Page 48 of Shadebound
A slow grin curved my mouth. Stage one complete. My plan to push her and Jinx into each other’s orbit had worked like a charm.
And then, as if the universe wanted to reward me for my efforts, I spotted Tyler across the room again.
Perfect timing for the rest of my revenge plan; starting with the dragons who’d watched my sister get harassed.
He was exactly where I wanted him. The loud-mouthed fool was sitting beside the panther I’d heard be called Saphira, his fork stabbing lazily into his bowl. My eyes rolled as he told her something with the smug confidence of someone who thought the sound of his own voice was a gift to the world. She laughed a fraction too loudly, and I caught my sister’s name curl off his tongue, dragged through whatever ugly remark he thought was clever.
That was all I needed.
Sliding beneath the bench, I took my time. My hands weren’t made for tying knots anymore, but if I concentrated, I could make the laces weave over and under with neat precision. I looped them twice for good measure, pulling them tight until they were one unbroken snarl of fabric. The kind that wouldn’t give way without a fight. Once done, I drifted back, settling above the doorway so I could enjoy the view when the time came.
And boy, did it come. Even if it was twenty-eight minutes of boredom later.
He stood, or tried to. The moment was a masterpiece in miniature — the flicker of confusion that crossed his face when his knees wouldn’t straighten, the half-second of dawning horror, the jerky lurch forward as the bench screeched against the floor. His legs tangled like marionette strings pulled by a drunk puppeteer, and the bowl in his hands surrendered to gravity in glorious slow motion.
I followed it with greedy eyes as it sailed up, rotated twice in midair, and then found its target — the nape of an unsuspecting student two tables over. The bowl struck with a wet smack, slop cascading down the poor kid’s back in steaming rivulets of leftover sludge. The student’s yelp cut through the cafeteria din, followed a heartbeat later by the hollow thump of Tyler’s knees smacking against stone.
I lost it. My laughter ripped free, bright and unrepentant, shaking me until my form blurred at the edges. The petty satisfaction sang through me, lighting up the dim corners that had been cold too long. This was my craft — my art form — and the fact that Tyler had earned it extra hard with his smug little comments about Jinx only made it sweeter.
When the laughter ebbed, the echo of it left something softer, lonelier in its wake. I missed this — not just the mischief itself, but the way it used to be shared. Jinx would have looked at me, eyebrows arched in a silent dare to ask her to escalate things. Draven would have tried to hide the corner of his mouth pulling upward, failing every single time.
Now, I could see them both — breathing, laughing, living — in the same room as me, but they might as well have been on the other side of an unbreakable pane of glass. Every attempt to touch, to make them feel I was there, slid off the barrier between life and death for over a year.
But with no choice but to watch and exist on my own, I turned my gaze outward again, over the crowd. To the shadowed corners of the room and the halls beyond.
Somewhere within these same walls, the killer moved. Watching. Waiting.
Not just for anyone.
For my sister.
I was sure of it. Deep in the floating parts of my body, where my bones used to be.
A heat that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t far from it unfurled in my chest. They could circle all they wanted. They could plot and stalk and sharpen whatever blades they liked.
I would not let them touch her.
My sister’s happiness was the only thing tethering me to this half-existence, and I would ensure she got it. even if... well, it wasn’t like I could die twice.
Field Journal — Entry #067 - Classified
They train us to use weapons like it will save us from ourselves. As if steel steadies the hand when the magic stirs. As if pairing us off will make us less volatile. But shadebound instincts don’t care about training. They care about survival. About threat. About blood. Still... sometimes, in the middle of all that rage, when the others fall and you’re left with nothing... I swear my magic is still present. I swear I do not feel it slip from me at all.
Chapter Fifteen, Remember Your Place
The lift groaned to a stop, metal grinding against stone as the gate peeled open with an echoing clang. We stepped out into the same sunken arena as the night before. It hadn’t changed structurally: towering stone, the faint tang of iron in the air, and high walls etched with old sigils. But now, instead of a crowd or chaos, it was arranged like a training ground.
The sandy floor was scattered with dark stains, some fresh enough to gleam. Around the edge of the pit were uneven piles of weapons—curved swords, slender spears, axes that looked like they belonged on a battlefield, and an alarming number of things with spikes. Some glowed faintly with enchantments. A few crackled with frost or radiated heat. Others just looked delightfully menacing.
A row of practice dummies lined one side of the arena. Some were straw-stuffed; others were made from bleached bones and twisted wire. They shifted ever so slightly, twitching almost. Every movement made a quiet creak.
Draven stood across the pit with a handful of other students, and I caught Luna explaining what the arena was for. He was nodding eagerly, paying attention. He was also smiling too much for my liking as I came to a stop beside him with my friends. Clearly, any residual fear from the day before had vanished.
My brother was back to prime Draconis stupidity mode.
Alessandro and his dragon horde were here too, lurking near a group of other shifter types. He kept glaring at me every time I glanced in his direction. The same hatred simmered in his eyes that I knew was burning in mine, and it took all my self-control not to find something sharp to stab him with.
Draven nudged my side before he signed,What’s his deal?
