CHAPTER 6: SECOND SIGHT

I make it through Professor Winters' class without further incident, though I feel Maddox's eyes on me throughout the lecture. When the bell rings, I gather my things quickly, hoping to slip out before he can approach me.

My next class is across campus—a literature course I normally enjoy—but today I can barely focus on the professor's analysis of pre-war poetry. Something strange is happening to my vision.

At first, I think it's the contact lenses irritating my eyes. A blurriness around the edges, like looking through smudged glass. I blink several times, but instead of clearing, the effect intensifies.

The girl sitting two seats away from me—Andrea, I think her name is—suddenly seems to have a faint glow around her silhouette, a subtle shimmer of gold that pulses with her heartbeat. I rub my eyes, but the aura remains.

By my third class of the day, the effect has spread. Different people have different... signatures, I guess you'd call them. The math professor has a greenish tinge that extends from his fingertips when he writes equations on the board. The quiet boy who always sits in the corner has a silvery quality to his skin that no one else seems to notice.

It took a few hours to understand what I was seeing, but something the journal had said clicks into place: the ability to see what others cannot. My mother's gift from the Lunar Houses. I'm seeing through glamours—perceiving people as they truly are.

Some look entirely human, without any unusual aura or shimmer. Others have subtle tells—a faint glow, an odd coloration, features that seem to shift slightly when viewed from the corner of my eye.

During lunch, I sit alone as usual, but now I'm watching everyone with new awareness. In a campus of roughly three thousand students, I count at least forty with some kind of supernatural signature. More than I would have expected.

And then there's Maddox.

When he enters the cafeteria, he stands out like a beacon of darkness. Unlike the others, whose supernatural nature manifests as light or color, Maddox is surrounded by what looks like living shadow—tendrils of black that twist and curl around him, occasionally extending outward as if tasting the air. His true form seems to exist partially in some other dimension, like he's not fully present in our reality.

Shadowwalker. The name makes perfect sense now.

I don't see anyone else like him. Not one person on campus has a similar darkness. Which leads me to wonder just how rare—and how dangerous—his kind might be.

By the time my classes end for the day, I've become somewhat accustomed to my new perception. I've even learned to control it a little, focusing my attention to either enhance or diminish the effect. It's like a muscle I never knew I had, but now that I'm aware of it, I can flex it intentionally.

I spot Maddox heading toward the athletic fields behind the science building. Instead of avoiding him as I've done all day, I make a decision that's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid: I'm going to confront him.

If Kieran's warning is true, if Maddox can't be trusted, I need to know why. And right now, with my new sight and a campus full of potential witnesses, might be the safest opportunity I'll get.

I follow him at a distance, waiting until he's crossed the field and is approaching the tree line at the edge of campus. There are still plenty of students around—a group playing frisbee, others lounging on the grass studying—but we're far enough away that a conversation won't be overheard.

"Maddox," I call out when I'm about twenty feet behind him.

He stops but doesn't turn around immediately. The shadow tendrils around him go still, then pulse once, like a heartbeat.

"Lena," he says, finally turning to face me. "I was wondering when you'd stop pretending you couldn't see me."

I close the distance between us but maintain what I hope is a safe buffer. "Tell me why you look like that. And why no one else does. And why Kieran doesn't trust you."

His eyebrows shoot up at the mention of Kieran's name. "So you found the journal. And the message. Interesting." He studies me for a moment, head tilted slightly. "Your glamour is almost completely gone now. I can see your eyes through those ridiculous contacts. Silver, like moonlight. Pretty."

"You're avoiding my questions."

"And you're avoiding Professor Winters' advice. I thought he told you to lie low until tonight."

"How did you—"

"I have excellent hearing." His smile is predatory again. "And you still don't quite understand what I am, do you? Despite your new sight."

The shadows around him shift, darkening and expanding slightly. I resist the urge to step back.

"You're a Shadowwalker," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Winters told me. You track people by their... spiritual trace, or something."

"A simplification, but more or less accurate." He takes a step closer. "What else did he tell you about me?"

"That you're working for the Conclave. That you were supposed to monitor me and report when my powers emerged." I watch his expression carefully. "But he also said you might have accepted another contract. From my grandfather."

Maddox laughs, the sound oddly musical despite the darkness that surrounds him. "Winters always was paranoid. No, Lena, I'm not working for Voren Silvercrest. I wouldn't go near that particular piece of work with a ten-foot pole. Your grandfather has a... reputation... even among those of us who predate your kind."

"If not him, then who?"

"Who says I'm working for anyone but myself?" He crosses his arms. "I accepted the Conclave's contract because it was interesting. A prophesied child, hidden in plain sight for years? The potential convergence of two powerful bloodlines? That's not something you see every century."

"So you're what—curious?"

"Let's say I have a vested interest in how your particular story plays out." The shadows around him expand again, almost touching me now. They smell like ozone and something older, earthier. "Which brings us to your uncle Kieran's warning."

"Why doesn't he trust you?"

"Because he knows what I truly am." Maddox's eyes darken until they're completely black, pupil and iris and white all consumed by shadow. "Shadowwalkers don't just track, Lena. We feed."

A cold feeling spreads through my chest. "Feed? On what?"

"Energy. Life force. Magic. Whatever you want to call it." His voice has changed, becoming deeper, resonating on multiple frequencies at once. "We're drawn to power sources. And you, Lena Silvermoon, are becoming quite the beacon."

I take an involuntary step back. "You were hired to protect me, but you're saying you want to... eat me?"

He laughs again, and the shadows recede slightly, his eyes returning to their human appearance. "Not in the way you're thinking. Shadowwalkers can siphon excess energy without harming the source. Think of it as symbiotic. You're generating more power than your body knows how to contain right now—that's why you sent out that pulse yesterday. I could help you channel it, control it."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"A meal." He shrugs. "And entertainment. Your kind's politics are fascinating to watch unfold."

"My kind? As opposed to what?"

"As opposed to beings like me, who existed before your supernatural factions started drawing lines in the sand." He looks over my shoulder, his expression changing to one of mild irritation. "We have company."

I turn to see Professor Winters approaching from across the field, walking quickly in our direction.

"Think about what I've said," Maddox continues, lowering his voice. "Kieran isn't wrong to warn you about trusting me—I'm not your friend, and I do have my own agenda. But I'm not your enemy either. At least, not yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that right now, keeping you alive serves my interests. If that changes..." He lets the sentence hang unfinished as Winters draws nearer.

"The foundry. Midnight," I say quickly. "Will you be there?"

"Oh, I'll be nearby," Maddox replies with a cryptic smile. "But I wouldn't go if I were you."

"Why not?"

"Because Kieran isn't the only one who understands double-crosses." His eyes flick toward Winters, then back to me. "Ask yourself why the Conclave waited until your powers emerged to move you to safety. Why not years ago? Why take the risk at all?"

Before I can respond, Winters calls out to us, his voice carrying across the remaining distance. "Mr. Jensen! Ms. Hargrove! A word, please."

Maddox steps away from me, the shadows around him condensing until they're barely visible. "Think for yourself, Lena," he murmurs. "You're the only one in this game without an agenda."

Then he turns, greets Winters with a casual wave, and walks off in the opposite direction, leaving me standing there with even more questions than before.

Winters reaches me, slightly out of breath. "What did he say to you?"

I consider my response carefully. If Maddox is right, if there's more to the Conclave's interest in me than simple protection, I need to be cautious.

"He said I should be more careful about who I trust," I reply, watching Winters' reaction. "Seems to be a common theme lately."

Winters frowns, looking in the direction Maddox disappeared. "That's rich, coming from him."

"Is it?" I ask. "You're the one who hired him, knowing what he is."

"Sometimes you need a predator to protect you from other predators." He sighs. "The meeting tonight—do you still plan to come?"

The question feels like a test. "Of course," I lie smoothly. "I want answers. I want to understand what's happening to me."

He nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Come alone, and tell no one." He checks his watch. "I need to prepare some things. Remember: midnight, the old foundry on River Street."

"I'll be there," I assure him, maintaining eye contact despite the unease growing in my stomach.

As Winters walks away, I realize something interesting: unlike Maddox with his shadow aura, or the other supernatural beings I've noticed today, Professor Winters has no unusual signature at all. To my new sight, he appears completely, ordinarily human.

Which might be the most suspicious thing of all.