“Stop.” His grip tightens when I resist him.
“If River is in there, Nala might be too.” I pull back from him, but his vice-like grip doesn’t relinquish. “I don’t know what is happening, but we need to get them out.” His strength is overpowering, and in my frustration, an audible huff leaves my lips.
“Exactly. You don’t know what is happening or what they are doing in there; it could be dangerous.” He lifts his sleeve again to reveal the erect hairs on his arm. “The same feeling that led me here is telling me to wait and assess the situation.” And with that, my muscles relax with reluctance. He’s right, my dad would snort at my blatant naivety. ‘Make sure you know the depth of the water before diving headfirst into it.’This was one of the first things he taught me when we trained together: ‘A fighter prepared has already won half the battle.’ My cheeks heat slightly in embarrassment as I send him a small nod.
He pauses for a moment, eyes assessing me for any instinct to defy him, before slowly releasing me from his grip.
We return to our original positions, eyes pressed closely to the fractured pane. Anxiety claims my throat, although a window stands between us and them, my nerves feel potent enough to penetrate the glass and seep through its cracks. I take a steadying breath, but a shallow gasp escapes my lips whenI notice shoulder-length black hair floating amongst the sea of heads.
Nala.
My heart begins to race again, and though every part of my being is telling me to run in there and retrieve her. All I can do is watch.
Ryder and I duck as a sudden noise snaps from the far end of the warehouse.
The door slams open, and a line of entranced people file inside, filling the empty spaces with eerie precision—as if they’ve practised this moment. The men guiding them wear the same hollow expressions, eyes unfocused, bodies moving on instinct alone. Present, but nothere.
When the last body is in place, the men turn and leave without a word.
I study the newcomers.
I don’t recognise a single face.
Not one.
Which means—It isn’t just our school.
My thoughts lurch to my village. To my father.
I scan the crowd, pulse roaring in my ears, searching desperately for what I fear most.
He isn’t there.
Thank the Gods.
The light filtering through the splintered wood and fractured glass is weak, but it exists—just enough to separate blondes from brunettes, to catch flashes of colour stitched into clothing. But the farther my gaze drifts into the cavernous space, the more the darkness overtakes it.
It doesn’t sit still.
It weaves between bodies, coils around rigid toes, and spiders up unmoving spines. It clings. Claims. I scrub my eyeshard enough to spark black spots across my vision, desperate for the illusion to break.
It doesn’t.
The dark is growing thicker—denser, possessive. It refuses to yield to the light, infecting every glimmer of potential like a spreading sickness. It roots them in place, swallowing their feet, pinning them to the floor as if the ground itself has turned against them.
I thought if I rubbed my eyes hard enough, the darkness would retreat. That it would dissolve into nothing more than fear and shadow, another trick of my mind.
But it doesn’t fade.
It tightens.
The darkness is very real.
“Who’s making those shadows?” My eyes twist with them—black clouds as fluid as an ocean, stopping just above their shoulders.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Ryder admits, his breath slightly fogging up the glass. “If it’s a shadow wielder, it’s a powerful one.”
“We’ve waited long enough; wehaveto get in there.” My shoulders rise with anticipation, and my feet get ahead of themselves, but Ryder’s hand stops me again before I can make any headway.
