Page 80 of Shadebound
I wanted to get up. Wanted to claw him apart. But my body wouldn’t move—I was trembling, drained, stuck on my knees in the muck. All I could do was glare up at him, my voice a rasp.
“What the hell did she ever do to you?”
He just looked down at me, scoffed again, and turned on his heel. Walked away like I was nothing.
Like Bells wasn’t even worth his breath.
I sat there a moment longer, head in my hands, trying to breathe past the burn in my throat and the shake in my limbs. The sand clung gritty and damp to my palms, tiny grains sticking in the raw skin where my nail had split. My stomach still rolled, the sour taste of bile stubborn in the back of my mouth.
“Here.”
I looked up. Eris stood there, a bottle of water in her hand. She crouched opposite me, boots sinking into the wet sand.
I cracked the lid, rinsed my mouth with the first sip, spat into the sand, then managed an actual swallow. The water was lukewarm and metallic from the bottle, but the cool trickle down my throat was still better than nothing.
“If you want to take your mind off it for a second,” she said, tucking a damp strand of black hair behind her ear, “I’ve got some potential seer news.”
That earned her a faint raise of my brow. Anything was better than replaying the last few minutes in my skull.
She rested her elbows on her knees, leaning in a little. “Last night, I’m pretty sure a ghost tried to speak to me.”
Her mouth tugged into a half-smirk. “I’m also pretty sure they broke Saphira’s bed.”
Against all odds, a tiny crack opened in my chest as she gave more details. Saphira crashing through a bed frame was an image worth keeping and I huffed out a weak breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“Why do you think it was a ghost?”
Eris shrugged a slender shoulder. “Just felt like it. Someone was calling me.” She tapped the water bottle in my hand. “So... any advice on how I can call them back?”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand again. “You probably need a conduit. A Ouija board, tarot cards, a crystal ball. Go somewhere quiet and dark, wait until night. Draw a salt pentagram to keep anything nasty out. Then... call whoever it was. See if they answer.”
She nodded eagerly. “I’ve got a crystal ball. I’ll do it as soon as I can.”
“Let me know how it goes.” My voice rasped, but it was steadier now. I forced another sip of water and shoved myself to my feet, my legs shaky enough that I had to brace a hand on the rock behind me. Eris rose too, brushing wet sand off her knees.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “Don’t mention it. I know you’d do the same for me.” Then she turned back toward the lesson, casual as if nothing had happened.
I followed slower. She was wrong. I wouldn’t have thought to do the same for her—not instinctively. I didn’t see people that way. Didn’t spot the moments when they needed softness and a little extra care. But something about her lingered warm against the cold roiling in my gut. She felt safe in a place where nothing else did.
I made a note—next time, I’d try. She deserved at least that much.
The dome of lightning still cracked overhead, the circle of students shifting uneasily. I stepped back into place, every nerve raw, not wanting to be there. Not wanting anything but to stop feeling like shit.
But I did it. And I supposed that was one thing, at least.
Field Journal — Entry #581 - Classified
Shadebounds are drawn to the macabre like moths to flame. Bones in the dirt, blood in the snow—these are not warnings to us. They’re invitations. We find elegance in decay. Comfort in silence. Love in obsession. Where others see stalking, we see longing too deep to name. To follow, to watch, to want—it’s not a threat.
It’s devotion.
A love letter written in footsteps, in shadows, in breath held just out of sight.
We don’t fear the eyes in the dark.
We fall in love with them.
