Novels by Nova Thorne

BOOK FIVE: THE LUNAR ECLIPSE(Jace’s Perspective)When you build a vault to trap a monster, you have to accept that if the doors ever jam, you will be the one locked in the dark.I was sinking. The subterranean river was pitch black, freezing, and rushing with a violent, chaotic current from the massive displacement of the abyssal bullet. The Obsidian Chassis, completely devoid of power, felt exactly like what it was: a thousand-pound coffin of void metal.The atmospheric seals at the collar had blown. Freezing, ancient freshwater was steadily filling the helmet. It was past my chin, creeping up over my lips.I didn't panic. Panic burns oxygen, and I only had about forty seconds of it left.I closed my eyes in the pitch black, focusing entirely on the faint, rhythmic thump-thump of the earth’s magma nodes echoing through the bedrock. It was a comforting, steady lullaby. I had done my job. The Spire was standing. The wolves had the sky.The water crested over my nose.CRACK.It wasn't

BOOK FIVE: THE LUNAR ECLIPSE(Jace’s Perspective)Falling through solid earth is a terrifying sensory deprivation. For ten seconds, there was only the deafening roar of the hydrostatic thrusters melting the basalt beneath my boots, and the violent, strobing flashes of purple and silver light inside my helmet.The Obsidian Chassis was tearing itself apart. The left side of the suit desperately wanted to anchor to the earth's heavy core; the right side violently pulled toward the sky. I was riding a localized physics glitch straight down into the dark.Two miles down.I breached the ceiling of the primary continental aquifer.I didn't land on solid ground. I plunged into a massive, subterranean river of freezing, pitch-black freshwater. The void metal instantly adapted, the localized gravity field pushing the water away to create a protective vacuum bubble around the suit.I hovered in the dead center of the underground current, suspended in a pocket of dry air.I looked down the sprawl

BOOK FIVE: THE LUNAR ECLIPSE(Jace’s Perspective)If you want to cut through solid steel, you don't use a hammer. You use water. You compress it, you focus it into a microscopic point, and you fire it at a high enough velocity. Under absolute pressure, water doesn't just flow; it acts as an indestructible blade.I stared at the broken charcoal on my drafting table."It's not coming over the coastal wall," I said, my voice dropping to a rapid, calculating whisper. "The gravity shield repels mass on the surface. But the Hive-Mind knows that. It isn't going to fire this bullet through the air.""Then how does it reach us?" Elara asked, her eyes darting to the massive brass dials on the console. "Aethelgard is a hundred miles inland. If it doesn't cross the surface, it has to go under.""The aquifers," I breathed, the blood draining from my face.Beneath the human continent lay a massive network of subterranean rivers and pressurized freshwater aquifers. We relied on them to cool the blas

BOOK FIVE: THE LUNAR ECLIPSE(Jace’s Perspective)When you introduce a new apex predator to an ecosystem, the ecosystem does not immediately fight back. It goes completely, terrifyingly quiet.I woke up in the medical ward of the Grandmaster’s Spire to the sound of rolling thunder. But the sky outside the arched windows was perfectly clear, bathed in the bright afternoon sun."That isn't thunder," Elara said, noticing my eyes opening. She was sitting in a wooden chair beside my cot, reviewing a stack of logistical manifests. She looked exhausted, but the crippling, ambient dread of the lunar starvation was completely gone from her posture.I sat up slowly, my head swimming. I looked down at my right arm.The jagged, permanently cooked veins mapping my skin were no longer a dead, dormant black. They shimmered with a faint, pale silver luminescence. I had acted as the conduit between the earthly grid and the lunar frequency, and the celestial gravity had left a permanent echo in my biol

BOOK FIVE: THE LUNAR ECLIPSE(Jace’s Perspective)Biology cannot create mass out of nothing. But when you funnel the raw, concentrated gravity of a celestial body directly into a predator’s nervous system, biology doesn't have to create anything. It just takes what you give it.The invisible wave of lunar gravity hit Torin’s shattered, dying body.The reaction was catastrophic and beautiful.Torin didn't just heal; he detonated. A blinding flash of silver light erupted from his chest, shattering the reinforced medical cot beneath him into splinters. The massive Vanguard general was thrown into the air, but he didn't fall back down immediately.The localized celestial gravity caught him.Suspended three feet above the roof, Torin began to shift.It didn't sound like the usual, gruesome cracking of bones and tearing of muscle. It sounded like grinding ice and chiming glass. His withered, human body violently expanded, but the mass he was pulling wasn't the heavy, dense, magma-fueled bul

BOOK FIVE: THE LUNAR ECLIPSE(Jace’s Perspective)Moving a forty-foot spear of upward-falling celestial silver through a densely populated city is an architectural nightmare.We couldn't put it on a cart; it would just pull the cart into the sky. We had to use Corren’s heaviest industrial steam-cranes, chaining the four Starved Iron containment crates to the massive steel treads of the machines to keep the payload grounded.It took us an hour to drag the hovering, blindingly bright Lunar Bridge from the central foundry to the base of the Grandmaster’s Spire.The citizens of Aethelgard lined the cobblestone streets in absolute, terrified silence. They were used to seeing white-hot magma iron and black steam engines. They had never seen a piece of the moon. The pale, freezing light of the silver cast eerie, inverted shadows across the buildings, making the dust and loose leaves in the streets float slowly upward as we passed."Get it on the heavy winch!" I roared, standing at the base o

The house we built was made of glass, cedar, and light. It sat on twenty acres of private, wooded land in upstate New York, far away from the concrete canyons of the city, the flashing cameras of the press, and the shadows of Thorne Tower. There were no armed guards standing in the corners of the living room. There were no biometric locks on the bedroom doors. There was just the sound of the wind in the pines, and the crackle of the fireplace. I stood in my massive, sun-drenched studio on the second floor. The wall facing the lake was entirely made of windows. I was painting, but it was slow work. I had to stand back from the canvas because my nine-month pregnant belly kept getting in the way of the easel. I pressed a hand to my stomach as a sharp, sudden kick jabbed against my ribs. "Easy, little one," I murmured, rubbing the spot. "I know you're running out of room in there, but masterpieces take patience." The heavy oak door of the studio creaked open. "Are you lecturing my d

Julian stared at the little plastic stick in my trembling hand.The harsh bathroom light reflected off the small digital screen. The word PREGNANT was stark and black, leaving no room for interpretation.For a long, agonizing moment, the air in the loft seemed to vanish. Julian didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The man who had faced down hit squads, dismantled the Consortium, and outsmarted the FBI without a drop of sweat looked completely and utterly terrified."Julian?" I whispered. My voice cracked. "Say something. Please."He blinked. Once. Twice. The shock in his icy blue eyes began to shatter, replaced by something so raw and overwhelming it made my breath hitch.The digital test slipped from my fingers and clattered into the porcelain sink.Julian didn't catch it. Instead, his knees buckled.The billionaire CEO, the ruthless predator of Wall Street, dropped to the tile floor right in front of me. He wrapped his strong arms around my waist and buried his face against my stomach. I

Four days had passed since I walked out of the federal detention center.Four days of peace. Four days of Julian working from a laptop on the sofa while I painted by the window. It was the longest stretch of uninterrupted quiet we had experienced since the day we met.But my body didn't seem to understand that we were safe.I was standing at the easel, mixing a beautiful, stormy blue on my palette. I leaned in to add a drop of turpentine to thin the oil.The sharp, chemical smell hit the back of my throat.Usually, I loved that smell. It was the scent of my sanctuary.Today, it made my stomach violently heave.I dropped the palette knife. I slapped a hand over my mouth and sprinted for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I lost the toast I had forced down for breakfast.I sat on the cool tile floor, gasping for breath, my forehead resting against the porcelain."Vivian?"Elena’s voice echoed from the main room. She had come over to bring us lunch—a spread of sashimi fr

I woke up to the smell of coffee and turpentine.For a moment, I panicked. I didn't recognize the ceiling. It wasn't the ornate plaster of the penthouse bedroom. It was exposed timber beams and white-painted brick.Then I remembered.The heist. The helicopter. The cell. The release.I rolled over.Julian was sitting on the floor near the window. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He was barefoot. He held a mug in one hand and was staring at the unfinished painting on the easel—the one I had started before Elias invaded my life.He looked peaceful. The tension that usually vibrated off him like a hum in a high-voltage wire was gone."You're staring at it like it's a spreadsheet," I croaked, my voice raspy from sleep.Julian turned. A slow smile spread across his face."I'm trying to figure out the lighting," he said. "The shadows don't make sense physically, but emotionally... they are perfect."I sat up. My body ached. The metal bench in the holding cell had left brui

The Javits Center was a riot.I watched the live feed on a stolen tablet in the back of the van as we sped toward the Lincoln Tunnel.On screen, Elias Vane was trying to shout over the confusion."Deepfakes!" Elias screamed, pointing at the massive screen behind him where his own voice was still echoing. "AI manipulation! That is not my voice! That is a fabrication created by a desperate criminal!"But the crowd wasn't listening. They were booing. Investors were frantically typing on their phones, dumping Vanguard stock.Then, I saw movement in the wings of the stage.Agent Miller walked out. He wasn't alone. He was flanked by six federal agents.Elias saw them. He stopped shouting. He looked for an exit, but the stage was surrounded.Miller walked up to the podium. He didn't speak into the microphone. He just placed a hand on Elias’s shoulder.He spun Elias around.Click.Handcuffs.The crowd erupted. Flashbulbs went supernova. The golden boy of Silicon Valley was being perp-walked o

Dante Moretti’s safe house wasn't a bunker. It was a penthouse in DUMBO overlooking the East River. It was filled with modern art, expensive whiskey, and illegal firearms.I paced the floor. I felt like a caged tiger.On the massive television screen, the news played on a loop."Vivian Thorne, wife of fugitive billionaire Julian Thorne, was arraigned in federal court this morning. The judge denied bail, citing her husband's flight as evidence of a significant flight risk."The screen showed footage of Vivian being led out of the courthouse. She wore an orange jumpsuit. Her hands were cuffed to her waist. She looked pale, but her head was high. She didn't hide her face from the cameras.I threw my glass of whiskey at the wall.Crash.The crystal shattered, spraying amber liquid over a priceless Basquiat print."Easy, tiger," Dante drawled from the leather sofa. "That painting cost more than your helicopter ride.""She's in a cage because of me," I roared. "I left her there, Dante! I ju