Chapter 48

The Pyrope Garnet felt heavier every day. Its pulse beneath my collarbone was a constant reminder of the power simmering inside me, a force I hadn’t yet fully grasped. But the cost was becoming clearer with each passing class. I sat at the back of the classroom, pretending to take notes, but the strain of trying to contain my powers had me distracted. My fingers itched against the fingerless gloves, which I’d started wearing to hide the ever-darkening mark. The urge to pull the gloves off and just let go gnawed at me, but the risk wasn’t worth it—not yet.

I glanced around, half-expecting to see Silas stride in beside me as he had in so many of our classes so far. But then I remembered—Silas was locked into his mandatory Light Core class, Advanced Healing, scheduled at the same time. He’d taken every opportunity to be in classes with me, but his coursework limited that more than we’d both liked. A pang of disappointment rippled through me, knowing he wouldn’t be here to help ground me with his calm presence.

I turned my attention forward just as Gideon entered, his gaze catching mine across the room. He strode over, sliding into the seat next to me. He must’ve scheduled his Advanced Healing at a different time from Silas. For a moment, the surprise of seeing him settle beside me wiped away my other concerns, but it didn’t take long for them to settle back in, twisting my thoughts into knots.

The Mind Arts was one of the few classes not specifically tailored for Dark Cores, a refuge from the demands and expectations I faced in the others. Here, we learned the delicate art of protecting our minds, of creating barriers that could withstand intrusions. It was a skill I could have mastered with ease, but with my Shadow Core waking, my senses were becoming… chaotic.

“Ms. Riley?” Professor Harlow’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I realized, too late, that she’d noticed my drifting attention. “If I have to remind you again to focus, we’ll have to discuss alternate accommodations for you. Perhaps something with less… complexity?”

The chuckles from my classmates made my neck prickle. They’d already seized on every rumor, every hint of my struggles. A new round of whispers, taunts, and snickers had spread as word got around about my faltering grades and… changes. My Omega status was already a talking point; my apparent fallibility only made it worse.

“Of course,” I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady as I ignored the stares from around the room. I lowered my gaze to my notes, but the words blurred as tension pooled in my stomach.

As the class ended, I gathered my things quickly, ready to slip away. But as I reached the door, I sensed someone approaching. I tensed, instinctively bracing myself for another round of mockery or some pointed remark, but when I looked up, it was Gideon. His expression was softer than usual, almost cautious, and he fell into step beside me.

“Hey,” he started, tone low, glancing around as if he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I noticed you seem… off lately.”

“Brilliant observation,” I replied dryly, keeping my focus forward. “I didn’t realize my well-being was on your radar.”

He didn’t take the bait. Instead, he hesitated before continuing, “Mara, if you’re struggling, I could help. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

I stopped mid-stride, turning to look at him fully. His gaze held a flicker of something that went beyond mere concern, and for once, it seemed genuine. But even that couldn’t erase the memories of his scathing remarks, the years of snide comments and laughter at my expense.

“You want to help me?” I asked, incredulous. “Gideon, you’ve spent most of your time making sure I knew exactly what you thought of me.”

His jaw tightened, and I saw a flash of guilt in his eyes. “I know… and I was wrong. I was an ass. But things have changed. I’ve changed. And I’d like a chance to prove it to you.”

I folded my arms, arching a brow. “You think one little apology erases all that? The years of being treated like some joke?”

“No,” he said, his voice low but steady, a hint of desperation in his tone. “But maybe it’s a start.”

There was a pause, a moment where he seemed to be choosing his next words carefully, his gaze fixed on mine with a strange intensity.

“Mara… I’m not asking for anything other than a chance to make things right. If you’ll let me.”

The sincerity in his words, in his eyes, gave me pause. It was the last thing I’d expected. Part of me wanted to dismiss it, to leave him standing there with his guilt and good intentions. But another part—a part I’d buried—wondered what it would feel like to let him in, just a little.

I took a step closer, watching as his gaze dropped briefly to my lips before he forced himself to look back into my eyes. “Prove it, then,” I whispered, feeling the power shift between us. “Show me that you’re not just… talk.”

His breath hitched, and for a second, I saw the raw need in his eyes, the same desperation that mirrored my own, whether I wanted to admit it or not. “I will,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with promise.

And as we stood there, the air thick between us, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I wanted him to try.