I whip my head toward the doorway.Kael stands there, cloak unfastened, silver eyes piercing the light.For a moment he says nothing, his gaze travelling from me to the walls.
His expression is inhumanely still, but his eyes speak volumes.They widen for a fraction before he forcibly narrows them back into his normal, scrutinising position.
Something flutters in my chest.The rational part of my mind screams that his opinion doesn’t matter, but the pit in my stomach tells a different story.
I clear my throat, forcing the sensations to pass.“No knock?”
Pulling his gaze away from the drawings, he glares at me, eyes boring into my soul with that familiar, predatory weight.“I don’t knock for prisoners.”His tone is flat, bored.
The manacles clink as my hands fall, my back straightening as I meet his gaze without flinching.
“So, this is what you needed to draw?”He waves a hand toward the wall with feigned casualness.
“What else did you expect?You gave me a stylus and nothing to draw on.”A tremor slips into my voice.Traitor.
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but not a sneer.“I didn’t say you could turn your cell into a shrine.’
Shrine.The word hooks under my ribs.
He moves to the nearest wall, gloved fingers tracing the faint outline of the crescent.“What does it all mean?”
“You tell me,” I say.“You’re the one who's been exposed tomy kindbefore.”
“I have.”He doesn’t look away from the wall.“But none have been like you.”
“Like me?”I press.“And what exactly does that mean?”
Silence stretches.His stare is calculating, assessing, as if he’s searching for the line that divides me from all the others.
I shrug, wanting nothing more than to avoid knowing how many ‘others’ there were.The lamplight catches his spectacles as his head tilts, studying me for answers I don’t have.“You don’t know what you’ve drawn, do you?”
“Do you?”I fire back.
Something flickers in his eyes—a glint of steel.But he doesn’t respond, leaving the question to hang heavy between us.
“Tomorrow you meet with the High Commander,” he says.“I suggest you get some rest and refrain from marking the walls further.I’d hate for you to scare away the maids.”
He turns to leave.A gloved hand rests on the heavy wood as he glances back, a smirk pulling at his mouth before he vanishes through the doorway.
I stare at the walls again.The woman’s smudged hair gleams in the growing light.The shadows at my feet lean toward her, as if they remember.
For a heartbeat, I could have sworn she was smiling back.
19
KAEL
Asoft hiss seals her inside with her ghosts.
I linger at the doorway, unable to move.A gnawing sensation eats at my mind—relentless, invasive.I wipe my face, allowing the smooth leather of my gloves to grant me a moment of reprieve against my skin.
The drawings are darker, more intense than I’d imagined.Fractured, manic lines forming a coherent pattern: a recurring crescent, a woman’s shadowed eyes—all pulling at a truth I had buried.It’s a beautiful, terrible mosaic of memory, and its familiarity hits me like a cold shock.
Years of studying the shadows have left my mind swarming with references I can’t quite place; distorted images and text blurring at the seams.I massage my temples, trying to force the thoughts into order.But it’s useless.
My jaw tightens.I unhook my glasses to rub the throbbing space between my eyes before settling them back into place.I need to regain my composure before reporting to Riven.
I start down the corridor, reaching into my source to feel the flames of Solan’s will flicker within.It’s a habit born of the Hollow—where my reserves ran too low and nearly cost me my life.Something I’m not willing to put to chance again.
