Page 55 of Shadebound
The showers in the Mors arena bathrooms were wrong.
Not broken-wrong. Not unsanitary-wrong. Just... off. Like the architects had designed them with cruelty in mind. There were no curtains, no stalls. Just rows of exposed showerheads set into cold black stone, the water scalding or freezing with no in-between, steam curling like ghosts over the slick floor. It echoed too much. Like every drop was screaming. The air smelt like wet iron and cracked soap. Mors clearly didn’t bother with things like comfort. It was a place designed to strip you down in every possible way.
Zayden led me straight there. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I couldn’t argue. Not when my arm had only just knitted itself back together, still faintly sore despite the cuff. Not whenI could still feel the imprint of Tyler’s boot on my skin. Or when my pride felt like it had been scraped raw against the arena floor.
Now, I stood under one of the furthest showerheads, where the light was dim and the steam hung heavier. Water sluiced over my skin, too hot, reddening my shoulders and spine, sliding down my back like needles. It didn’t help. Nothing did. My limbs hung like stone. My chest was too tight. My magic kept pulsing in tiny flickers against my fingers, desperate to fight but unable to.
Zayden waited just beside the tiled divider, where the spray didn’t reach. He leant against the black stone wall, shadows licking at his collarbone. His hair was damp from the mist, curling at the edges, and he kept his eyes firmly on the wall.
He didn’t stare at me even though we’d been naked in front of each other before. Even though we’d slept together. He never acted like it gave him any rights.
And me? I wasn’t bothered. Not really. There was a weirdness to it—something quiet and low in my stomach—but it wasn’t shame or nerves. Just awareness. I was too tired for anything else. Too sore. Too raw. And too used to Zayden’s presence to flinch away from it now. Being naked in front of him didn’t feel dangerous. It felt oddly safe.
The sound of the water filled the silence between us. My skin prickled from heat and memory.
Still, after a few minutes, I murmured, “Thanks. For stepping in even though you couldn’t do much.”
He nodded. “Like I would have done anything else.”
“True,” I mused. Before I let the silence stretch until I was clean again.
When I turned the shower off, steam clung to me in ribbons, and my head started to hurt again. Zayden was already moving, tossing me a towel without asking.
“You’re still moving weird,” he said. “Let me help.”
He waited for me to nod before stepping forward, careful as he helped me dry off. His hands brushed over my shoulders, down my back, not lingering. When I was wrapped in the oversized uniform shirt again, I sank onto the bench beside the lockers and rubbed at my temples.
Everything inside me still throbbed, and I was desperate to get my goblet and pick something thoroughly strong to drink.
Zayden crouched in front of me to retrieve my boots. That’s when I saw it—silvery smears streaked along the skin of his stomach, just above his waistband. Too viscous for sweat. Too shiny for dirt.
“Are you bleeding?” I asked, frowning.
He glanced down, then muttered, “Shit. That’s not mine.”
He grabbed a cloth from the shelf that contained the... urgh...communaltowels and wiped it off.
“Sparred with Luna earlier,” he added. “She must’ve had another nosebleed. Didn’t realise it got on me.” His face fell. “She’s been having nosebleeds almost every day lately. I’m starting to worry.”
I watched the metallic gleam smear into the fabric and vanish. My stomach turned slightly. Poor Luna. Silvermorn poisoning was a slow, brutal thing. I’d watched my uncle die of it. There’d been nothing noble about the way his body had folded in on itself. One minute strong. The next, broken from the inside out. Like watching a house collapse.
“I hope she goes gently.” I murmured. “Not that she ought to go at all.”
Zayden didn’t say anything more. Just sat beside me, elbow resting loosely against mine. We didn’t touch, not really, but the warmth was close enough to feel. My shoulders relaxed fractionally in his orbit.
He glanced over, silver eyes still half-shadowed, and said, “You handled yourself well, y’know. Even if today was shit.”
I snorted faintly, not quite convinced.
“I mean it,” he added. “You’re not a fighter yet—but you will be. And when you are, you’ll knock Tyler flat on his ass so hard he’ll taste dirt for a week. Might even break his nose on purpose.”
A reluctant smile twitched at my mouth. “Is that your version of a pep talk?”
“Absolutely,” he said, voice dry. “Spite is excellent motivation. Revenge? Even better. Give it a few weeks training with me, and you’ll be terrifying. We’ll make it fun.”
“Fun, huh?”
