CHAPTER 5: MASQUERADE

Morning arrives after a restless night spent with my mother's journal, my mind overwhelmed by revelations about my heritage and the dangers surrounding me. Despite everything, I decide not to run. Not yet. I need answers, and Professor Winters seems like my best chance to get them.

I prepare for the day with calculated precision. In my bathroom, I take out the blue contact lenses I'd bought for a costume party I never attended and carefully place them over my increasingly silver-flecked eyes. The transformation is immediate—gone is any trace of the supernatural, replaced by startling blue that bears no resemblance to either my natural brown or emerging silver.

Next comes scent. I work tropical-scented hair oil through every strand, the overpowering coconut and mango nearly making me gag. For good measure, I add a liberal spritz of perfume—a sixteenth birthday gift from my state-appointed guardian that I'd never used. Was she part of this conspiracy too? Another watcher I never recognized?

I examine my reflection. The girl staring back looks nothing like the Lena Hargrove who sat invisibly in the back row, and nothing like Lena Silvermoon, daughter of supernatural royalty. Perfect.

Instead of slinking to my usual spot in the back of Winters' classroom, I arrive early and claim a seat in the front row. The room is empty, giving me time to arrange my features into a mask of casual indifference.

When Professor Winters finally arrives, he nods politely in my direction, greeting me as a stranger. Then he blinks and looks again, more carefully this time.

"What did you do to your scent, Lena?" His nose scrunches in obvious discomfort. "Not only that, I didn't even realize it was you until I was really looking and hard!"

I simply raise my eyebrows and tilt my head, waiting. His reaction confirms my suspicions—he can smell differences, sense changes. He's one of them. One of us.

He raises one brow back at me until understanding dawns and the other rises to match.

"Who approached you after me? Maddox?" His voice drops to a near-whisper. "I should've known..."

"Interesting that you'd jump to that conclusion," I say coolly, keeping my voice low. "Especially since you're the one who sent him to my apartment."

Winters glances at the door, then back to me. "We don't have much time before the other students arrive. What exactly did he tell you?"

"Enough," I respond, though it's not entirely true. "Enough to know that everything I thought about my life is a lie."

His expression softens. "Not everything, Lena. Your parents loved you. That was real."

"Was it?" I can't keep the bitterness from my voice. "From what I've read, I was more of a political statement than a daughter. The fulfillment of some prophecy. A genetic experiment."

"Is that what he told you?" Winters looks genuinely alarmed.

"Not him. The journal. The parts that only show up in moonlight."

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You've seen the lunar ink. Already? That's... unexpected. The glamours really are failing faster than we anticipated."

"Who's 'we,' exactly?" I ask. "The journal mentioned something called the Conclave. It said you're part of it. That you've been watching me."

Winters runs a hand through his graying hair. "Yes. The Conclave is a coalition of both human and supernatural beings who believe coexistence is possible—necessary, even. Your parents were founding members. After they died, a few of us took it upon ourselves to ensure your safety."

"By lying to me my entire life?"

"By protecting you," he corrects gently. "You were too young to understand, too young to control your abilities. If either side had found you—"

"Either side," I repeat. "The Sentinels or the Purists."

He nods, impressed despite himself. "You've learned a lot in a short time."

"Not enough," I counter. "The journal mentioned my grandfather—Voren Silvercrest. It said he was the one who came for me when I was twelve. That my parents died protecting me from him, not rescuing me from random kidnappers."

Winters closes his eyes briefly, pain etching lines around his mouth. "Yes. Voren leads the Purist faction among the supernatural community. When he discovered what his son had done—married a hybrid, fathered a child of mixed bloodlines—he saw it as the ultimate betrayal. His own son diluting the royal Silvercrest line."

"And now the 'glamours' are failing," I say. "Whatever was hiding me is breaking down."

"Yes, and faster than we expected. That display yesterday—what you did to Maddox—it sent out a pulse that any sensitive being within miles would have felt."

I feel a chill. "You mean I exposed myself."

"I'm afraid so."

"But I sent him packing," I finish. "Literally, it seems."

A ghost of a smile touches Winters' lips. "Indeed. The voice of command. Your father's gift, undiluted despite your mixed heritage. Perhaps even strengthened by it."

"The journal had a message from someone named Kieran," I say, watching Winters' reaction carefully. "He claimed to be my father's brother—my uncle. He specifically warned me not to trust Maddox. Said he isn't what he appears to be."

Winters' smile vanishes, replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Kieran wrote in the journal? Recently?"

I nod. "The last entry. It wasn't my mother's handwriting."

He glances at the door again, lowering his voice even further. "Kieran is indeed your father's brother. He's been... absent... for some time. If he's resurfaced and felt the need to warn you about Maddox specifically, that's troubling."

"Why? What is Maddox really?"

Winters hesitates. "Maddox Jensen is not his real name. His kind are known as Shadowwalkers—ancient beings with unique tracking abilities. They can follow a person's spiritual trace, what some might call an aura. Distance, disguises, even powerful glamours can't hide someone from a Shadowwalker once they've locked onto their essence."

"And that's why he found me so easily," I murmur.

"Yes. The Conclave hired him to monitor you, to alert us if your powers began to emerge." Winters looks troubled. "But Shadowwalkers are notoriously... flexible... with their loyalties. They follow their own code, one that predates most supernatural factions. If Kieran warns against trusting him, it could mean Maddox has accepted another contract. Possibly from your grandfather."

"And my mother's gift? The lunar connection?"

"That's still emerging, I think. The mark, the ability to see the lunar ink—those are just the beginning. From what I understand, her line carried powerful abilities tied to the moon's cycles. Heightened perception, foresight, the ability to move unseen in darkness."

The sound of voices in the hallway makes us both tense.

"Tonight," Winters says quickly. "Meet me at the old foundry on River Street at midnight. We'll get you somewhere safe."

"Why should I trust you?" I ask, even though I'm already half-convinced.

"You shouldn't trust anyone completely right now," he admits. "But I was your parents' friend. I swore to protect you."

The first students begin filtering into the classroom. In a normal tone, he asks, "Did you have a question about the assignment, Miss...?"

"Hargrove," I supply, playing along. "And no, just checking if there are any reading materials I should prepare for today's lecture."

"Just what's on the syllabus," he says smoothly, but his eyes communicate more: Be careful. Be ready.

I settle back in my seat, uncomfortably aware of how exposed I feel at the front of the class. My disguise worked initially on Winters, but how long will it fool others? How many "sensitives" felt my power surge yesterday? How many are looking for me now?

As the classroom fills, I scan each face with new suspicion. Any one of them could be something other than human. Any one of them could be hunting me.

The door opens again, and Maddox walks in. His eyes sweep the room, passing over me without a flicker of recognition before settling into a seat on the opposite side.

So the disguise works on him too. Interesting.

But then, just as Professor Winters begins his lecture, Maddox's head turns slightly. His nostrils flare. His gaze drifts back to me, more focused now, more intent.

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face—not friendly, not reassuring, but knowing. Predatory.

He mouths two words that only I can see: Nice try.

And I realize that no amount of perfume or colored contacts will keep me hidden for long. Not from a Shadowwalker whose very purpose is to track beings like me.

Tonight. The foundry. Midnight.

Until then, I just have to survive the day without attracting any more attention. Without sending out any more pulses of power that might lead my enemies straight to me.

I sink lower in my seat, wishing I'd chosen the back row after all.