The Weight of Night

Silas:

The world is quieter after midnight, but never quiet enough. I have spent all day silently watching Isadora after her episode in the hall. I lie in the rafters of the old tower, where the stone keeps the day’s warmth and the shadows speak in tongues only I can hear. They slither along the walls, whispering in voices I’ve known since birth—fragments of the dead, echoes of the dying, secrets no one should hold. I don’t fight them anymore. I am Grim. I am their conduit. Their curse.

Protect her, the dark insists.

Claim her.

Lose her.

Last night I failed all three.

I watched Isadora break, watched her tremble and weep while I remained only a shade among shadows. Every instinct screamed to cross the hall, to rip them away from her, to gather her against my chest until the shaking stopped. But I am the thing that lives in nightmares. To touch her when she already trembled with fear—what comfort could more shadows give?

The whispers never let me forget. They coil through my skull now, accusing. Coward. Sentinel... Lover.

I shut my eyes. And still I see her.

When she finally slept, I slipped into her dreams as I always do. Not to invade—never that—but to stand guard. Her dreamscape is a cathedral of flame and night, always shifting, always a breath from breaking. I kept the worst of the specters from reaching her. I let the softer shadows lull her until dawn. It is the closest I come to peace.

The next day crawls. I haunt the periphery of her classes, a wraith pressed to stone walls while sunlight filters through leaded glass. She moves like a fragile star, drawing the gaze of every creature in this cursed academy—Rhett’s feral focus, Kai’s restless curiosity, Lucian’s hunger sharpened to a blade. And me, the unseen. The one who can never step fully into her light.

By dusk, the air thickens with a coming storm. The quad smells of rain and old magic as students scatter toward their dorms. I move along the shadowed colonnade, my presence hidden from mortal sight, until I see her.

Isadora.

Books clutched to her chest, hair ink-dark against the dimming sky. Her shoulders sag with exhaustion. Yet even tired, she glows—a quiet defiance, a heartbeat that sings to every part of me that still tries to be human.

I drop from the archway and let the darkness peel back just enough for her to see me.

She startles, then stills. “Silas.”

Her voice is soft, but it lands like a bell in my chest. “You shouldn’t walk alone after dark,” I say. My words are more gravel than sound.

A wry tilt of her lips. “I thought that was your specialty, always being a breath away. I can feel you, you know...”

“Being watched is not the same as being safe.” I step closer, shadows trailing me like a cloak. The lantern light along the path flickers and dims. “May I walk you to your room?”

She hesitates, then nods. We fall into step, her shoulder a breath from mine. The air between us hums with something I can’t name.

I study her as we move through the empty halls. Fine tremors ripple across her fingers, a fatigue deeper than lack of sleep. “The dreams still come,” I say, not a question.

She glances up, startled. “How do you know?”

“I hear them.” More truth than I intend. “The walls speak. The shadows carry what they touch.”

Her eyes darken, but she doesn’t flinch. “Then you know how…wrong they feel.”

“Yes.” I stop outside her door. The corridor is a throat of stone and silence. “That’s why I came. You need training.”

Her brow arches. “Training?”

“Shadow-craft.” I let a ribbon of darkness unfurl from my palm—smoke made tangible, a living thread that curls around her wrist before fading. “You have the gift, whether you admit it or not. I feel it in you, the same thing I am made of. It's what calls me to you. You can push them back. Or you can let them drown you.”

She stares at the place where the shadow touched her skin, as if it left a mark. “And you’ll teach me?”

“If you’ll have me.” My voice roughens. “I won’t watch you suffer while I stand idle again.”

The whispers surge in agreement. Take her. Keep her. Save her.

Her breath catches. I feel it as if it were my own. “Why me?”

Because you are the only light the dark can bear. Because I would burn every phantom in hell before I let them touch you. I swallow the words. “Because you’re stronger than you think,” is all I allow.

She steps closer, close enough that I can see the tiny tremor of her pulse. “When do we start?”

The corridor bends around us like a held breath. I lower my head until the scent of her—storm-soaked lavender, warm skin—threads through me like a spell. “Now.”

I lead her through the hidden arches beneath the northern wing, a place where moonlight never quite reaches. The stones here remember death; the air tastes of iron and rain. Perfect.

“First,” I say, “breathe.”

She closes her eyes. The shadows lean in, curious.

“Feel the dark without fear. Let it move through you.”

Her lashes flutter. “It’s cold.”

“It’s alive. Listen.” I let my own power rise, the murmur of a thousand departed souls swelling until the walls vibrate. “They’re only voices. You choose which to heed.”

She shivers but stands firm. “I hear…whispers.”

“Good. Now—reach.”

Her hand stretches into the gloom. The nearest shadow coils toward her like a tame serpent, brushing her fingertips. She gasps, but doesn’t pull away. The connection thrums, a low, resonant chord that finds an answering note in my chest.

“That’s it,” I murmur. “Command it. Shape it.”

The darkness gathers, obedient. It wraps her wrist, a cuff of living night. For a heartbeat it looks like it belongs there.

Her eyes fly open, glowing faintly with the reflection of my own midnight. “Silas…”

“You’re doing it.” My voice is a rasp of pride and something far more dangerous. “You’re stronger than you know.”

The shadow pulses once, then melts back into the floor. She sways, catching herself on my arm.

“Easy.” I steady her, letting the cold of me seep into her heat. The contact is a shock, a tether. For one reckless second I let myself imagine what it would be to keep her like this—our heartbeats a counterpoint of dark and light.

She looks up, eyes wide. “It feels…like falling.”

“It is.” I can’t stop the truth. “And flying.”

The whispers surge again, triumphant. She is ours. Yours.

I force them down. “Enough for tonight.” I step back though every cell protests. “Too much and the dark will take more than you’re ready to give.”

Her breathing slows. “Will it always want more?”

“Yes,” I say, because lies would be crueler. “But you can make it yours before it makes you its own.”

We walk back in silence. Outside her door she pauses, studying me with that unguarded gaze that strips me to bone. “Thank you, Silas.”

My name in her mouth is a benediction. “Rest,” I manage. “I’ll be near. I promise, Isadora.”

I stay until I hear the lock click and the soft exhale of her lamp. Only then do I melt into the wall of night, the shadows closing around me like a vow.

Protect her. Claim her. Lose her.

The whispers will never stop. But for now, she sleeps—and I keep watch.