Chapter 72
*Jiselle*
The halls weren’t supposed to feel like this.
They weren’t supposed to watch me.
But I swear they did.
Even the light felt different tonight. Dimmer. Like the academy was holding its breath. Like the very stones under my feet remembered blood and betrayal and didn’t want me here.
I walked fast. Too fast. My pulse thudded against my ribs, and every sound behind me–every soft footstep, every breath that wasn’t mine–tightened the knot in my stomach. Something was wrong. My wolf knew it. She stirred uneasily, pacing beneath my skin.
‘Run, she whispered. ‘Shift. Now.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t–not yet. Not until I knew who was following me.
If anyone was following me.
I didn’t go back to Nate’s room. I didn’t go to Eva or Ethan. I just kept walking, deeper into the west wing, past the locked lecture halls and the stairwells I’d never used.
Until the air turned cold.
Until the stone changed.
Until I realized where I was.
The old dueling yard.
I’d heard whispers. Upperclassmen talked about it like a ghost story–how the academy used to host combat trials here before the central courts were built. But it had been sealed off decades ago. Forgotten. Left to rot.
And yet… the door hadn’t been locked.
I pushed it open.
Dust swirled in the air like memory. The yard was wider than I expected. Circular. Enclosed by half–crumbling pillars and broken statues of wolves mid–shift. The ground was cracked stone, stained in places I didn’t want to think about,
Moonlight poured through the shattered ceiling.
And that’s when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Not heavy. Not clumsy. Measured. Deliberate.
I spun.
And out of the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in black. Their face was masked. Their movements were fluid. Controlled. No scent. No sound.
I didn’t have time to ask questions.
They lunged but I dodged. Barely. My body moved before my mind could catch up, instincts flaring. A blade caught the edge of my sleeve and nicked my arm. I stumbled back with teeth bared.
‘You want to run now?‘ my wolf asked sharply.
‘No, I whispered in my head as if I needed to be quiet with her.
I raised my hand, and the power answered.
Not softly. Not gently.
It roared.
A
surge of raw, untamed energy ripped through me, silver and wild. It wasn’t the subtle flicker I’d felt before. This was alive -vibrating through my bones, my veins, my breath. Like my wolf and I were no longer separate. Like something ancient had finally turned its eyes toward me and whispered, Now.
The pulse struck the figure square in the chesthunder.
They flew backward, colliding with a shattered, The masked attacker hit the ground in a heap.
But they didn’t stay down.
They rolled
Successfully unlocked!
dine impact. Stone and dust burst into the air.
Chapter 72
glinting in one hand, the other forming a symbol midair–rune magic.
Shit.
This wasn’t some stray rogue. This wasn’t even a scout.
This was a trained assassin.
And they came for me.
They rushed me again, and we collided like fire and wind. Blade against blade. Power against speed. My dagger met theirs in a scream of steel. Their footwork was perfect. Too perfect. I stumbled once, nearly lost balance, but I forced my body to remember everything Bastain and Nate–hell even Eva and Max had taught me.
We danced a brutal rhythm–twist, strike, block, spark.
Then came the sharp sweep of their leg, faster than I anticipated.
My feet left the ground.
I hit the stone hard, the air ripping from my lungs. My vision blurred. Pain flared across my ribs, but something inside me flared harder.
Power again.
Hotter. Brighter.
It poured from my skin in spirals–lightning–laced runes that streaked across the floor like veins. The stone beneath me cracked. The air buzzed with something sharp and furious. The hair on my arms rose. Then he attacker paused, visibly shaken.
And that was my window.
I surged to my feet, raised my hand again, but they were already gone.
One whispered word. One flick of their wrist. And then–poof.
The shimmer of rune–smoke filled the yard, thick and pungent, swallowing their shape like a curtain falling at the end of a performance.
Gone.
No trace.
Except… a sound. A delicate clink by my foot.
I looked down and saw a pin.
It was small and bronze. It gleamed faintly under the dying glow of my energy. Etched across its surface were delicate lunar sigils I didn’t recognize–sharp crescents, overlapping stars. The mark of something secret. Something organized. I crouched and picked it up, turning it over slowly between my fingers.
It wasn’t dropped by accident.
It was left behind.
A calling card.
A threat.
Or worse…. a test.
I swallowed thickly, my chest still heaving. My body throbbed with bruises I didn’t yet feel. My hand trembled around the pin
I didn’t know what it meant.
But Bastain and Carrow might.
And something told me I was running out of people to trust
I left the yard without a word. My footsteps echoed in the broken stones like a ghost passing through a memory. No one followed
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still being watched.
No footsteps. No whispers.
Just silence
The kind that waits for its next move.
By the time I made it back to the dorm, the sky was pinking with early dawn. The mountain peaks caught the first sliver of sunlight, casting long shadows over the academy grounds.
Everything was still.
Chapter 72
Still pretending to be safe.
I crept inside, footsteps light, senses stretched thin.
Nate’s bed was empty.
I stared at it for a moment, breath caught in my chest. The comforter still held my shape from earlier–rumpled, warm–but the sheets were cold.
I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
I peeled off my torn shirt, wincing at the gash along my shoulder. The scrape on my ribs. My palms. My throat.
My body ached like it had survived something meant to kill.
And maybe it had.
I stood there in the center of the room, breathing. Just breathing. Trying not to fall apart.
Blood smeared the side of my leggings. My knees were scraped raw. I didn’t even remember hitting them. But I was alive.
I made my way to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and peeled off what was left of my top. My fingers froze.
on my
The mark on my chest–the Ethereal mark–was glowing faintly. And so was something else.
My palm.
A faint outline of the same crescent, like it had burned itself into my skin during the fight.
Like it was responding now. To danger. To power. To me.
Then I saw it.
Scrawled across the mirror in ash–not there seconds ago.
Not written.
Burned.
‘Not everyone with power survives the awakening.’
I stood there a long time.
