"And that troublemaker over there? That's clearly Finnick."
"Finnick?" I repeat incredulously.
"Named after yours truly," Finn says with a dramatic bow. "A true agent of chaos."
As if to prove his point, Finnick tries to trip Torric, who stumbles and swears.
"Stop naming the shadows," I hiss, though I notice Bob is now actually responding when Finn addresses him. "They're not pets!"
"Tell that to Bob," Finn grins. "He's already practicing his guard dog routine."
Indeed, Bob has positioned himself between me and where Malrik lurks in the distance, looking distinctly protective. I hadn't even noticed when the brooding man arrived.
“And that overachiever?" Finn grins, pointing at the shadow looping endlessly around my ankles. "As I said, definitely a Patricia. Type A vibes, for sure.”
Patricia bristles, clearly offended by the nickname, while Bob gives an approving nod like he’d been waiting for a second-in-command.
I drop my head into my hands with a groan. "This isn't happening."
"I still can't believe you can see them," I say, watching Finn interact with my shadows like it's the most natural thing in the world. Bob hovers near him attentively while Finnick seemsdetermined to live up to his namesake by creating as much chaos as possible.
"Are you kidding? They're the best entertainment I've had in years." Finn stands beside me, grinning as Patricia attempts what looks suspiciously like an interpretive dance. "Pretty sure they've been trying to get my attention since day one."
I think back to the times my shadows have acted up around him, how they seem to perform specifically for his amusement. They’ve never responded to anyone else like this. It’s like they know something I don’t, and the way Finn interacts with them—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—makes me question everything I thought I knew about them. "Is that why you're always..." I wave my hand vaguely, "...like this?"
"Like what?" His innocent expression isn't fooling anyone, especially not when Finnick chooses that moment to try stealing Torric's water bottle.
"Hey!" Torric snaps as the bottle mysteriously tips over. "What the—"
"Gravitational anomaly," Finn says seriously. "Very common in these parts. Right, Bob?"
Bob, to my eternal mortification, actually nods.
My gaze drifts to where Malrik still lurks in the shadows, his silver eyes unreadable. Something about his presence makes my shadows stir restlessly, though whether in warning or recognition, I can't tell.
"Don't mind mister brooding, dark and handsome," Finn says, following my gaze. "He's allergic to fun. Unlike Patricia here, who clearly has excellent taste in entertainment."
Patricia preens, and I have to bite back a laugh.
"You're going to make them impossible to deal with, you know that?" I mutter, though my shadows ripple with something dangerously close to pride. Finn just grins.
“Trouble, they were impossible long before I got here. I just gave them permission to own it.”
Chapter 10
Aspen
There's something about the way Kaia moves that I can't look away from—like she's not just learning magic but remembering it. Maybe it's the fierce determination in her violet eyes, or how her wild blonde hair catches the morning light as she dodges. Or maybe it's the way the shadows in the space respond to her, protecting her with an instinctive grace that makes my breath catch.
I force myself to focus on the training aspect, not on how my heart races when she smiles. I'm supposed to be teaching her, not getting lost in the way she makes the darkness bend to her will. But gods, it's mesmerizing. Her progress defies everything I know about magical development, and I find myself watching her hands, her form, the fluid way she transitions between defense and attack.
The air ripples with heat as Torric's fireball surges forward, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows against the courtyard's ancient pillars. Kaia's barrier hisses as it absorbs the attack, the sound sharp and satisfying. Every movement shemakes feels both unpracticed and impossibly natural, like she's rediscovering something buried deep within her bones.
"Again," Torric growls, eyes blazing. He launches another fireball, larger this time. I tense, ready to intervene—not just because it's my job, but because something in me needs to keep her safe. But Kaia's ready. Her shadow magic surges upward, forming a shield that not only blocks the attack but seems to absorb it, growing stronger.
Her instincts are remarkable. Most students take months to develop this level of reactive control. Yet here she is, first day of training, already adapting and improvising like she was born to do it. I find myself studying her form, telling myself it's purely professional interest that makes me notice how the academy uniform hugs her curves, how her eyes flash with determination, how her smile grows wider with each successful block.
Torric takes it as a challenge, naturally. His next attack comes faster, hotter, a barrage of flame that would overwhelm most seasoned fighters. I step forward to call him off, my protective instincts flaring, but Kaia laughs—actually laughs—a sound of pure exhilaration that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine as her shadow magic whirls around her protectively.
