Page 91 of Shadebound
I nodded. Pretending that I didn’t feel all sorts of ways about him holding me and the conversation at hand. “They—he, has followed me to Mors. I presume to keep watch over me.”
Zayden didn’t bat an eyelid. “And he does that? He looks out for you?”
“Yes. It was only once or twice until you left. He just stopped me from feeling so... soawful. But then...” I ran a hand over my face. “Then it was every couple of days. I think he knew I needed someone. So he helped me in secret until... until it wasn’t so secret anymore.”
“What happened?”
“You know how I made a list of everyone I thought might have killed my sister? Well, when I took the first name off it, my stalker just appeared. He helped me clean up the scene.” I bit the inside of my cheek.
Zayden cocked his head, eyes softening. “How come you were caught then?”
“Because I confessed.” I breathed the worst of my sins. “I finished my list and then made an anonymous tip. With all the evidence they would need to kill me.”
He closed his eyes, breathing in a sharp breath. I waited. Once, twice, three more breaths.
Silver eyes met mine, with a thousand questions I knew he would not ask. “Thank you for telling me, J. I’m glad you had someone to take care of you whilst I was gone. And I’m glad they’re still here.”
He reached up, trailing his fingers over my cheekbone.
“You’re not... not bothered?” I wondered.
He shook his head. “How can I be bothered that someone wants to take care of you? That’s an insane thing to hate.” He snorted softly. “I do want to meet him, though. Just so I can make sure he’s the right kind of... of stalker. The kind who woulddo your laundry and kill your enemies. Not be abusive in the name of possession and make you sad.”
Something soft tugged at the jagged pieces of my heart, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer with words. Only a nod.
When we eventually stepped back into the dorm, the screaming had finally returned to background noise. The others had tucked themselves into their beds, faces turned toward the walls, shoulders rigid beneath threadbare blankets. They weren’t sleeping. They knew better. Especially when sodden to the bone.
I scanned the room, my muscles still coiled from the fight, breath still uneven. Zayden lingered behind me, his eyes tracking each bed like he expected someone to rise and try again. But there was no movement. Only the sharp scent of sweat and scorched cloth still hung faintly in the air, and the occasional, shaky exhales from someone pretending to dream. No one looked up. No one acknowledged us.
Maya had clearly scared them into submission. I was proud. Even if I was disappointed she hadn’t had an excuse to waterboard Fiore.
Zayden’s bunk creaked beneath him as he climbed in without a word. I slid in next to him, grateful he didn’t ask questions. The mattress dipped beneath our weight, thin enough to groan at our combined bodies.
I adjusted my weight, trying not to think. He didn’t look at me or say anything, just moved over slightly. I eased down beside him, careful not to let our limbs touch, not because I didn’t want to—but because I wasn’t sure I could survive the feel of warmth I hadn’t earned.
My head rested back against headboard, eyes fixed on the pockmarked ceiling above. The shadows there weren’t moving, but they were alive. More alive than my beautiful creatures, even if deep down, I knew they were still there.
I tracked the uneven lines in the stone, counted the flakes of paint peeling in slow, curling slivers. Anything to distract from the pressure building in my chest. The silence didn’t break. It pressed down harder instead, swollen with all the things I couldn’t say, all the grief I couldn’t name, all the rage I couldn’t bleed out. My throat itched with unspoken thoughts, but I didn’t speak. Neither did he.
Eventually, Zayden signed,I need to tell you something.
A weight pressed down low in my gut, like something thick and wrong was settling inside me. The sensation clawed through my insides, not panic, not quite dread either—just that awful tightening that came when the truth began to unfurl, and I wasn’t ready to see where it led.
He shifted his weight, adjusting his position on the mattress. His hands stayed still, fingers slack in his lap, but his eyes didn’t. They flicked to mine, and then away again, jaw tightening with something that looked a lot like guilt.
The thing Maya was trying to tell you before... I should have let her tell the truth. But I didn’t want to add more to your plate. I didn’t want you to be worried.
Heart pounding, I waited for him to get his full confession off his chest.
Someone’s been killing students, he said, finally.These deaths—whoever’s behind them—they’re like a sacrificial killing. Murders for the sake of something.
I didn’t realise my hands had curled until my knuckles ached.
He glanced at me again.Every one of them was found the same way.
He didn’t have to finish that sentence. My heart was already clawing at my ribs.
He stared at me, and I knew what was coming even before he said,It’s just like how Bells died. It’s the same pattern. Thesame injuries. Same timing, even. Almost like a ritual, or a schedule. And I know it sounds crazy, but I think the Salem serial killer is in Mors.
