Page 85 of Shadows of Change

"I'm always honest," I protest weakly.

"Oh really?" Malrik's voice is a low purr that makes my toes curl. "Then tell us honestly, Kaia. What do you want?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with promise. My shadows go utterly still, waiting.

"I..." My voice falters as Finn's hand comes to rest on my knee, Malrik's on my waist. "This is a terrible idea."

"The best ones usually are," Finn murmurs, nuzzling against my neck.

Malrik's thumb traces my bottom lip. "Answer the question, little nightshade."

My breath catches as Malrik's thumb traces my lip. "I want..." The words stick in my throat, overwhelming me with sensation. Finn's lips brush my neck, sending sparks dancing across my skin. Malrik's silver eyes hold mine, intense and hungry.

"Yes?" Finn prompts, his voice a low rumble against my skin.

A new shadow—possibly Steve—chooses that moment to drop a book on the table with a loud thud, scattering the tension like shattering glass. Its leather cover is etched with intricate designs, but one symbol stands out—a mark identical to the one Seren had shown us. My stomach churns as the room's lightness evaporates, replaced by the oppressive weight of the unknown.

"What the hell is that?" Finn mutters, already leaning forward.

Malrik’s hand tightens around mine. "Something we need to figure out. Quickly."

"Back to work then," Finn says, his usual cheer dimmed. "But this conversation isn't over."

"Focus," Malrik orders, but his hand doesn't move from where it's resting against mine.

"Always am," Finn replies cheerfully, but his thigh presses warmly against my other side as he leans in to read.

I try to concentrate on the text, but all I can think about is the heat of them on either side of me, the way my shadows keep trying to wrap around all three of us, and the growing certainty that I’m in serious trouble. And judging by Bob's smug expression, my shadows agree.

57. Kaia

The shadows take me as I drift into sleep, dragging me into a world that isn't mine. They writhe and twist, their edges jagged and wrong, trying to pull me under. Above me, a symbol pulses in the dark—the same one from Darian's notes. Unlike the gentle darkness of my own shadows, these feel corrupted, bitter.

My shadows try to fight back, but they're being torn away one by one. Bob goes first, his usually steady form dissolving into nothing as he tries to maintain his protective stance. Then Patricia, her last gesture an attempt to shield the others. Finnick doesn't even get a chance for a final joke before he scatters like smoke. Even Steve and Linda, still so new, are ripped apart like paper in a storm.

"They were never truly yours," Thorne's voice echoes through the void. "Just borrowed power, waiting to be claimed."

I try to scream, but shadows pour into my mouth, choking me—bitter and sharp, like swallowing glass. Mouse's panicked yowl seems to come from very far away, followed by the sound of claws scrabbling against stone.

"Kaia!"

Hands grip my shoulders, shaking me awake. I lash out instinctively, my shadows surging up—

"Easy," Aspen says softly. "You're safe. It's just us."

My eyes snap open to find Aspen and Torric in my room. Aspen sits on the edge of my bed, his hands still steady on my shoulders, while Torric hovers near the door, practically vibrating with barely-contained energy. The air around him seems to shimmer with heat, though his expression is caught between concern and awkward uncertainty.

"You were screaming," Torric explains gruffly. "The whole wing probably heard. Mouse was raising hell at our door until we followed him."

I try to slow my breathing, checking frantically for my shadows. They're all there, clustering around me protectively. Bob does a quick head count, moving with military precision as he organizes the others into a defensive formation. Patricia fusses, trying to straighten my sweat-soaked hair while weaving gentle, swirling patterns in the air around me that somehow make it easier to breathe. Even Finnick is subdued, pressing close like a concerned puppy, though he can't seem to help making little shadow-rabbits hop across my blanket in an attempt to cheer me up.

"Sorry," I manage. "Just a dream."

"Must have been some dream," Aspen says quietly. Though he can't see them, he seems to sense my shadows' agitation. The temperature in the room has dropped several degrees from their distress, and frost patterns crystallize on my water glass. "Want to talk about it?"

I shake my head, then immediately change my mind, panic clawing at my throat as Aspen starts to get up. "Actually... could you stay? Just for a bit?"

The twins exchange a look I can't quite read. Something passes between them—some silent communication born of years together.

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