Chapter 47

The moment I stepped into my nest, a sense of quiet washed over me, like sinking into still water after a storm. The noise of the hallways, the stares, and whispered words faded to nothing, leaving only the soft glow of string lights and the familiar comfort of my carefully constructed space.

I let out a long breath, dropping my bag and sinking onto the plush mattress. The Garnet rested against my collarbone, warm, steady—a quiet pulse of power grounding me, connecting me to the magic that was now mine. For a moment, I traced its smooth surface, feeling the energy settle in my chest, an anchor amid everything shifting around me.

The events of the day played in my mind like fragments of a broken mirror—Silas’s calm, unflinching presence beside me, the way he seemed utterly unbothered by the rumors, the discreet but unmistakable hand he’d had in dealing with those who dared to mock me. A part of me was awed by it, by him. Silas wasn’t just supporting me; he was defending me, reshaping the world around me to fit a new narrative where I wasn’t the one being overlooked or underestimated.

But as the adrenaline from the day’s events waned, another image slipped into my mind, unbidden and jarring against the quiet sanctuary of my nest. Gideon. The last time I’d seen him, his body had been curled under the desk, unconscious, his face flushed, his mouth slightly parted. He’d been as close to vulnerable as I’d ever seen him, his walls down, defenses shattered. I remembered the warmth of his touch, the sensation that had lingered long after he’d left.

Now, just hours earlier, I’d seen him again from a distance, barely more than a shadow crossing the crowded hallway. But that one glimpse had stirred something complicated inside me—a mixture of anger, curiosity, and a sensation I couldn’t quite name. Part of me resented him for the ease with which he’d acted like nothing had happened, for the way he’d slipped back into his own world as if I was some forgotten secret.

The Garnet pulsed against my skin, a faint, insistent warmth as if responding to my thoughts. I exhaled, trying to shake the image of Gideon from my mind, but the memories clung to me, their edges sharp and relentless. For so long, he’d been a source of torment, of cruel jabs and cutting words. Yet, that day in the classroom, he’d been something else entirely. It was like seeing another side of him—a side I hadn’t been able to forget, no matter how much I told myself otherwise.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I lay back, staring up at the canopy of soft lights. What was I supposed to do with these feelings? With this tangled mess of anger, curiosity, and a longing I hated to admit?

I knew better than to believe that anything real could come of it. Gideon was Gideon—a Beta with a knack for cruelty, a best friend who’d mocked me alongside Xavier for years. But my mind refused to let go of that image, that memory of him whispering my name, his touch gentle in a way I hadn’t thought him capable of.

The Garnet’s warmth seeped deeper into my skin, grounding me, drawing me away from the storm in my mind. I closed my eyes, focusing on the steady pulse of magic thrumming through me, willing myself to let go of Gideon, to let go of the lingering ache he’d left behind. But as I slipped further into that quiet space, my thoughts fractured, slipping into the realm of shadows, a place where even my own emotions felt distant and hazy.

The shadows thickened, merging into an unfamiliar, murky fog as I drifted deeper. This wasn’t like my usual dreams, not the gentle haze I could shake off with the morning light. This felt sharp, alive, as if I were crossing a threshold I’d unknowingly opened. My mind shifted, bending until I felt like I was somewhere else entirely. The Garnet pulsed faster, as though sensing the change, amplifying whatever strange magic had gripped me.

The fog parted, and I was in an expansive room, grand yet foreboding. Rows of tall windows lined the walls, casting thin, strained beams of moonlight across the polished floor. The walls were decorated with portraits—ancient faces with judging eyes that seemed to watch every move. A thick, choking smell lingered in the air, coppery and sharp. It reminded me of blood.

At the far end of the room stood President Klaus Russling, his figure cloaked in shadows, his back to me as he studied something laid out on a heavy table. I instinctively held my breath, fear sparking as I realized I had no control here, no exit from this space. My body felt heavy, rooted in place, as if bound by the very magic that had drawn me here.

Russling’s voice broke the silence, low and twisted with the kind of cruelty that made my skin crawl. “You have failed me again, Reginald,” he said, turning to face a man kneeling in front of him. The man—Reginald—was trembling, eyes wide with terror as he shook his head frantically, his hands pressed together in a desperate, silent plea.

“I-I’m sorry, sir, I… we didn’t know…” Reginald stammered, his voice cracking.

Russling’s eyes glinted, a cruel smile curving his lips as he regarded Reginald. “Didn’t know? Or didn’t try hard enough?” His voice was almost amused, but his tone sharpened, slicing through the air. “You’ve been tasked with finding the Liege of Shadows. Yet here you are, empty-handed again.”

Reginald’s head dropped lower, but Russling didn’t spare him a moment’s mercy. He waved his hand, and in an instant, Reginald’s body was yanked up, lifted off the ground by an unseen force. The man struggled, gasping as his hands clawed at his throat, his face twisting with pain as if something were crushing him from the inside out.

My breath caught, my pulse hammering. Every instinct screamed at me to turn away, but I was rooted, forced to watch as Russling’s magic strangled the man. The air grew colder, thickening with a sinister energy that radiated from Russling, wrapping itself around him like a dark cloak.

“You had one job,” Russling continued, his voice now a harsh whisper, laced with a venomous disdain. “Find the Liege before they complete their trials. Yet every lead you bring me leads to nothing.” He tilted his head, watching Reginald’s struggles with an almost bored detachment. “Did you ever consider the consequences of failure?”

Reginald’s face contorted, his lips moving in silent pleas that fell on deaf ears. With a flick of Russling’s fingers, a dark tendril of magic wrapped around Reginald’s neck, pulling him forward until he was mere inches from Russling’s face.

“You think I can’t sense their power growing?” Russling’s voice dropped, barely audible, yet laced with a dangerous edge. “That I don’t feel the shift in the shadows every time they take another step closer to their destiny?”

My chest tightened as his words sank in. He knew. He felt it, too—every pulse, every flicker of power that had awakened within me. Even if he didn’t know my face or name, he knew I was out there, somewhere, becoming what he feared most.

“Mark my words, Reginald,” Russling whispered, his gaze hard and unrelenting. “The Liege will be found, no matter where they hide. And when I have them, they will kneel before me—or they will be broken.”

With that final declaration, he released the tendril of magic. Reginald’s body dropped to the floor, limp and lifeless, the sickening thud echoing in the silent room. I clenched my fists, the image searing itself into my mind as the cold certainty settled within me.

Russling’s head turned, his gaze sweeping across the room, sharp and calculating. His eyes seemed to search the shadows, as if sensing an unseen presence. For a moment, it felt as though his gaze met mine, his cold, piercing stare cutting through the veil that separated us.

A twisted smile curled his lips. “And whoever you are, Liege,” he murmured, his voice a low, chilling promise, “I will find you. You cannot escape your fate.”

The shadows swallowed him, and everything fell away, dissolving into darkness.

I jolted awake, gasping for breath, my hand clutching the Garnet against my chest. Its pulse was erratic, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart. I looked around, the soft glow of the string lights casting a faint warmth across the room. My nest, my sanctuary, felt suddenly small, as if the shadows themselves were pressing in around me, waiting for Russling’s words to find me again.

Shuddering, I forced myself to steady my breathing, closing my eyes and grounding myself in the comforting familiarity of my room. But the image of Russling’s cold eyes, his promise echoing in my ears, lingered, refusing to fade.

He was searching, desperate, and he wouldn’t stop until he found me.