Page 31 of Shadowed Whispers

“Of course. See you tomorrow.” Snatching up her bag, she heads to the back of the class. Matteo slowly rises as she approaches him. I almost think she will acknowledge him, but she doesn’t, instead storming out as if the professor ignited a fire inside her.

“What did I miss, Dorian?” Professor Blackwood gathers his papers, shuffling them into a neat pile.

“Regarding her or the class, sir?” I exhale, genuinely finding this entire ordeal tedious.

“Both.” He smirks at me, gesturing for me to head to the office hidden behind the classroom.

“Half the class slept through your lecture,” I respond in a monotonous voice, appearing detached and unamused, mostly because I am. “Only one used their shadows to flirt with a girl in front of him. They planned to meet up later.”

The professor shakes his head, muttering, “Teens,” more to himself than to me.

It’s a sentiment I share.

I despise college. Always have, always will. If I had another choice, I never would have returned here, but my father demanded it of me for reasons still concealed from the professor. The bitterness in my voice could curdle milk, a reflection of the deep-seated resentment festering within me like an untended wound.

“As for Francesca Vale, she utilized shadows to unlock your phone. Whether she did it intentionally or not is beyond me.” I open the door for him, following him into the office. I settle into my armchair, the leather cold and unwelcoming against my skin, massaging the tension from my temples. “It’s a skill you teach in shadow techniques—one she learned all on her own.”

“Hmm,” he muses, tossing his books on the desk before perching on the corner. His casual demeanor contrasts sharply with the tension in the room. “Do you think she will cross the veil—the boundary that separates our ordinary world from the true Shadow Locke?”

“It’s anyone’s guess.” I shrug, attempting to mask my interest, though I suspect I’m failing. The room feels smaller, the walls inching closer with each breath I take.

“She’s behind all the others.”

“All the others grew up aware of the veil’s existence. She did not,” I point out, my tone laced with a hint of disdain for her ignorance.

“True, true,” he agrees thoughtfully. “Well, when she crosses the veil, I’d like you to tutor her and get her caught up on her shadow classes.”

Of course that’s where this conversation was headed. Wonderful. I’d much prefer to witness her flounder. The slight curl of my lips might be mistaken for a smirk, but it’s nothing more than a poorly disguised snarl.

“Dorian.” He elongates my name, his gaze laden with expectation. The weight of his stare feels like shackles on my ankles.

“If she crosses the veil, then yes, I will tutor her.” I internally vow to ensure that she doesn’t. Francesca doesn’t comprehend that the shadows she toys with, which she believes elevate her, are mundane at best. Those shadows should have already dragged her into the realm they belong to.

She naively pushes undesirable humans through instead, believing she’s purging them. Naturally, I withhold this delight from the professor. I derive a certain pleasure from watching them struggle, and I secretly relish the inevitable moment when she discovers she’s not the prodigy she fancies herself to be.

“Do you hear me, Dorian?” The professor’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“No.” I blink at him, feigning distraction.

“It’s just as well.” He sighs, dismissing the lapse. “Alright, off with you.”

I roll my eyes subtly as I stand, already dreading my monotonous shift in the office. This entire university stifles me.

“Dorian,” he calls just as I’m about to exit.

“Professor.” I turn, facing him once more.

The older man, with his dirty blond hair and black-framed glasses, steps uncomfortably close. “I want you to help me with an experiment.”

“Of course, sir,” I say, scrutinizing the man who stands barely an inch taller than myself.

Unexpectedly, he reaches out to brush a lock of hair from my forehead. I instinctively step back, out of his reach.

“Forgive me.” He retracts his hand. “High-stress psychology.” He smirks, retreating back to his desk. “Tomorrow, we’re going to test how Francesca Vale handles stress.”

Swallowing, I nod tersely and exit swiftly, not pausing until I hear the soft click of the lock. I linger for a moment.

“She locked me out of my own phone.” His muffled voice floats through the door, his tone tinged with both irritation and a hint of fear. “If she can do this now, what will she be capable of by the semester’s end?”

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