Constantine clears his throat, composing himself with impressive speed, though I can see the frustration in his eyes. “One moment,” he calls back, then turns to me with regret written across his features. “We’ll have to continue this session at another time.”
I nod, still slightly dazed from the intensity of our connectionand the interrupted almost-kiss. My shadows retreat to their normal positions, though they seem reluctant to give up the fire energy they’ve absorbed. They glow faintly along the edges, keeping a hint of golden light like they’re holding onto a treasured memory.
Constantine notices his expression shifting to concern. “Your shadows are holding the fire essence. That’s... unexpected.”
“Is it dangerous?” I ask, trying to suppress the lingering glow through sheer willpower.
“Not dangerous,” he says thoughtfully, though uncertainty edges his voice. “But potentially revealing. Try to release the energy before leaving this room.”
I focus on purging the fire essence from my shadows, but they resist, clinging to the borrowed energy like a treasured possession. “They don’t want to let it go.”
Constantine’s expression softens, and something vulnerable flickers in his eyes. “The Vessel bond is strengthening. Your shadows are seeing my fire as part of themselves rather than foreign energy.”
The implications of this statement hang between us, weighted with meanings beyond the academic. If my shadows are bonding with his fire at this level, what does that mean for our personal connection? And how does it complicate what’s happening between Bael and me?
“I have to go,” he says reluctantly, gathering his scrolls with hands that aren’t quite steady. “Work on releasing that fire essence. We can’t risk Thorne noticing.”
He moves toward the door, then pauses, turning back with uncharacteristic hesitation. “Ashley... what happened just now...”
“Was part of the training,” I finish for him, offering an easy out that neither of us truly believes but both need right now.
Something like disappointment flashes in his eyes before he nods. “Of course. Just the Vessel bond expressing itself.”
As he opens the door to greet the waiting Hunter, my shadows betray my true feelings, a single tendril reaching longingly toward Constantine’s retreating form. He glances back just in time to see it, our eyes meeting in silent acknowledgment of what remains unspoken between us.
Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone with shadows that still pulse with borrowed fire and the lingering sensation of what almost was.
I sink onto a bench, trying to process the complex emotions swirling through me like a hurricane. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was kissing Bael in a hidden alcove, my shadows pledging allegiance to his darkness. Now they reach with equal eagerness toward Constantine’s fire, creating connections I never expected and, sure as hell, never planned for.
The Crimson Ascendant prophecy mentioned bonds of both blood and fire. As my shadows continue glowing faintly with Constantine’s essence, refusing to release it completely despite my efforts, I wonder if I’m fulfilling that prophecy whether or not I choose to.
The Trials begin in five days. High Examiner Malcolm watches my every move. And somehow, amid this danger, I’ve formed profound connections with two very different men—one anchored in ancient shadow and eternal devotion, the other in transformative fire and protective determination.
My shadows finally settle, though they maintain a subtle golden glow along their edges. Like me, they seem unwilling to choose between darkness and light, instead seeking to integrate both into something entirely new.
Which is either going to save me or destroy me completely.
Chapter Twenty
The nightbefore the Trials officially begin, Greyson Academy holds its breath in tense anticipation. Moonlight spills through leaded glass windows, casting elongated shadows across stone corridors that seem darker and more foreboding than usual. The ancient building creaks and groans as if sharing the anxiety of its inhabitants. Even the usual night sounds—distant laughter, whispered conversations, the occasional thud of a dropped book—have fallen silent under the weight of tomorrow’s challenges.
I can’t sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, listening to Iris’s soft, even breathing from the other bed, I finally give up. My shadows are restless, pulsing with agitation and reaching toward the door as if urging me to leave. They’ve been on edge all day, more reactive than usual despite my best efforts at control.
Slipping silently from bed, I throw on a black hoodie over my pajamas and ease the door open just enough to slide through. The corridor outside our dormitory is deserted, curfew keeping even the most rebellious students confined to their rooms the night before Trials.
My shadows stretch ahead, scouting for patrols as I make my way toward the abandoned chapel. Bael had mentioned meetingthere for one last training session before tomorrow’s ordeal, though we’d set no specific time. Given my insomnia, I might as well see if he’s there.
The night air carries a hint of frost as I cross the small courtyard separating the dormitory wing from the oldest section of the academy. Stars glitter overhead with unusual clarity, their cold light offering minimal illumination. My shadows compensate, enhancing my vision and alerting me to obstacles in my path.
As I approach the chapel, something feels off. My shadows suddenly pulses with alarm, rushing forward without my conscious direction. They slip beneath the heavy wooden door before I can reach for the handle, then immediately return with impressions of urgency and danger.
Someone’s hurt inside.
I push the door open carefully, extending my shadow awareness into the darkened chapel. The moonlight filtering through shattered stained-glass windows reveals overturned pews and scattered candles—signs of a recent struggle. My shadows race ahead, gathering in the center of the nave where a darker shape lies crumpled on the stone floor.
“Bael,” I whisper, recognizing him instantly despite the unnatural stillness of his usually graceful form.
I rush forward, dropping to my knees beside him. He lies face-down, his black coat torn in several places. Silver gleams wickedly from wounds across his back—throwing stars embedded deep in his flesh, the edges crusted with what looks like dried blood.
