Page 55 of Shattered & Returned

The syllables vibrated with power, thrumming in my bones. Though incomprehensible, two fragments stuck:Underworld Warbefore the rest vanished like mist before I could grasp them.

A shocking realization hit me, raising the fine hairs on my neck. How could I understand part of that ancient tongue? French and English were all I’d ever known, yet these archaic syllables stirred something primal in my blood, like a nursery rhyme sung to me long ago and nearly forgotten.

As their exchange continued, Sebastian shifted again, this time completely shielding me from view. His hand slipped behind his back, fingers flicking sharply:Leave. Now.

I wavered. I was dying to unravel this mystery, but Sebastian’s tension spoke louder. If someone of his power fearedKingsley’s attention falling on me, I wasn’t going to question his assessment.

With practiced stealth from years of moving through forest undergrowth, I eased away from the table. My steps traced the wall’s shadowed edge toward the exit, each movement measured to avoid the telltale click of heels on marble.

Kingsley stood angled away now, his focus locked on Sebastian, whose voice lifted just enough, a perfect distraction.

The door handle chilled my palm as I risked one final glance back. Sebastian stood silhouetted against the tower’s golden light, hands carving dramatic shapes through the air as he held Kingsley’s attention captive.

Then I was through, out into cold, crisp air and under the disguise of the gnarled oak’s branches.

The drowning came without warning.

My lungs seized as phantom water filled them, that same oceanic pressure from Kingsley’s gaze now crushing my chest from within. Invisible hands pinned me in the darkness. The terror was so complete I fumbled for my inhaler with numb fingers, its medicinal bite the only anchor to reality.

It was like my body remembered what my mind had long forgotten.

I staggered away from Kingsley Tower, heels skidding on frost, as I put as much distance as possible between myself and the imposing structure. The image of the dead redhead burned in my mind like a brand, her face—my face—twisted in final terror.

Arms wrapped tight around my ribs, I fled toward Ravencrux Tower, my supposed sanctuary that now felt more like a trap. An omen hung in my head—whatever game was being played at Forsaken Academy, I was clearly a pawn, or perhaps a prize, in a conflict that spanned centuries between these lethal immortals.

Chapter

Twenty

Bloom

Trophy Collection

Orren’s words echoed in my mind:Ravencrux’s penthouse crowns his tower.It was the obvious place to start and probably the most dangerous.

The cautious part of me, the part molded by Mom’s fearful whispers, urged retreat. If I vanished here, who would notice? Sindy might spare a thought for her missing roommate, but our friendship was still green, untested by time or trust.

But I had to find answers before the killer came for me. The killer’s cat-and-mouse game gave me borrowed time, but the clock was ticking.

That woman—my mirror in death—had stared back at me in a silent scream, her voice forever gone and her life snuffed out too soon.

Darkness had followed me through Forsaken Academy’s gates. Now it whispered through the stones, coiled in shadowed corners. Whatever truth bound me to Ravencrux, to that dead woman with my face, I would drag it into the light before the academy’s stones drank another redhead’s blood.

I drew a steadying breath and ascended. The higher I climbed, the more the air hummed with restrained energy, like the charged silence before a lightning strike.

The eighth floor revealed a curved hallway with three doors. I crept toward the central door, my bare feet silent against the polished stone. The absence of Ravencrux’s presence was telling. If he’d been here, I would have felt that distinctive pressure, that tightly leashed power I’d come to recognize like a scent.

I halted before the blackwood door. Embedded at the top of the frame was an emblem of a split pomegranate, its seeds spilling like drops of blood.

My breath caught.

Persephone’s symbol.

The connection struck like a thunderclap—Ravencrux’s obsession with redheads, this homage to the Underworld’s crimson-haired queen. A hot spike of something possessive flared in my chest before I crushed it. Now wasn’t the time for such dangerous thoughts.

The door pulsed with dark energy, exactly as Orren had described. Sebastian’s warning echoed in my mind:“His wards are designed specifically against me.”

An idea sparked. I raised my hands, a column of light weaving between my palms. It came easily, like muscle memory. Without a second thought, I hurled it at the writhing ward.

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