Page 90 of Shattered & Returned

A sharp twitch in my left eye, the only warning before I felt it again. That presence, slithering closer. The air stirred with a phantom breath, and between the shelves, a wisp of shadow curled. The same one that had whispered in my mind before.

You won’t find their truth within these walls.The voice was barely a sigh, threading through my thoughts.Only the brave soul and the true seeker…

The shadow drifted toward the staircase. A silent invitation. Unease coiled in my gut, but my steps didn’t falter as I followed, the weight of unseen eyes prickling against my skin. The library was nearly empty, no curious glances, no raised brows, as I trailed the darkness.

Down, then deeper still, until the shadow led me to a cramped corner on the second floor, tucked behind a skeletal shelf. The wall thereshimmered faintly, like heat rippling off stone in summer. A hidden door. Warded.

The shadow coiled around its edges, and with a soundless sigh, the doorway yielded, peeling open like a secret too long kept. No creak of hinges. No rush of trapped air. Just silence, and the sense that it had been waiting for me, for this moment, forsomething.

I didn’t hesitate. I crossed the threshold.

The door sealed shut behind me, and the dark swallowed me whole.

Shit, this felt like falling down the rabbit hole. Let’s hope no monsters, hunters, or demons waited at the bottom.

The shadow guided me deeper, down winding stairs that bled into an underground tunnel. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp moss, the distant echo of dripping water the only sound besides my footfalls. Maybe I should turn back, but I’d come too far to retreat now.

After several turns, we reached a stone archway framing a crimson door. A serpent coiled around its frame, carved with unsettling precision. The shadow didn’t open the door for me this time. I grasped the cold metal handle, turned it, and pushed.

The new door swung open to reveal a vast underground archive, its polished walls stretching upward into shadow.

I stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind me with a sigh of finality.

Trapped. Or chosen.

Either way, there was no going back now.

The air seemed to hum with forgotten power as I took in the chamber’s impossible grandeur. Ancient books lined the black walnut shelves, their spines glowing with strange scripts. Above me, constellations shifted across the ceiling, casting faint starlight on the obsidian floor.

At the center, white sofas curved around a glass table hewn from a single block of crystal, so clear it looked like it was floating.

The air smelled of parchment, rich leather, and old magic. This place didn’t belong to Forsaken Academy.It felt much older, more hallowed, as if preserved from an age long before the school’s foundations were laid.

The walls told stories of the War of the Godsin vivid detail: ashadow-cloaked figure clashing against radiant beings, oceans swallowing mountains, the earth splitting open. The depictions were somehow familiar, though I couldn’t place why.

Then I heard the door clicking shut. When I entered, I had made sure the door closed. Someone was here. My pulse spiking, I ducked behind the nearest shelf and held my breath.

Footsteps echoed. Then, the unmistakable weight of Nero’s presence filled the room.

Shit.

Had he followed me? Was that guiding shadow his accomplice, luring me into a trap? My heart hammered violently. It didn’t matter how still I stayed. Nero would sense me as clearly as I sensed him. I shouldn’t be here. How many rules had I broken already?

I edged deeper along the shelf, silent, putting distance between us. Longing and fury twisted inside me, sharp as a thorn.

Nero appeared before me in a swirl of shadows, materializing so suddenly I yelped, nearly jumping out of my skin. BeforeI could either get away or punch him in the face, his hands slammed down on either side of my head, his powerful frame caging me in place.

My back hit the shelf.

Trapped.

I glared up at him, his presence still stealing my breath.

He wore his beauty like a weapon, all hard angles and perfect lines. His hair, the color of midnight tides, fell past his shoulders, wild and untamed, as if shaped by salt winds and immortality rather than scissors.

“You’re in my space,” I warned in a frosty voice.

“Yes,” he said, regarding me darkly. “What did I say about when I summon you, you come running? You refused, little flower, so I had to hunt you instead.”

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