Unease gnawed at me.
I excused myself as soon as we stepped through campus gates and hurried toward my room.
The boys followed quickly, but my anxiety was climbing too fast, too hard to brush off.
As we turned into Night Wing, I saw them.
Soldiers.
Dressed in pure white, faceless behind mirrored masks, their eyes cold and empty as polished stone.
My steps faltered.
“Maybe you should go,” I whispered. “Kieran, Ash, Dev—seriously. Maybe you should—”
“Not a chance,” Kieran snapped.
“He’s right,” Dev said, already reaching for the blade at his hip. “We’re not leaving you.”
Before I could argue, four soldiers emerged from the corridor ahead, blocking our path. They stepped forward in unison, arms out, forms rigid.
They stopped the boys immediately.
Ash’s fists clenched.
Dev’s knife flashed.
Kieran straightened, radiating danger without lifting a finger.
But it was too late.
I knew exactly what was happening now.
And the dread that had been curling in my stomach finally bloomed into cold, absolute certainty.
I ran.
I shoved past the soldiers, past the boys, sprinting the last few steps to my door.
A familiar pressure slammed into my mind—frantic, panicked, pushing at me with all its strength.
Echo.
She was here.
For a heartbeat, I swore I felt her breath at my ear.
Don’t.
The door swung open.
And there he was.
Blond hair perfectly combed, not a strand out of place.
Skin unmarred, polished, as if sculpted.
Glasses gleaming.
