Page 33 of Shadows of Change

"When is Torric not threatening to set something on fire?"

"Fair point." Finn pushes off the doorframe but doesn't step back. His closeness feels deliberate. "So... how was yesterday's special training session?"

Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. "Fine. Darian's actually quite helpful."

"Hmm." That single syllable holds volumes of doubt.

Before I can press him on it, my shadows surge between us like a living wall, shoving a book into his chest with enough force to make him stumble.

"Ow! Okay, okay, message received," he laughs, but his eyes stay serious. There's something almost protective in the way he watches me. "Come on, Trouble. The twins are waiting."

???

The training yard crackles with tension when we arrive. Aspen and Torric are sparring, their magic colliding in spectacular bursts—fire and ice meeting in violent hisses of steam. At the edges of the yard, Malrik lurks in the shadows of a stone column, pretending not to watch while I pretend not to know he’s here. But it's Professor Thorne's presence that makes my stomach twist—he rarely observes group sessions from what I’ve been told.

"Ah, Ms. Draven." His voice slides across the yard like oil on water. "I thought we might demonstrate what you learned yesterday. Darian?"

As if conjured by his name, Darian emerges from the shadows. Something flickers across Malrik's face—recognition? Warning?—but it vanishes before I can read it.

"Let's show them your progress," Darian suggests. His smile is warm, but his eyes calculate.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” I try, pushing all the confidence I can muster into the words.

“Nonsense,” Thorne chimes in, all but ignoring my request.

The twins halt their sparring, steam still coiling around them like restless spirits. Torric's expression darkens as Darian moves closer to me. Aspen's hand finds his brother's arm—a silent warning.

"Perhaps a practical demonstration?" Thorne's suggestion carries the weight of a command. "Mr. Agere, if you'd assist?"

Torric steps forward, eager as always for a fight, but Thorne gestures to Aspen instead. The calmer twin moves with fluid grace, though I catch the tension riding his shoulders.

"The objective is simple," Thorne continues, pacing the edge of our impromptu arena. "Kaia will attempt to breach Aspen's defenses using what she's learned. Darian will... guide her technique."

My shadows coil tight around my ankles as Darian steps behind me. His hands ghost over my shoulders, adjusting my stance. "Remember what we practiced," he murmurs, his breath warm against my neck. "Reach for the deeper shadows."

A shiver runs through me—from his touch or something else, I'm not sure. But the moment his hands settle, a subtle pulse runs through me, like my shadows are being pulled or stretched inways they’ve never moved before. My skin prickles as a strange, unwelcome sensation crawls up my spine.

From the corner of my eye, I catch it—a fleeting nod from Thorne to Darian. My chest tightens.

Darian’s voice remains soft, soothing. "You feel that? That connection to something deeper? Focus on it."

But it feels wrong. The shadows don't react like they normally do—they hesitate, jitter, as if uncertain. Even Bob, my steady presence, flickers uneasily near my ankle.

Aspen raises his hands, and a wall of crystalline water shimmers into existence. Behind it, his face distorts, but I read concern in the set of his jaw.

"Begin," Thorne commands.

I try to push my unease aside, reaching for the shadows like I always do. But instead of responding with their usual fluidity, they jerk and pull in strange, erratic movements. My heart pounds as Darian’s hands press lightly against my back, guiding me, but it feels invasive, like someone reaching into a part of me they shouldn’t.

"Let it flow," Darian murmurs, but his voice sounds distant now, layered with something sharper, darker. My shadows lash out, not at Aspen’s barrier but in wild arcs that scrape across the ground, uncontrollable.

A gasp escapes me as the necklace against my skin grows warm—no, searing. The amethyst glows faintly, and my shadows snap back to me, tearing away from whatever influence they were under. Darian stumbles back slightly, his hand withdrawing as if burned.

"Enough!" Malrik's voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. He steps into the arena before Thorne can speak, his silver eyes blazing. My shadows rush to him, clinging like frightened children.

Aspen lowers his barrier, his gaze locked on Thorne. "What the hell was that?" he demands, his calm veneer cracking.

Thorne’s expression is smooth, unreadable. "A momentary lapse in control, nothing more. Ms. Draven has much to learn."

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