He’s done.
No time to waste on someone like me.
12
Avilyna
FLEETING REASSURANCES
Closingthe heavy door behind Nalaka, I allow myself a moment of silence, leaning against the cool wood as I take a slow, steady breath. The weight of everything that’s happened presses down on me. Each exhale is an attempt, however fleeting, to release the tension building inside. I collapse onto the floor, my eyes fluttering shut, my mind fighting to keep the panic attack at bay. I could kill for a blunt right now.
A frustrated growl escapes me, only to be interrupted by the sudden hiccups I can’t control. I’m so done with trying to make sense of all of this. Everything feels so familiar, like echoes of something I should already know. The problem is, I know it’s all tied to the demons buried deep in my mind. Those shadows that stay dormant until the darkness of the night stirs them awake.
But right now?
I need them to wake up, I need them to come alive.
I have to remember.
Some fragments are so vivid it feels like they’ve been etched into my brain, seared by fire. The image of my brother’s lifeless form, taken by the servants of Nekros, is burned into my mind, painfully sharp and unrelenting. I can still see the boy I’m trying to save, but then a sharp pain.
Something grips me, stops me cold, a blinding light cuts through my head. The pain was dizzying but passed so quickly. I finally push myself off the floor, wiping at my tears, and I notice blood on my palm.
A nosebleed, great.
I sniff hard, steadying myself, and step deeper into the room. The furniture is heavy, rich mahogany or walnut, maybe both. Honestly, I wouldn’t know the difference if my life depended on it. The bed dominates the space, draped in luxurious black silk. An imposing armoire stands to the left, a sturdy desk to the right. Then I notice that everything is mirrored, doubled.
“Fantastic. I share my room,” I mutter dryly.
But the other bed?
No sheets on, maybe I’m lucky and don’t have a roommate… Or perhaps someone just finally did their laundry. I exhale slowly and move toward the closet. Relief washes over me when I spot a few pieces of clothing hanging neatly inside. I am in deep need of a hot shower. Analyzing the inside, it’s similar to what other students were wearing, and some of the gear, too. Nalaka did say each department has its own uniform. And then I see it, tucked away in the corner, a small arsenal. Knives of every shape and size, arranged like a deadly exhibit.
Intriguing.
I reach for one and slide it into my boot without second-guessing it. Then my key, and I step out without looking back.
The frigid airbites at my cheeks, sharp and unapologetic. It feels like winter has already made its claim on the land. With mountains towering around me, the cold cuts deeper.Each gust laced with the raw edge of the peaks. And yet… There’s something breathtaking about it. The beauty of nature, unfiltered.
Untamed.
At least the view’s worth it, even if everything surrounding it is dangerous and deadly. The scene carves itself into me, settling beneath the surface. Even after the cold fades, the feeling stays, haunting.
I head in the opposite direction from where I first came in, letting the path pull me deeper into the Institute’s grounds. The place is massive, sprawling like some elite university campus, only this one trains people to fight wars instead of writing essays. The towering buildings rise around a wide, open yard that feels more like a statement, to be impressive, intimidating and very on-brand for high academics.
I steer toward the trees, because let’s be honest, that’s where you’ll always find the gardeners. Every world has them; you just need to know where to look. The wind shifts, and I’m immediately proven right. A familiar scent drifts toward me, curling through the air and tugging a small, triumphant smile to the corners of my lips. In the shadows, I spot the faint orange glow of a burning blunt, just enough to outline a long, lean figure, cowboy hat and all.
“Hi,” I say, stepping closer, voice casual but hopeful. “Think I could maybe get a hit of that?”
“Sure... But you probably shouldn’t stay out too long,” the stranger replies, his voice low, smooth, with just enough allure to make me pay attention. He steps out of the shadows, and the details come into focus.
Dark, wild hair spilling from under a worn black hat, one silver crescent moon earring catching the light. Ink winds along his arms, visible beneath the rolled sleeves of a weathered leather jacket. One tattoo stands out: a wolf howling between talltrees. Looks like canine inks are a trend around here. He lifts the joint to his lips and takes a slow, deep drag, calm, unbothered, as if the night belongs to him.
“The full moon’s on the rise,” he adds, exhaling smoke directly into my face as he steps in closer.
Charming.
“So? What, you’re all werewolves or something?” I shoot back.
