Page 92 of Shadowed Whispers

Taking a deep breath, I step back inside and slam the door shut, the sound thundering in my ears. My eyes remain fixed on the scene outside the glass. Dorian maneuvers around the beast, his movements a blur of speed and precision. He’s fighting not just with physical strength, but with tactics, always keeping just out of reach of the beast’s deadly strikes.

Finally, with a roar that echoes through the night like a clap of thunder, the creature dissipates into a cloud of shadow, retreating into the darkness from which it came. Dorian stands alone in the courtyard, his chest heaving, the device still held out in front of him—a lone warrior against the night.

After a moment to ensure the beast has truly gone, he rushes toward the dormitory. I yank the door open, and he stumbles inside, looking every bit the warrior yet visibly shaken. His hair is tousled, and his breathing is ragged, a reminder of the mortal danger we just escaped.

“We need to get to the safe room, now,” he says, grabbing my hand again and pulling me down the hall. His grip is firm. “It won’t hold back for long. We have a small window before it regroups and comes back stronger.”

I nod, my mind racing as we navigate through the dimly lit hallways of the dormitory. Each step takes us deeper into the building, away from the immediate danger, but the shadow of the night’s events hangs over us, heavy and oppressive. The air feels thicker here, charged with the echo of our desperate escape.

As we reach the safe room, Dorian punches in a code on a keypad beside the door. It swings open to reveal a room that looks more like a fortress than anything in a school dorm. The walls are lined with monitors, and the recycled air is stale. He ushers me inside, his hand finally leaving mine as he starts to secure the door.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly from adrenaline and concern.

Dorian doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans against the door, closing his eyes briefly, as if gathering his strength. When he opens them again, there’s a softness there I hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that belies his usual stoicism.

“I will be now that we’re here. You’re safe,” he assures me, but his voice holds a tremor, and there is a haunted look in his eyes.

“Firefly!” Bishop yells from across the room.

I don’t want to look away from Dorian—he just saved me, after all—but the draw to Bishop is undeniable. When I look over at him, I know I’ve lost Dorian’s focus.

“Bishop,” he says flatly. “I’m heading out. Keep her safe.”

When I turn around, Dorian is already slipping through the doorway and back out into the dark corridor, leaving me with a chilling sense of abandonment.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter 32

Frankie

“Firefly.” Bishop’s voice slices through the eerie silence, startling me as he rushes over. His hands frame my face, his touch urgent, reflecting the panic in his eyes. He scans the dimly lit room rapidly, his gaze flitting from shadow to shadow, searching for any hidden dangers. His breath comes in heavy bursts, mirroring the pounding of my own heart. “You’re okay,” he says, though his voice trembles, betraying his words.

I step out of his range, the sudden intimacy too much, too soon. My neck itches with caution—a warning buzz of adrenaline still coursing through me. “What the fuck is happening?” I snap, my voice cracking under the strain. “And where is Victoria?” I demand before even acknowledging my surroundings, my concern for my friend slicing through the fog of confusion and fear.

Bishop holds his hands up and takes a step back, recognizing that I’m teetering on the edge. His gesture is one of peace, his features softening in an attempt to soothe. I haven’t felt this out of control since…

I wheeze…

Since…

Oh hell. My memories suck me under, dragging me into a whirlpool of panic and disorientation. The images flash too quickly to grasp—a blur of faces, the echo of a scream, the stifling sensation of being utterly alone. It’s like being submerged in deep water, struggling for air, reaching for something solid.

As the fragments of my past claw their way into my present, Bishop’s presence becomes both a lifeline and a reminder of how deep the waters run. My breath hitches, each inhale a battle against the tide of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. Bishop’s concerned face swims into view again, his expression etched with worry.

“Frankie, focus on me. You’re safe here,” he says gently, his voice a steady beacon in the tumult of my unraveling senses. The room around us feels like both a sanctuary and prison, the safety a stark contrast to the chaos that still seems too close.

“Breathe, Frankie. You’re not alone,” he continues, his words a gentle command, grounding me back to the reality of the safe room’s fortress-like walls and the dim, ambient lighting that casts soft shadows across the floor.

Except I am alone. I have always been alone.

I gasp for air as I wake with a start, my lungs screaming and protesting as I gulp in desperate breaths. The room spins around me, a thick fog clouding my senses. As I try to rub the sleep from my eyes, a harsh, cold reality grips me—I can’t move my arms. Panic surges as my eyes snap to my wrists, shackled to the unforgiving metal of a hospital-like bed.

“What the hell?” The clinking of the chains echoes in the sterile, dimly lit room, amplifying my growing panic.

“You’re awake.” The voice is a whisper, soft and unsettling, floating to me from the corner of the room. It slowly emerges from the shadows, a figure cloaked in darkness, moving toward me with a predatory grace.

“You!” I gasp, the air catching in my throat. “You kidnapped me.” Tears start to burn the backs of my eyelids, a mix of fear and defiance welling up inside me.

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