaze flicking from one man to the next, her grip tight around the armrest of her chair. Lucas, Charles, Hector, and Gabriel were seated around her, their faces lined with the weight of dark secrets.

“This is madness,” Hector muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We cannot find an anonymous killer if we don’t lay out all the lines.”

Eleanor's lips twisted into a cold smile. “And I had no intention of keeping you out. I simply had to maintain control. For all we know it’s just treats.”

But before anyone could respond, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the walls of the estate, echoing through the corridors like the wail of a dying soul. The conversation halted abruptly as everyone froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances of alarm.

“That scream,” Maeve whispered, her heart pounding. “It came from the east wing.”

Lucas was already on his feet, his breath coming in short gasps. “Fraya…” he whispered hoarsely, the color draining from his face as his worst fears came rushing forward. He pushed past the others, darting toward the hallway.

Everyone followed, but their steps were hesitant, as if they were moving through a nightmare they couldn’t escape. Shadows danced in the dimly lit corridors, the estate itself seeming to come alive with a sense of dread as they approached Fraya’s room. Every step felt like it dragged through molasses, heavy with the weight of the unknown.

The door to Fraya’s room was ajar, a haunting creak filling the silence as Lucas pushed it open fully. The sight that greeted them on the other side stopped them all dead in their tracks.

Fraya hung from the window by her neck, the makeshift noose cutting into her pale skin. Her body swayed ever so slightly in the evening breeze that drifted in through the open window. Her eyes, glassy and wide, stared lifelessly into the distance. The room was eerily still except for that soft creak of rope against wood.

Lucas fell to his knees as if struck by an unseen force, a strangled sob escaping his lips. “No… no, Fraya…” His hands clutched at the floor, fingers digging into the carpet as if he could anchor himself in a reality that was quickly slipping away.

Hector, ever the officer despite the horror of the moment, straightened his shoulders, though his face was pale with shock. He held up a hand to stop anyone from moving further into the room. “No one touch anything,” he ordered in a shaky voice, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the grim scene. “This… this is a crime scene.”

But even Hector’s usual authoritative tone wavered as he took in the horror before him. His eyes locked onto Fraya’s dangling form, and for a moment, he simply stood there, mouth slightly agape, his mind wrestling to make sense of it.

The silence in the room was suffocating, the weight of death pressing down on all of them. Maeve felt her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat as she stepped forward, drawn toward the window. And then she saw it.

A red envelope, barely visible under the edge of the desk, its bold color stark against the soft hues of the room. She knelt down, her hands trembling as she reached for it, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface before she picked it up.

Eleanor’s sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife. “What is it?”

Maeve slowly stood, her face drained of color as she carefully opened the envelope. Her eyes scanned the paper inside, and as she read the words, a chill crept up her spine. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke, the words twisting in her throat as though they carried a curse.

“You should have read the letter, Eleanor Hayes.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Maeve’s hand shook as she lowered the letter, her eyes darting toward Eleanor, whose face had blanched. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze, as if time itself had stopped to acknowledge the depth of the malice that had been unleashed.

A creeping sense of dread filled the room, as if the very air had turned cold. The tension was palpable, suffocating, and it was clear that this was no ordinary death. Fraya’s lifeless body swayed gently in the wind, a grotesque mockery of life, and the letter in Maeve’s hand seemed to pulse with a dark energy.

Emilie, who had remained silent throughout the entire ordeal, stepped forward and fixed her gaze on Maeve. Her eyes bore into her with an intensity that sent a shiver down Maeve’s spine. It was as though Emilie could see something that the others could not, something hidden beneath the surface.

The room was thick with unspoken words, unexpressed fears, and secrets long buried….