"Wickedness brought us together," I acknowledge, the statement carrying truth that transcends simple observation. "For various reasons, to this Academy. And though it's been frightening as hell... and challenging in ways I couldn't have imagined when I first arrived..."
I meet their eyes—each one, in turn.
"I'm glad we're together. And alive."
The words carry sincerity that I hope they can feel beneath the complicated circumstances of this moment.
"I'm not asking for much," I conclude. "Just survive. For me. For each other. And let's unlock what's hidden in the depths of this final layer of truths as the paranormal elites of Wicked Academy."
They seem to agree with my little speech—nods and acknowledgments and the particular silence of people who have heard something that resonates with their own experiences, their own fears, their own hopes for what comes next.
Movement at the edge of my vision makes me glance toward the door Cassius disappeared through.
Three shadow tendrils hover near my head—smaller than his usual manifestations, more tentative, carrying the particular energy of someone who is too proud to return in person but too concerned to stay entirely away.
He heard.
He heard my speech, even while heading to fetch Damien.
And those tendrils are his way of acknowledging that he's with us.
With me.
Despite the threat I issued.
Despite the command I gave.
Despite everything that still needs to be discussed between us.
The sight warms something in my chest that helps balance the concern still pulsing for Damien's welfare.
We have work to do.
Challenges to face.
A final year of Academy trials that would either kill us or forge us into something strong enough to survive whatever comes after graduation.
And truthfully?
There was no rest for the wicked.
Which now starts with getting Damien.
CHAPTER 18
Abomination
~GWENIEVERE~
Catching a hellhound is a pain in one's hybrid ass.
The thought surfaces with the particular exhaustion of someone who has been standing on the sidelines watching chaos unfold for what feels like hours but is probably closer to thirty minutes. My transformed feet—still bare, still carrying the particular luminescence that my Fae awakening has apparently made permanent—ache against ground that trembles with each impact of massive paws against Academy architecture.
Professor Eternalis stands beside me, her ancient features arranged into an expression of calm observation that borders on amusement. She watches the mayhem with the particular attention of someone taking mental notes rather than someone with any intention of intervening.
I can't even be upset with her.
Six men versus one hellhound shouldn't be this difficult.
