I watch conflict play across Kaia's face—the desperate desire to understand her powers warring with years of learned caution. If only she knew how right she was to be suspicious.
"Try reaching beyond what feels safe," I encourage, pushing aside my guilt. "Your power is waiting for you to embrace it fully."
Kaia closes her eyes, concentration furrowing her brow. The air thickens with potential energy. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, ever so slowly, her shadows begin to expand, reaching further than before.
I catch my breath, both thrilled and terrified by what I'm witnessing. Because in this moment, watching her begin to explore her true power, I realize just how much damage I'm about to do.
And how much I wish I didn't have to.
As the lesson ends, Kaia's shadows retreat to their usual restless dance around her feet. She looks drained but there's a new light in her eyes—pride, maybe, or the first glimpse of what she could become. It makes my chest ache.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asks, trying to sound casual, but there's an eagerness in her voice she can’t quite hide.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Her shadows ripple around her, their edges less restless now, brushing against my ankle as she turns to leave. The touch feels deliberate, almost like recognition, and it sends a jolt through me.
Thorne’s hand lands heavy on my shoulder. “Well done,” he says, his voice low with satisfaction. “She’s beginning to trust you.”
“Yes,” I reply, the word tasting like ash. Trust I don’t deserve. Trust I’m tasked to betray.
I follow her out, and as Kaia disappears down the hallway, her shadows trailing her like an afterthought, the ache in my chest sharpens. Thorne’s praise feels hollow against the memory of her power unfurling, raw and untamed. Watching her step closer to that potential was thrilling, yes—but terrifying in equal measure.
Because in that moment, I wasn’t just watching the birth of a weapon.
I was watching the woman who might one day turn that weapon on me.
Chapter 21
Kaia
My shadows are in a mood this morning.
For the third time, they send my books flying off the desk, scattering notes across the floor like confetti. Mouse lounges on my bed, watching with undisguised amusement as I crawl around collecting pages.
"Really?" I mutter, snatching a sheet from under his paw. "Is this about yesterday's training with Darian? Because I thought we agreed to—"
A sharp knock cuts me off. "Having a heart-to-heart with your shadows again?" Finn's voice carries through the door, honey-sweet with mockery. "Bob's been extra dramatic this morning. Even Patricia's concerned."
I yank the door open to find him lounging against the frame, all messy auburn hair and knowing smirk. The words die in my throat as his expression shifts, playfulness bleeding into something harder as he takes in the chaos of my room.
"What?" I demand.
"Nothing." But his usual lightness has an edge, like a knife wrapped in silk. "Just making sure you're ready for grouptraining. Torric's already threatened to set something on fire if you're late again."
"When is Torric not threatening to set something on fire?"
"Fair point." Finn pushes off the doorframe but doesn't step back. His closeness feels deliberate. "So... how was yesterday's special training session?"
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. "Fine. Darian's actually quite helpful."
"Hmm." That single syllable holds volumes of doubt.
Before I can press him on it, my shadows surge between us like a living wall, shoving a book into his chest with enough force to make him stumble.
"Ow! Okay, okay, message received," he laughs, but his eyes stay serious. There's something almost protective in the way he watches me. "Come on, Trouble. The twins are waiting."
???
The training yard crackles with tension when we arrive. Aspen and Torric are sparring, their magic colliding in spectacular bursts—fire and ice meeting in violent hisses of steam. At the edges of the yard, Malrik lurks in the shadows of a stone column, pretending not to watch while I pretend not to know he’s here. But it's Professor Thorne's presence that makes my stomach twist—he rarely observes group sessions from what I’ve been told.
