Page 55 of Shadowed Fate

There’s just one sheet of paper, neatly typed. The sheet has my name, my home address, the date I came to Grimstone Academy, and my date of birth. Under ‘Guardians’ it lists my Uncle and Aunt. Under ‘Parents’ it has the names of my adoptive parents. But then it has a hand-written note underneath:

see page 7. DC.

DC for Dean Charling obviously. But there’s no page 7. There’s no page two, three, four, five or six, either.

I’ve never known who my birth parents were. Could the Dean have known? Is that what the note was? And where are the missing pages?

I’m left with no answers and more questions, yet again.

I’m about to return the folder to the filing cabinet when I notice an imprint of writing at the bottom, like someone had written on a note on top of the paper and the pressure had left an indent on the sheet underneath.

Holding it up to the thin band of light coming through the gap in the curtains I squint my eyes to try and read it.

Potential vessel.

What. The. Actual…?

A sudden noise outside the door makes me freeze. Footsteps? My heart hammers in my chest as I strain to listen. They're getting closer.

Shit shit shit.

I shove the paper and the folder back in the cabinet and slide the drawer shut, wincing as it scrapes closed. I hold my breath, willing myself to please become invisible. No luck. The footsteps pause just outside the door. A voice, muffled but unmistakably male, speaks.

"...check again. There might be something we missed."

Panic rises in my throat. I glance around wildly, looking for a place to hide. Under the desk? Behind the curtains?

But the footsteps start to move away.

I let out a shaky breath, my legs nearly giving out beneath me.

That was too close.

With more urgency, I turn back to the desk. There has to be something here, some clue about what's really going on at Grimstone. About whatIam.

My hands shake as I continue my search, knowing that each second I’m in here increases the chance of getting caught. But I can't leave yet. Not without answers. I'm in way over my head here, playing detective in a world I barely understand. But what choice do I have?

My fingers brush against something under the desk. Heart racing, I crouch down and stick my head under, running my hand along the underside until I feel it again. A small, hidden latch.

Forcing my fingers to steady, I press the latch. A soft click echoes in the silent room, and a small compartment springs open.

Inside lies a scroll, its edges frayed and yellowed with age. I gingerly lift it out, hoping it doesn’t crumble to dust in my hands.

I carefully unroll the delicate parchment and time stops as I notice the symbols and inked words covering the scroll. At the center, a familiar one blazes out at me—the same one in my art, the one etched on that book in the restricted section.

My eyes dart over the text, picking out fragments I can understand.

Morrigan

vessel

prophecy

My mind is reeling.

It can't be about me. I'm nobody—just a weird orphan girl who sees things she shouldn't.

But as I stare at the scroll, deep down, I know it has to be.

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