Page 4 of Shadows of Change

My shadows coil defensively around my legs as Mouse shrinks back to his normal size, though he continues to growl softly, ears down and eyes trained on the man. The stranger studies me like I’m a particularly interesting science experiment, his gaze lingering on the shadows that refuse to stay still.

"Who are you?" I ask, lifting my chin despite the tremor in my voice. "What was that thing?"

"Professor Thorne." He lowers his staff but doesn’t extinguish its light. The runes cast eerie patterns across his sharp features. "And that was a Nightwraith—drawn to your power like a moth to flame. You can’t hide forever, Kaia. The shadows around you grow stronger each day, and you barely maintain control."

I stiffen, my heart skipping a beat. "How do you know my name?"

His smile is sharp and knowing, reminding me uncomfortably of a predator sizing up its prey. "I know many things. Including the fact that you need proper training before your power destroys you—or worse, draws something far more dangerous than a lone Nightwraith."

"I don’t need anything," I snap, but my shadows betray me, rippling with interest at his words. They stretch toward him like curious cats, ignoring my mental attempts to pull them back. "I’m handling it fine."

"Are you?" He arches an eyebrow. "Then perhaps you’d care to explain why your shadows are currently trying to read my magical signature without your permission?"

I glance down, mortified to find he’s right. My shadows have stretched toward him, probing curiously at his robes like children reaching for something shiny. I yank them back, and they retreat sulkily, curling around my ankles in a way that feels distinctly unrepentant.

"Arcanum Academy," he says, pulling a card from his robes with an elegant flourish. "Where people like you learn to master their gifts, not just survive them. The choice is yours, but make it quickly." His eyes narrow, and the temperature seems to drop. "Time grows short, and the shadows are calling."

He turns to leave, then pauses, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Oh, and Kaia? Next time, try not to let your shadows steal from customers. The man in the suit is missing his wallet."

My shadows squirm guiltily as I find said wallet tucked into my pocket, right next to my measly tips from the morning shift. By the time I look up, Thorne has vanished, leaving only his card and the lingering scent of magic in the air—something ancient and electric that puts me on edge.

Mouse headbutts my leg, and my shadows curl around me like a protective cloak. They feel different now—more alert, more alive. As if Thorne’s presence has awakened something in them.

Or in me.

I stare at the card in my hand, feeling the weight of choice pressing down on me.

My normal life is already in ruins. The words Arcanum Academy hang in the air, heavy with promise and threat. A place to learn control—but at what cost? I’ve fought so hard to build a life, even if it was a fragile illusion and a crap one at that. Can I really let it all go for this?I trudge toward my apartment, my mind reeling from the encounter. Mouse trots beside me, occasionally swatting at my restless shadows as they dance around us, clearly still keyed up from the fight.

"So," I say to no one in particular, "just a typical Tuesday morning. Get up, serve questionable eggs to cranky customers, nearly die at the claws of a nightmarish shadow creature. You know, the usual."

My sarcasm falls flat even to my own ears. The truth is, I'm shaken. That thing—the Nightwraith—felt familiar in a way that makes my skin crawl. Like a half-remembered nightmare or asong you can't quite place. Its words echo in my head: "The Heart calls... she lives..."

I absently touch the amethyst necklace, feeling its comforting warmth against my skin. It's always been there, as much a part of me as my own heartbeat. But now, for the first time, I wonder if there's more to it than just sentimental value. The way it had pulsed during the fight, and those fleeting images...

"What do you think, Mouse? Should we pack our bags for Shadow University?" I glance down at my feline companion. He gives me a look that somehow manages to convey both “obviously”and “took you long enough”in equal measure.

I sigh dramatically. "Fine, but if this turns out to be some elaborate prank, I'm blaming you."

As we round the corner to my apartment building, my shadows suddenly go haywire. They shoot out in all directions, wrapping around lamp posts and scaling walls like demented, incorporeal squirrels. A nearby jogger yelps as a tendril of darkness trips him, sending him sprawling onto the cracked sidewalk.

"Sorry!" I call out, frantically trying to reel my shadows back in. They resist like stubborn toddlers refusing bedtime. "Uh... I mean, are you okay?" I pause awkwardly as he glares at me. "Yeah, you're fine, okay good!"

The jogger picks himself up, brushing gravel from his knees and muttering about "kids these days" as he limps away. Mouse watches him go, tail twitching with what looks suspiciously like amusement.

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "This is exactly what I'm talking about," I tell Mouse as we climb the creaky stairs to my tiny apartment. My shadows trail behind us, leaving smoky swirls in the air that fade like morning mist. "I can't keep goinglike this. One of these days, my shadows are going to decide to play jump rope with a bus or something, and then where will we be?"

Mouse meows in what I choose to interpret as agreement, though he seems more interested in weaving between my legs, nearly tripping me on the landing.

Inside my apartment—all one hundred and fifty square feet of it—I flop dramatically onto my bed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. "Okay, let's think about this logically," I say to Mouse, who's curled up on my pillow looking supremely unimpressed. "Pro: I might learn to stop my shadows from acting like caffeinated toddlers on a sugar rush. Con: I'll be surrounded by magical prodigies who probably learned to levitate their rattles before they could walk."

My shadows swirl restlessly, forming shapes that look suspiciously like schoolbooks and graduation caps. One even manages a pretty decent impression of what I assume is supposed to be a wizard's robe, complete with a pointy hat.

Traitors.

"Alright, alright," I mutter, swatting at the shadow display. "I get it. You want to go to magic school and become the next Harry Potter. But have you considered the very real possibility that I'll end up being the magical equivalent of the kid who eats paste?"

Mouse gives me a look that clearly says, "You already eat paste, what's the difference?" before starting to groom his paw with exaggerated indifference.

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