“Get some rest,” Constantine advises, though his voice suggests he knows how impossible that will be. “You’ll need all your strength tomorrow.”
After he leaves, I remain in the tower alcove for a while longer,gathering my composure while the night wind carries the scent of approaching winter. My shadows eventually settle into their normal patterns, though they continue reaching occasionally toward where Constantine stood, as if seeking the stability his fire provided.
The Hunter's arrival has raised the stakes dramatically, turning Greyson from a sanctuary into a hunting ground. With Elara actively working against me, Malcolm’s suspicious interest, and tomorrow’s shadow demonstration looming, discovery seems increasingly inevitable. Yet somehow, I’m not facing these threats alone anymore.
Constantine’s willingness to risk his position to protect me feels significant in ways I’m not ready to fully examine. And somewhere in the shadows, I know Bael watches and waits, my ancient guardian playing his own long game with the Hunters.
As I finally leave the astronomy tower, my shadows extend ahead as scouts, more alert than ever to potential threats. The Crimson Ascendant prophecy suddenly feels less like ancient history and more like imminent reality. Whatever role I’m destined to play in bridging divided realms, events are speeding up whether or not I’m ready.
Tomorrow’s demonstration will either buy me more time or expose me completely. Either way, there’s no turning back now.
I’m in this until the very end, whatever that might bring.
Chapter Eighteen
The Great Hallbuzzes with pre-Trial excitement, students gathered for the traditional Hunters’ Welcome Feast like lambs adorning themselves for slaughter. Silver candelabras line tables draped in midnight-blue velvet that feels rich as sin beneath my fingertips, casting dramatic shadows across ancient stone walls carved with centuries of academy history. The enchanted ceiling mimics the night sky outside, stars twinkling between heavy wooden beams while crystalline orbs float at varying heights, illuminating the space with cold, bright light that leaves few shadows for comfort. The air smells like roasted meat, expensive wine, and something metallic that makes my teeth ache—the scent of barely contained magic and Hunter steel.
I pick at my food, appetite nonexistent after this morning’s shadow demonstration. The roasted chicken tastes like sawdust on my tongue, and even the buttery vegetables can’t tempt me to eat. By some miracle—and Constantine’s careful interference—I displayed only the most basic shadow manipulation techniques while High Examiner Malcolm watched with unsettling intensity. His silver-flecked eyes followed my every movement like a predator tracking prey, his elegant fingers occasionally jottingnotes in a small leather book that looked ancient enough to contain execution orders.
“You’re being paranoid,” Iris whispers, nudging my arm with her elbow. “The Hunters are watching everyone, not just you.”
If only that were fucking true. Across the hall, Elara Lightbringer leans close to Malcolm’s ear, her perfect lips moving in what I’m certain is another litany of my suspicious behaviors. Her light aura pulses with satisfaction, making the air around her shimmer like heat waves. Beside her, Seraphina watches the exchange with an unreadable expression, occasionally glancing in my direction with those ice-blue eyes that seem to see too much.
“I think I need some air,” I mutter, rising from the table with more haste than grace. “Save me some dessert?”
Iris gives me a concerned look, her empathic abilities probably picking up on my anxiety, but she nods. “Don’t stay out too long. Curfews are stricter with Hunters around.”
I slip out a side door, avoiding the main exit where Hunter observers stand guard like armored statues. The night air hits me like salvation, cool and damp against my flushed skin. My shadows immediately expand, stretching gratefully after hours of rigid control, flowing around my feet like liquid relief.
The courtyard garden offers some privacy, ancient yew trees creating deeper shadows between carefully maintained rose beds that smell like romance and secrets. Stone benches circle a central fountain where water trickles from the mouth of a gargoyle, the sound masking footsteps and whispers. I sink onto the bench farthest from the Great Hall, letting my shadows dance freely for the first time all day.
They swirl around my ankles in spirals of pure joy, reaching toward the yew trees and exploring the garden’s darker corners with the enthusiasm of children finally allowed to play. The constant suppression has left them agitated, like compressed springs finally released. I can feel theirhappiness through our connection, and it makes my chest warm with something like pride.
“Careful,” comes a familiar deep voice from the darkness, smooth as aged whiskey. “Hunter patrols are circling the grounds.”
I don’t jump anymore when Bael appears from the shadows—my body has learned to recognize his presence before my mind processes it. My own shadows greet his like old friends, reaching toward him before I can stop them, and I watch with fascination as our darkness mingles in greeting.
“I can’t maintain perfect control every second,” I say defensively, but without the bite the words would have carried weeks ago. “They need some freedom or they get... restless.”
Bael steps closer, moonlight revealing his face in sharp relief. He looks tense, his usual composure replaced with visible concern that makes his jaw clench. “Malcolm is no ordinary hunter. He specializes in identifying shadow anomalies.”
“You know him?” I ask, trying to recall if Bael has mentioned this particular Hunter before. Something in his tone suggests a personal history.
“We’ve encountered each other over the centuries.” His shadows pulse with what might be old anger, darkening until it seems to absorb the moonlight. “He’s hunted Ascendants specifically, with concerning success rates.”
Great. Just what I fucking needed to hear. “Constantine and I altered my records last night, but Elara’s been whispering in his ear all day like some kind of supernatural poison.”
“I know.” Bael’s eyes track something beyond the garden, and I can see his predatory instincts sharpening. “There’s a patrol approaching. We need to move.”
Before I can respond, he grasps my wrist with cool fingers, pulling me swiftly from the bench toward the shadowed walkway that connects the garden to the academy’s west wing. We movesilently, his vampire grace somehow extending to me as our shadows merge, muffling our footsteps until we’re no more than whispers of movement.
The patrol appears at the garden entrance just as we reach the stone archway leading into the west wing corridor. Two hunters in standard gray uniforms, carrying silver-tipped spears that gleam menacingly in the moonlight like promises of violence.
“This way,” Bael whispers, tugging me sideways into a recessed alcove I didn’t even know existed.
The space is tiny, barely large enough for two people, hidden behind a hanging tapestry depicting the founding of Greyson Academy in faded threads that smell like centuries of dust. Cool stone presses against my back as Bael crowds in beside me, his body mere inches from mine in the confined space. I can feel the coolness radiating from his skin, smell his scent—winter forests and something darker that makes my pulse skip.
“Shadow cloak,” he instructs urgently as footsteps approach, their rhythm measured and military.
