We pass through the great hall, its enchanted ceiling a mass of roiling storm clouds. The few students lingering there avert their eyes, sensing the discord radiating from our group. Our reflections catch in the towering windows—four dark figures following Kaia's beacon of blonde hair, moving in tense silence.
The portraits in the Shadow wing huddle together, whispering as we approach the common room. The massive obsidian door, etched with ever-shifting runes, swings open at Kaia's touch. Inside, plush velvet couches in deep purples and midnight blues stand in pools of silvery light from floating orbs. Shadow vinescreep up the walls, their delicate leaves seeming to absorb what little illumination remains.
The moment the door closes, Kaia whirls to face us. Her eyes, usually soft lavender, now blaze with an inner fire that makes me step back. Even her hair seems to move in a nonexistent breeze.
"What the hell is going on with you all?" Her voice could cut glass. The room itself reacts, shadows in the corners growing deeper, more menacing.
I open my mouth to speak, but Kaia barrels on, her frustration pouring out like a dam breaking. "First you try to sabotage me before the maze, then you have the audacity to look disappointed when I succeed?" She throws up her hands, and I swear sparks fly from her fingertips.
"Kaia, we weren't—" Finn starts, but she cuts him off with a glare that could freeze hellfire.
"Save it, Veylan. I'm not finished." Her burning gaze pins each of us in turn. "You were all so sure I couldn't handle myself. Well, guess what? I did. And none of you were there, but Darian was."
"We were just outside, Kaia. We came with to support you, remember?" Torric's tone strains for lightness.
"Do you hear yourself?" she snaps. Mouse paces between us, tail lashing anxiously, his ears pinned back as if he can sense the storm brewing between us. His movements are sharp and restless, a clear reflection of the unease gripping the room, as though he’s bracing for something to snap. "You've been 'here for me' since day one, and suddenly he shows up and—"
"And what?" Torric snaps, heat radiating from him. "Supports you? Believes in you? Doesn't treat you like glass?”
"That's not fair," I keep my voice steady despite the tension crackling through the room. "We're trying to protect you because we care."
"Protect me?" Her laugh holds no humor. "From what, exactly? From succeeding? From proving I don't need a bunch of overprotective guys hovering over me?"
"From getting hurt," Malrik says quietly, his gaze flicking to something beside her. "There are things you don't know about Darian."
"Oh really?" Sarcasm drips from her words. "And I suppose you're all experts on him now?"
Finn steps forward, his usual playfulness replaced by urgency. "Kaia, please. Just listen for a minute. Your shad—"
"Don't." She cuts him off. "I don't want to hear about what my shadows are doing, or what you think they're trying to tell you. I'm sick of everyone thinking they know what's best for me."
Mouse lets out a low growl, but for once, I can't tell if it's directed at us or at Kaia. The floating lights dim slightly, as if responding to the mounting tension.
"The dance," Torric says suddenly, golden eyes flashing. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? Him asking you to the dance?"
Something flickers across Kaia's face—uncertainty?—but vanishes before I can be sure.
"The dance is just a dance," she says, defensive edge creeping into her voice.
"Is it?" Malrik's tone stays carefully neutral, but I hear the concern beneath. "Or is it another way for him to isolate you?"
"Isolate me?" She throws her hands up. "I'm literally surrounded by people trying to control my life right now!"
"We're not—" I start, but Torric cuts me off.
"Fine," he snaps, golden eyes blazing. "Go to the dance with him. Trust him instead of us. But don't come crying to us when it all falls apart."
"Torric," I warn, but the damage is done. Kaia's expression hardens to steel.
"Don't worry," she says, voice cold enough to freeze flame. "I won't."
She turns on her heel and strides toward her room, Mouse trailing behind. Her door slams hard enough to rattle the shadow vines, their trembling mirroring the unease she leaves behind. Silence descends, heavy and suffocating. Finn slumps onto a couch, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Malrik's expression remains unreadable, but his knuckles whiten where he grips a chair back.
I turn to my twin, still radiating enough heat to make the air shimmer. "That could have gone better."
No one answers. We don't need to. The empty common room says enough.
"So," Finn breaks the heavy silence, "anyone else feel like we just made things way worse?"
