“Excited for the Trials, Dawn?” she asks with a false sweetness that makes my teeth ache. “I hear Dark Nephilim typically face the more... challenging opponents.”
“Can’t wait,” I reply with equally false enthusiasm, tasting bile. “Nothing I love more than fighting monsters for the entertainment of Hunters.”
Her smile hardens, becoming sharp enough to cut. “High Examiner Malcolm is a close family friend. I was just telling him about your unusual shadow display during the power demonstration. He seemed quite interested.”
My blood turns to ice, but I force my expression to remain neutral even as panic claws at my throat. “I’m flattered by your attention to my modest abilities.”
“Modest?” She laughs lightly, the sound like breaking glass. “There was nothing modest about the way your shadows carried fire essence. Most unusual for a Dark Nephilim, don’t you think?”
Before I can formulate a response that won’t dig me deeper into this grave I’m apparently digging, a hand touches my elbow. I turn to find Seraphina, Elara’s younger sister, beside me. Unlike her sister’s aggressive brightness, her presence feels more controlled, less like standing next to a miniature sun.
“We’re going to be late for Elemental Theory, Elara,” she sayssmoothly, her voice carrying subtle authority. “You can continue this fascinating conversation later.”
Elara’s perfect features show a flash of annoyance, but she nods curtly. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to make Professor Constantine wait.” She glides away, leaving me alone with Seraphina, who studies me with clinical interest rather than open hostility.
“My sister believes direct confrontation is always the answer,” she says, her voice softer than Elara’s cutting tones. “I find observation more revealing.”
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” I ask, trying to keep my shadows from reacting to this new threat.
A slight smile touches her lips, transforming her face. “Not particularly. But it might be useful for you to know that not all light Nephilim share my sister’s... enthusiasm for Hunter intervention.”
Before I can process what that might mean—alliance, trap, or something else entirely—she follows Elara down the corridor, leaving me staring after her in confusion. Are some light Nephilim actually questioning Hunter authority? Or is this just another, more sophisticated trap?
The day passes in a blur of heightened anxiety that tastes like copper pennies and feels like electricity under my skin. Hunter observers appear in every class like silent sentinels, taking notes on tablets and occasionally asking instructors about specific students’ abilities. My shadows remain unnaturally subdued, responding to the constant threat by virtually disappearing beneath the harsh lights the Hunters seem to prefer. By lunch, my head throbs from the constant effort of suppression.
By evening, I’m mentally exhausted from maintaining such rigid control, every muscle in my body tense from hours of forced normalcy. I slip away from dinner early, claiming a headache that’s not entirely false, needing solitude to regroup beforetomorrow’s demonstration. The astronomy tower has become my default sanctuary, its height, and isolation offering a temporary escape from prying eyes and the suffocating weight of pretense.
I’ve barely settled into the window alcove, breathing in the cool night air that smells like freedom, when my shadows alert me to someone climbing the spiral stairs. They provide impressions of fire energy moving quickly—Constantine, taking the steps two at a time.
He appears moments later, slightly out of breath, his fire-red hair disheveled. “Good, you’re here. We don’t have much time.”
“What’s happened?” I stand immediately, shadows coiling in alarm around my feet.
“High Examiner Malcolm has requested your student records. All of them, including the shadow assessment data from your entrance evaluation.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as deep concern.
My heart sinks like a stone dropped in deep water. “Is that normal procedure?”
“No.” The single word carries the weight of doom. “They typically only review records after the Trials, not before. Elara must have said something significant to trigger this level of interest.”
My shadows pulse with fear before I can suppress them, reaching toward him like they’re seeking comfort. “She mentioned telling him about the power demonstration. About my shadows carrying fire essence.”
Constantine curses under his breath, words sharp as breaking glass. “We need to alter your records before Malcolm reviews them. Replace the original assessment with more conventional results.”
“Can you do that?” Hope and terror warred in my chest.
“Yes, but I’ll need your help.” He moves to the window, checking that we’re truly alone. The moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face, making him look older, more dangerous. “Yourshadow-speaking ability might be our best option. I can access the records room, but I’ll need your shadows to alter the documents while I keep watch.”
The enormity of what he’s suggesting hits me like a physical blow. “That’s... a major violation of Hunter protocols. You could lose everything if caught.”
His amber eyes meet mine, steady and determined. “Some things are more important than protocols.”
A question I’ve been afraid to ask finally surfaces, clawing its way out of my throat. “Why are you risking so much for me, Constantine? Really?”
He’s silent for a long moment, the moonlight casting half his face in shadow. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of old grief. “My mother died trying to prove that Hunter's doctrine on Ascendants is fundamentally flawed. That beings like you aren’t inherent threats but potential bridges between worlds.”
“And you believe that?”
“I do now.” His expression softens slightly, vulnerability flickering across his features. “After experiencing our shadow-fire connection, I can’t ignore the possibilities it represents. Something that should be impossible according to everything Hunters teach.”
