“Your shadows move wrong,” she says without preamble, her voice softer than her sister’s but no less direct. Up close, I can see gold flecks in her blue eyes, and her skin seems to glow from within.
I keep my expression neutral despite my racing heart. “Excuse me?”
“They respond before you direct them. They anticipate.” Her head tilts slightly, and I catch a whiff of her scent—vanilla and starlight, if starlight had a smell. “Normal shadows are tools. Yours are... something else.”
My mouth goes dry as a bone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” She studies me with unsettling intensity, not hostile but curious in a way that might be worse. “Dark Nephilim shadows are extensions of will. Yours act like they have their own will.”
“Maybe you should get your light vision checked,” I say, trying for casual dismissal but hearing the strain in my voice.
She smiles faintly, and the expression transforms her face. “Light sees truth, Ashley Dawn. And there’s something untrue about you.”
Before I can respond with something appropriately defensive, Marcus appears beside us like he’s materialized from the shadows themselves. His shadow deliberately overlaps with mine in a way that feels invasive, like someone touching me without permission.
“Lightbringer, are you trying to convert our new transfer already?” he asks with a false cheerfulness that doesn’t hide the edge in his voice. “I thought your sister claimed that territory.”
Seraphina’s expression cools, her light dimming slightly. “Just making observations, Blackthorn. Something you might try if you spent less time preening.”
She walks away, her light lingering uncomfortably in the hallway like an afterimage burned into my retinas.
“Don’t mind the light brigade,” Marcus says, turning to me with a grin that shows too many teeth. “They think everyone who isn’t them is a potential abomination.”
“Thanks for the interruption,” I say, genuinely relieved despite my wariness of him and his predatory smile.
His grin doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain calculating and cold. “Don’t thank me yet. Your shadow display was... interesting. Either you’re seriously untrained, or you’re hiding something big.” He leans closer, his shadows pressing against mine with uncomfortable intimacy. “And I love uncovering secrets.”
Great. Now I have the light Nephilim twins and this shadow asshole suspicious of me. I push past him, keeping my shadows tightly controlled despite their agitation, but I can feel them wanting to lash out.
“I’m an open book,” I lie, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “Just a normal Dark Nephilim trying to catch up on training.”
His laugh follows me down the hallway, rich and mocking. “No one at Greyson is normal, new girl. But you’re something special. I can tell.”
I hurry away, my shadows huddling close like a frightened animal seeking protection. This power demonstration has done exactly what I feared—drawn attention I can’t afford from people who could destroy me. I need to find Bael, need to figure out better control before I give myself away completely and end up as some kind of supernatural lab experiment.
As I round the corner, trying to escape the weight of too many curious stares, I catch a glimpse of Constantine watching from an alcove. His amber eyes are thoughtful, calculating, and when our gazes meet for just a moment, I see something there that might be recognition. Great. Add him to the growing list of people suspicious of the fucked-up transfer student.
At this rate, I’ll be exposed as an Ascendant before midterms. And then my first semester at Greyson will also be my last—assuming I live that long.
Chapter Four
The libraryof Greyson Academy might be the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen—and the creepiest. Soaring gothic arches support a ceiling lost in darkness, with stained-glass windows depicting angels and demons locked in eternal battle. During the day, they cast jewel-toned light across ancient wooden tables scarred by centuries of student use. Now, well past midnight, moonlight filters through in pale blue streams, illuminating dust motes that dance like spirits in the silence. The air smells like old parchment, candle wax, and something indefinably ancient that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I’ve claimed a secluded corner table hidden behind towering shelves of leather-bound books that creak and whisper when the wind moves through the building. The library is technically closed, but Iris showed me the trick to the service entrance— ”They never lock it because the night owls would riot” —and I desperately need answers more than I need sleep. My back aches from keeping my wings bound for hours, and my head throbs from the constant effort of controlling my shadows.
Four massive tomes sit open before me, their yellowed pages covered in languages I shouldn’t understand but somehow do.Each one tells slightly different versions of the same story—the Fall, the schism between light and Dark Nephilim, the millennia of conflict that followed. The ink smells metallic, like dried blood, and some illustrations seem to move in my peripheral vision. None mention Ascendants specifically, though one references “abominations of mixed essence” that were “purged for the safety of all bloodlines.”
Fucking comforting.
I rub my eyes, feeling the strain of hours of reading by candlelight. The library’s ancient chandeliers were extinguished at closing, leaving only the moon and scattered candles in ornate holders for illumination. The flames flicker constantly, casting dancing shadows that make my shadows restless and eager to join the movement.
As I reach for the next volume, my shadows suddenly still, then stretch toward the darkness between two distant shelves like hunting dogs catching a scent.Something’s there. Someone’s watching.The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and I can smell something that reminds me of winter nights and danger.
I freeze, keeping my eyes on my book while extending my awareness through my shadows. They sense a presence—familiar, powerful, with shadows that respond to mine like magnets of opposite polarity. The recognition makes my pulse skip and my skin prickle with electricity.
Bael.
I pretend to turn a page while scanning the area through my peripheral vision, my heart hammering against my ribs. At first, I see nothing. Then—a subtle movement, a deeper patch of darkness detaching from the general gloom. He’s using the shadows to conceal himself, but mine can sense his like they’re old friends.
