If Thomas Dawn developed this technique before his death, information about it might exist in the Hunter archives. And those archives, according to the library catalog I’d studied obsessively,are stored in the most restricted corner of the most restricted section.
My shadows stretch ahead of me, scouting the narrow aisles between towering bookshelves that seem to lean inward like they’re whispering secrets. They’ve been more responsive since Bael awakened the ancestral knowledge within them, moving with newfound purpose and awareness that both thrills and terrifies me. Three rows ahead, they detect something and pause, coiling back toward me in warning like hunting dogs catching a scent.
Someone else is here.
I freeze, pressing against a bookshelf that smells like centuries of dust and forgotten knowledge. The leather binding is cold against my back. My shadows continue reporting through sensations that flow directly into my consciousness—presence detected, male energy, fire magic signature.
Rather than retreating like any sane person would, I extend my shadows further, trying to identify the intruder without revealing my position. My shadows slip beneath a row of shelves, rising on the other side to observe. The sensory feedback they provide isn’t exactly visual—more like impressions of form and energy that translate into understanding. Tall figure. Male. Fire energy crackling like barely controlled lightning.
Constantine.
What the fuck is he doing in the restricted section at this hour? After our intense connection during the demonstration, he’d disappeared without explanation, missing our scheduled training session and leaving me to wonder if I’d imagined the electricity between us. Now he’s here, surrounded by ancient Hunter texts in the middle of the night like some kind of academic vampire.
My shadows creep closer, trying to see what he’s researching. They relay impressions of open books, scattered notes, anddiagrams that look disturbingly like anatomical studies of wings. Wings with crimson tips. My wings.
A chill runs down my spine, ice water flooding my veins. Is this why he missed our session? To research Ascendants in secret? To gather evidence about what I am?
I’m about to withdraw when one of my shadows brushes accidentally against his foot. The contact is barely a whisper, but his head snaps up immediately, fire flaring in his palm to illuminate the darkness with harsh orange light that makes the shadows dance frantically.
“Who’s there?” he calls, voice echoing in the silence like a gunshot.
I could run. Shadow-walk away before he discovers me, disappear into the darkness like I was never here. But I’m tired of being in the dark, tired of half-truths and cryptic warnings and people making decisions about my life without consulting me. If Constantine is researching me behind my back, I deserve to know why.
Stepping out from behind the shelves, I let my shadows gather around me like a cloak of living darkness. “Looking for something specific, Professor?”
Constantine doesn’t look surprised to see me, which is more unsettling than if he had been startled. The fire in his palm illuminates his face from below, casting dramatic shadows that make him appear older, more dangerous. His amber eyes reflect the flame like a predator’s.
“Ashley.” He doesn’t lower the flame or show any sign of guilt. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.” I gesture to the scattered research materials that surround him like evidence of a crime. “Doing some light reading about Ascendants? Or specifically about me?”
His amber eyes assess me carefully, and I can practically seethe calculations running behind them. “How much do you know about the Hunter archives?”
“Not much. Just that they probably contain information I need.” I take a step closer, my shadows reaching out to see what books he’s been examining. “Like details about shadow-speaking.”
“Shadow-speaking?” He looks genuinely puzzled, his brow furrowing. “That’s not what I’m researching.”
“Then what are these?” I point to the wing diagrams visible on one of the open pages, my heart hammering at the sight of illustrations that look exactly like what I see in the mirror.
Constantine hesitates, and I watch conflicting emotions play across his face. Then his shoulders drop slightly, as if he’s making a decision that will change everything. “Not what you think. These are from my mother’s personal research journals. I had them transferred to the academy archives after her death.”
I move closer, my shadows stretching cautiously toward the documents like a curious cat. Now I can see they’re handwritten notes rather than official Hunter records, the margins filled with personal observations and questions written in feminine handwriting. The pages smell of old ink and roses.
“Your mother studied Ascendants?”
“Among other things.” He closes the journal, but not before I glimpse a sketch that looks disturbingly similar to my own wings, complete with crimson tips that seem to glow even on paper. “She had... unconventional interests for a Hunter.”
My shadows pulse with suspicion, coiling closer around my feet. “And you’re following in her footsteps? Studying the rare Ascendant specimen up close?”
Anger flashes across his face like lightning, quick and fierce. “Is that what you think this is? Some scientific curiosity?”
“What else would it be?” I challenge, crossing myarms defensively. “You’re a Hunter. Your entire organization exists to eliminate things like me.”
“If that were my goal, I could have reported you weeks ago.” He extinguishes his flame with a sharp gesture, plunging us into relative darkness again. My eyes adjust slowly to the moonlight filtering through stained glass. “When your shadows first reached for my fire. When you created shadow constructs, no Dark Nephilim could manage. When your wings nearly manifested during training.”
Ice floods my veins, cold enough to make my teeth chatter. “You saw that?”
“I’ve seen many things, Ashley.” His voice softens, losing its edge. “Including how much you’re struggling to hide what you are.”
