When I looked back, the stranger was already walking away, unhurried, hands in his pockets, the faint glint of a sliver of wood balanced between his teeth. He threw one glance over his shoulder, eyes catching mine with that same calm amusement, like he already knew which way this story would turn.
A slow smile ghosted across his mouth—lazy, dangerous. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd, the faint scent of smoke trailing after him.
“Well, isn’t that impressive,” a voice said behind me.
“Santiago?” Draven questioned. His name cut the square clean.
Santiago broke from the library colonnade, Lysara a stepbehind. “Father,” he said, with a bow so shallow it almost mocked. “That’s no way to greet my companions.”
Draven froze. His eyes flicked from Malachi’s shadows to Santiago’s stance. “You’re back…” The shock slipped before he masked it with fury. His sword hissed free. In a breath, it was leveled at Malachi’s throat.
People gathered tight, shoulder to shoulder, a hush rippling from the front row to the back.
“Stand down,” Malachi said, voice low, unyielding.
Draven’s mouth curved. “Old habits.”
He lunged.
Steel kissed flesh. A shallow line opened along Malachi’s shoulder. He caught the blade with his vambrace and turned it, but not before blood slid dark over the leather. Malachi grunted—a short, bitten sound that snapped something inside me.
Power surged, hot and cold at once, flooding every nerve. The air warped; sound thinned to a high, tearing edge. My chest seized, my breath caught—then shadows spilled out of me.
They coiled at my feet, answering my will before I’d even formed it. And in that heartbeat, I realized—they weren’t foreign. They were waiting. Like they had always been mine.
The knowledge hollowed me out. Terror and recognition struck together. If I reached further, I knew they would obey. Completely.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said.
The ground shivered beneath us, stone groaning. Draven’s blade faltered. His face blanched. “Impossible,” he breathed. “You can’t—” He didn’t finish. But I could.
The whispers rose, urging me to let go, to drown in them.
The shadows answered under my skin, pressing outward, eager, as if they wanted to claw free.
The mist warped, folding inward, and the air buckled in mychest. Each breath scraped thin, like it might be taken back before I could claim it.
For a heartbeat, I almost gave in. But a hand seized my arm.
Hayat.
The noble’s council sigil burned at his sleeve. His grip was iron, his breath a thread against my ear.“Do not give them anything. Do not show them what you can do.”
The world swam. I lifted my gaze—his face too close, too steady. “You were supposed to keep him safe,” I hissed, throat raw. I should have never left Aeryn.
His jaw locked. Then, aloud, for all to hear: “Enough.”
The square flinched. Guards froze; two bowed without thinking. The small crowd that had gathered began to disperse, staring at us as they left.
“That’s the cursed one.” I heard a woman say to another.
Hayat’s eyes flicked to Malachi, clipped, official. “Get her out. Before they notice.”
The order cracked the air. Malachi hesitated a beat, then pulled me with him, shadows folding as we withdrew.
Whispers followed. Stares burned between my shoulders.
And then I saw it—dark seeping down the strap of Malachi’s satchel, a slow line of blood soaking the leather where Draven’s blade had cut. The sight jolted me harder than the crowd’s hissed curses.