"Hey, I'm just saying—if they're going to stare, they could at least appreciate the showmanship. I mean, have you seen Carl's backflips?"
Kaia manages a small smile, though her shadows curl closer. "Because acrobatic shadow performances are definitely going to convince the board we're not a threat."
"Exactly! Who could be afraid of a shadow doing jazz hands?"
Behind us, as if on cue, Bob starts demonstrating what appears to be proper courtroom etiquette to the newer shadows.
Complete with jazz hands.
I laugh, but catch the way Kaia's hands tremble slightly as she adjusts the Heart of Eternity at her throat. Malrik watches her with quiet resolve. The way Aspen and Torric automatically position themselves on either side of her, a protective formation we've all fallen into without discussion.
We're joking, but we all know what's coming. Three days before we face the consequences of everything that's happened.
And somewhere out there, Thorne is gathering his forces. Alekir is waiting.
But hey—we've got jazz hands on our side. That's got to count for something.
Right?
Chapter 4
Kaia
I've seen my shadows do a lot of ridiculous things, but watching Bob try to teach Steve how to bow properly might be a new highlight. Or it would be, if we weren't hours away from a meeting that could destroy everything we've built.
"Bob, I swear by all that's holy, if you let Finnick and Carl near those papers again—" I don't finish my threat because the shadows in question are already zooming past my head, trailing what appears to be Malrik's carefully prepared speech. Perfect. Just perfect.
Finnick swoops up toward the ceiling, Carl tumbling after him in what might be an attempt at aerial acrobatics or possibly just pure chaos. Bob, somehow managing to radiate disappointment despite being made of literal darkness, forms into a tall column and snatches the papers back. At least someone's taking this seriously.
"The shadows are just nervous," Lira remarks from her seat by the fire, not looking up from the thick tome of academy regulations in her lap. Her lips twitch slightly as Linda attempts to corral the more enthusiastic shadows into something resembling order. "We all are."
I watch Malrik pace near the window, his silver eyes reflecting the early morning light. The sight of him this unsettled makes my stomach twist. In the three days since our meeting in Lira's office, I've barely seen him sit down. "The board will be looking for any excuse," he says, not for the first time. "Any sign that we're not in control."
"Yes, because nothing says 'in control' like wearing a path in the carpet," Finn quips from his sprawl across a nearby armchair. He's been tossing a glowing orb of chaos magic into the air for the past hour, much to Patricia's visible annoyance. My most meticulous shadow has been arranging and rearranging our notes, adding what appears to be her own commentary in swooping shadow-script along the margins.
"Finn," Malrik starts, his voice tight with tension, but whatever he's about to say is cut off by Steve's dramatic entrance through the wall, trailing what appears to be half the library's worth of scrolls.
"Please tell me those aren't more regulations," I groan, slumping further into my chair. Mouse, curled around my shoulders like a living scarf, chirps what sounds suspiciously like agreement. His weight is comforting, anchoring me as my anxiety threatens to spiral. The Heart of Eternity hums low against my collarbone, like distant thunder beneath my ribs.
"Worse," Seren announces, following Steve through the door like a normal person. Her lavender hair is wild, suggesting she's been up all night researching. "Historical precedent. The board loves that stuff. Also, Carl, if you eat that scroll, I will personally ensure you spend the next week as a very formal square."
Carl, caught in the act of attempting to consume what looks like a particularly ancient piece of parchment, deflates visibly. My shadows have definitely gotten more... personality since Finn started naming them. Finnickpats Carl consolingly with a shadowy tendril before immediately trying to steal the scroll himself, and I have to bite back a laugh despite my nerves.
I'm about to intervene in the scroll-stealing chaos when I feel a gentle touch on my arm. Aspen's icy blue eyes meet mine, concern etched in their depths. "Can we talk for a moment?" he asks softly, nodding towards the adjoining study.
Grateful for the excuse to escape the mounting tension, I nod and follow him. The study is quieter, lit only by the soft glow of enchanted orbs floating near the ceiling. My shadows trail after us, though Bob keeps most of them occupied in the other room with what appears to be military drills for scrolls.
"How are you holding up?" Aspen asks, leaning against the ornate desk. The faint shimmer of his water rune catches the light, reminding me of moonlight on a calm lake.
I open my mouth to say I'm fine, but the words catch in my throat. The lie tastes bitter before it even forms. "I'm terrified," I admit instead, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers find the Heart of Eternity, tracing its familiar curves. "What if we can't convince them? What if they decide I'm too dangerous to keep at the academy?"
Aspen steps closer, his presence steady and reassuring. "They won't," he says with quiet conviction. "You've worked so hard, Kaia. We all have. The board would be fools not to see how much you've grown, how much control you've gained."
His faith in me is almost overwhelming. I wrap my arms around myself, the shadows Bob couldn't keep out pressing in tighter, agitated. They flicker in nervous patterns, reflecting the anxiety I'm trying to keep contained. "But what if it's not enough? What if—"
Before I can spiral further, Aspen closes the distance between us and pulls me into a hug. I stiffen for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, before melting into his embrace. He smells like rain and pine, and for just a moment, I let myself feel safe. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek, his arms solid around me.
When we pull apart, there's something in his eyes that makes my heart race. Something warm and fierce that makes my shadows pulse with answering energy. But before either of us can say anything more, Torric's voice carries from the other room: "Five hours and forty-three minutes," he calls out, still aggressively sharpening his sword. "Not that I'm counting."
