Shadows Of Doubt

The carriage rolled through the forest, its wheels groaning under the weight of silence that had settled between its two passengers. The road was uneven, but neither Derek nor Diva seemed to notice the occasional jolt. They sat across from each other, cloaked in the same uneasy quiet that had wrapped around them since leaving the witch’s hut.

Diva turned her face toward the window, her expression unreadable. Shadows from the trees slipped across her features as the moonlight filtered through the canopy above. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, not from the cold—but as if holding herself together.

Derek sat opposite her, a map spread open on his lap, though his eyes rarely moved across it. He was pretending to read, but his mind was elsewhere. Every now and then, he glanced up at Diva—only to quickly look away before their eyes could meet.

Neither spoke of the witch’s warning.

How could they?

That the bond between them might be a lie—manufactured, manipulated, poisoned from the start—was too much to process although they knew that from the start but now, it looks like it's a new word. For Diva, it felt like her very foundation had cracked.

Minutes passed like hours.

Then, without warning, the carriage lurched.

The horses neighed in protest, their hooves scraping against gravel as the driver tried to steady them. Derek instinctively leaned forward, one hand on the carriage wall for balance.

“What was that?” Diva asked, already pulling back the curtain.

Outside, the road stretched empty under the moonlight—except for the shape that lay sprawled across their path.

A crow.

Its wings were twisted at odd angles, neck broken, feathers slick with something dark. Near it, burned into the base of a tree, was a sigil—a crescent moon coiled by a serpent. The bark around it still smoked faintly.

Diva inhaled sharply. “That mark… It’s the same one I saw carved into the wood near the Seer’s hut.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. “It’s a message. Ronan knows we went to her.”

They stared a moment longer before the carriage began moving again, the crow disappearing into the darkness behind them. But the silence inside didn’t return—it transformed into something heavier, more urgent. Neither of them said another word for the rest of the ride, but they weren’t thinking of the road anymore.

They were thinking of who might be waiting for them at home.

---

The mansion loomed ahead as they arrived, its familiar outline bathed in shadow. Yet something felt different.

Diva stepped out first, her boots clicking against the stone path. The air was cool, but it wasn’t the weather that sent a chill down her spine. The estate had always been grand, strong… safe. But now, it felt watchful. Like the walls themselves had eyes.

Servants moved about the entryway quietly, offering polite nods but avoiding extended eye contact. A pair of guards stood at the front, just as they always did, but their stances were stiffer—almost rehearsed.

Inside, the halls were darker than usual. A candle flickered as she passed, its flame trembling before extinguishing on its own. Diva paused, staring at the dying smoke.

Something wasn’t right.

She exchanged a glance with Derek as they reached his study. Once inside, he shut the door and pulled the curtains closed.

“We’re being watched,” he said flatly.

Diva nodded. “The witch was right.”

He stepped forward pulling out a leather-bound journal. “We’re not confronting anyone yet,” he said. “We watch. We listen. We document everything.”

Diva frowned. “And if we find them?”

“Then we act,” he said. “But not before. If we move too soon, we’ll lose our only advantage.”

She hesitated. “I hate pretending.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But right now, we have to. It’s the only way we stay ahead.”

---

That night marked the beginning of the quiet investigation.

Diva began memorizing the guards’ rotations, watching how they interacted with one another—who lingered too long in the halls, who asked questions that seemed too specific. Derek combed through staff schedules and duty logs, comparing handwriting and time stamps, looking for inconsistencies.

Still, the tension between them remained. Sometimes, she caught Derek watching her from across the room, a strange look in his eyes. Sometimes, she avoided looking at him altogether, afraid he might see the fear she couldn’t hide.

She no longer knew what to make of their bond.

Did he still want her gone? Or he now cares for her?

But even with those doubts, she found herself standing outside his door more nights than not, torn between walking in or walking away.

---

A few nights later, Diva passed the kitchen on her way back from a late walk and paused when she heard voices.

Two men.

She stepped closer, careful not to make a sound.

“…can’t keep this up much longer,” one said. His voice was low, strained.

“We don’t have a choice,” another replied. “Just a little longer. The time is near.”

She froze.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and her wolf stirred beneath her skin, ready to act. But she held still. No names. No faces. Just shadows and whispers.

When the voices faded, she slipped away, every step measured, every sense alert.

She found Derek in his study and told him what she heard. He didn’t respond at first—just picked up his journal and began writing.

“They’re preparing to make their move,” he said finally. “We need to be faster.”

---

The days that followed were filled with quiet dread. The mansion felt darker. The servants more cautious. Even the walls seemed colder, like the warmth had been drained from them.

And yet, in the middle of that suffocating tension, there were small moments.

One night, Diva stepped onto the balcony, the moonlight bathing her in silver. She leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the sky.

Behind her, she heard footsteps.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Derek said.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she asked, “Do you ever think about what she said?”

He joined her at the railing. “Every minute.”

“Then why does this still feel real?”

He turned toward her. “Because it is.”

Diva looked at him then, and for the first time since the witch’s words, she allowed herself to believe it.

Maybe it was manipulated.

Maybe it was wrong.

But she felt it—whatever it was—every time she looked at him.

“We have to survive this,” she whispered.

He took her hand. “We will.”

And in the quiet that followed, they stood together under the stars—still unsure of who they could trust, but certain of one thing: they would fight.

Together.