Page 7 of Shattered Jewel

I grip her forearms tighter. “Sasha, look at me.”

She raises her head, tears streaking her cheeks, eyes glistening in the passing white glow of the moon.

My gaze doesn’t waver as she searches my face.

“I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.”

Sasha’s bottom lip trembles. “But I put you in danger. I was selfish, wanting to share that world with you without considering the consequences.”

I shake my head, a small, wry smile tugging at my lips. “Danger seems to find me regardless. It’s not your fault, Sash. None of it is.”

She releases a shuddering breath, leaning into my side.

The car swerves, tires screeching against the asphalt. We lurch sideways, Sasha’s shoulder slamming into mine. The driver curses, maintaining a white-knuckle grip on the wheel as he rights our course.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, heart pounding against my ribs.

The driver meets my eyes in the rearview, his expression grim. “Something in the road. An animal, I think.”

Unease coils in my gut, a serpentine whisper of intuition. I twist in my seat, peering out the back window. The road stretches behind us, a ribbon of black fragmented by the red glow of our taillights.

And there, just at the edge of the illumination, a figure stands motionless.

Watching.

Waiting.

Recognition slams into me, stealing the air from my lungs. The figure’s stance, the breadth of his shoulders, the tilt of his head—it’s Kaspian.

But it can’t be. We left him at the manor. He’s bound to the Court, his loyalty unbreakable.

He’s a proud killer.

“El?”

Sasha’s voice cuts through my thoughts, her hand gripping mine. “What is it? What do you see?”

I blink, and the figure is gone, swallowed by the night.

A trick of the light, a manifestation of my frayed nerves. It has to be.

“Nothing,” I say, tearing my gaze away from the window. “Just nocturnal animals, like the driver said.”

Sasha’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t argue. We settle back into our seats, our mutual silence broken only by the engine’s hum and the rush of tires on the pavement.

But as the car speeds onward, carrying us closer to the illusion of safety, I can’t shake the feeling that the shadows are watching.

Waiting.

Biding their time until they can drag me back into their depths.

The key clicks in the lock, and Sasha swings our dorm room door open with a familiar creak. The smell of our mixing perfumes is so comforting, I nearly collapse with gratitude as we step inside our messy, mostly pink room—the exact opposite of the Court’s Gothic grandeur.

I kick off my shoes near the foot of my twin bed.

“El,” Sasha says, her voice quiet. “You’re shaking.”

I look down. My hands are indeed trembling.

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