Page 34 of A Touch of Darkness

Her fingers, pale and delicate, tap lightly against the table in front of her, the movement sharp in the otherwise quiet room. There is a subtle unease about her, a bracing, almost animalistic readiness, as though every part of her is prepared to spring into action, though I cannot tell what that action might be. The wayher lips press together in frustration as she listens to them, the way her shoulders stiffen under their probing questions... it is a sight that ignites something deep within me, something I have long tried to suppress.

Her clothing is simple, practical, but it is the small, quiet details that betray her deeper nature. The dark jeans she wears fit perfectly, the faintest rip near the knees speaking of a woman who does not care to impress anyone with her appearance but instead dresses for utility. A silver chain glints beneath the collar of her sweater, hidden from most but not from me. I have seen her in finer dresses before, when she was Seraphina, her beauty enhanced by the fabric, but even now, in these modest clothes, she carries herself with an elegance that seems to belong to another time—a time when things like power, lineage, and bloodlines meant far more than they do now.

I breathe in, the air thick with her presence, and for a moment, I forget the reasons I keep my distance. Her scent, faintly floral yet with an underlying warmth of vanilla, stirs memories of a life long past, of a different Sylvie—one I knew too well, and one that haunts me still. In that instant, I see the flicker of her former self—Seraphina—through her eyes, the power that lies dormant inside her. But she doesn’t know it yet. She doesn’t understand.

I cannot look away. Her every movement, every shift in posture, is a revelation. She holds herself like a warrior, though she does not yet realize the true nature of the fight she faces. There is strength in her silence, an undeniable magnetism that draws me in even as I know the danger she is walking into. I see her vulnerability too—how the faintest twitch of her lips betrays the strain of the situation, how the pulse at her throat quickens ever so slightly when the officers press too hard.

I want to reach out, to pull her from this room and protect her, but I remain hidden in the shadows, an unseen witness toher struggle. The hunger for answers burns in her, but what she seeks to know may be more dangerous than she could possibly imagine. The officers continue their probing, their questions sharp and insistent, but I know that Sylvie is more than capable of handling them. Her courage has never been in question. It is the consequences of what she uncovers that I fear.

“Miss Rosenthal,” Jacobs speaks, his voice smooth and polished, though beneath it there is an edge, something cold. “Thank you for coming. I know this must be difficult.”

Sylvie, unshaken, does not flinch at the formality of his words. She does not offer the expected pleasantries. Instead, she meets his gaze, her eyes burning with a quiet fury. “I need answers,” she says, her voice steady but carrying the tone of a tempest that lies just beneath the surface. “You came to my dorm to tell me that Lara was dead. And now you expect me to sit here while you ask me questions?”

Jacobs does not falter, his lips curling into a small, measured smile. “Not at all,” he says, his tone warm, almost fatherly. “We are merely trying to understand. To understand what led to her disappearance. What we are dealing with here.”

Sylvie leans forward, her hands curling into fists on the table. “Shouldn’t you know what you’re dealing with? You’re the professionals.” She scoffs, her disdain for the pair of detectives evident. “My sister was fine before disappearing. She was her usual self.” She seems to think better of her words, and I refuse to tap into her mind, but I do feel something in her emotion. She wants to control the situation. She wants to find out if they are part of this or if they are unknowing in the dangers lurking in Blackthorne. She speaks again, “There was one thing. She warned me to be careful of who I trust. She told me to stay away from the Solstice Society.”

At the mention of their name, I feel a stir in the air. It is subtle, but palpable. I know for a fact that Lara told Sylviethis from the beyond, and I’m surprised Sylvie’s thought to mention it, although I shouldn’t be. She’s playing a game, and it’s something I finally see. She didn’t come for answers, did she? Not about Lara’s death. She came for answers knowing, somehow, that these two officers may hold something more than they should.

Jacobs eyes narrow ever so slightly, and Rivera shifts her weight, her expression tightening. They’ve heard this name before, I know. And they want to know what she knows. What has she uncovered that they’ve missed?

Jacobs leans forward, his voice softening, coaxing. “The Solstice Society? What exactly did she say about them, Miss Rosenthal?” I can see it in his eyes, and I wonder if Sylvie can now, too. Now that she’s coming into her own. Now that her abilities are slowing revealing themselves.

Sylvie doesn’t hesitate. She speaks with raw, unfiltered honesty. “She said they were dangerous. That they were watching me. That I should stay away from them.”

She’s so much smarter, so much wiser than even she gives herself credit for. The importance of the words hangs in the room, and I can feel the tension coiling tighter with each passing second. Jacobs’ gaze flickers for the briefest of moments, but Rivera’s expression remains unreadable. They are not fools, but they are not quite as clever as they think.

“And you?” Rivera asks, stepping slightly forward, her voice calculated, but her eyes betray an urgency. “Do you trust them?”

Sylvie does not flinch, her eyes steady, unwavering. “I don’t know what to believe,” she admits, her voice tight with the truth.

I hear their thoughts before they speak them, faint whispers, fleeting fragments.

We need her.

The Society will take care of her.

I bite back the urge to reveal myself, to cast aside the shadows. But not yet. I must wait.

The interrogation continues with Jacobs and Rivera probing into Sylvie’s life—her movements, her conversations with Lara, her connection to the university, to everything. The questions become more pointed, more insistent. They speak of things stirring beneath the surface, of powers she does not yet understand.

“Have you noticed anything strange around the university?” Rivera asks, her tone casual. “Anything... out of the ordinary?”

Sylvie shakes her head, her brow furrowing. “No. Nothing like that. I’ve barely had time to notice anything. We only just arrived in Blackthorne, at the school, when everything happened.”

“Nothing you can think of at all?” Jacobs presses, his voice lowering.

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Sylvie hesitates, just for a moment, but her resolve remains firm. “No.”

Jacobs leans back, watching her carefully. “We’ve received reports of unusual activity around campus, aside from Lara’s murder,” he says, his tone softening, but his gaze never leaving her. “Something powerful, something... dangerous is at work. We just need to find out what it is.”

And then, in that fleeting moment, I see it—the flicker of something in Rivera’s eyes, the barely perceptible shift in her posture. She is absolutely part of it. She is one of them.

The silence stretches between them, broken only by the sound of Sylvie’s shaky breath. The suspense feels nearly unbearable, and yet I can’t look away. She is playing her part, unknowingly walking into their snare, but I cannot—will not—allow them to take her so easily.

“You’ve asked me your questions. Now, I need to see her,” Sylvie says, her voice quiet, almost fragile, but the conviction inher eyes could move mountains. “I need to see Lara’s body. I need to know it’s really her, and I need to say goodbye to my sister so I can attempt to carry on with my life.”

Jacobs falters. For the briefest of moments, I see a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting this. Neither of them were. But this is her demand. She will not relent.

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