Chapter Fifteen – Fractures and Feathers

Sierra’s POV

Immediately following their escape from class

The air in the abandoned corridor was thick with dust and ghosts. Sunlight seeped weakly through high, cracked windows, cutting the gloom into thin, jagged lines across the stone floor. Sierra leaned against the wall, pulse still fluttering from too much—too much adrenaline, too much attention, too much Malick. Every breath seemed to echo in the hollow corridor, mingling with the faint scent of old ink, broken spells, and the sharp tang of shadow magic.

His presence next to her was warm and maddening. Even in the dim light, she could feel him—dark curls damp from sparring, shadows clinging to him like living smoke. It made the shadow inside her twitch, alive, as though it recognized him in a way she didn’t fully understand yet.

They hadn’t spoken since slipping away from the dueling hall. Just breath, shared and silent, hanging heavy between them.

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked suddenly, voice low, almost swallowed by the corridor. She stared at the worn stone beneath her boots, twisting her fingers to hide their trembling.

Malick glanced at her, expression unreadable but attentive. “Doing what?”

“Showing up. Defending me. Throwing rugby balls at people’s heads.” She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You barely know me.”

He stepped closer, deliberate, enough to invade the space between her ribs without touching her. The heat from his body brushed hers, making the familiar in her shoulder stir with curiosity and unease. “I know enough,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “I know the way you flinch when people say your name like it’s a curse. I know your shadows try to protect you even when you pretend you don’t need them.”

Her stomach twisted in a way that made her breath hitch. The shadows along her spine coiled tighter, whispering in a language only she could hear—warnings, affirmations, something that felt like longing and danger all at once.

“And I know you’re lying when you say you don’t want me around.”

The words landed like a punch she hadn’t seen coming. Her knees weakened slightly, and she turned to look at him, eyes wide and unguarded for just a fraction of a second. Something cracked open between them—fragile, terrifying, and luminous all at once. Not enough to break, not yet, but enough to glimpse the fire that had always simmered beneath her calm.

“I’m not used to people being nice without a reason…” she admitted softly, barely above a whisper.

Malick’s gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction too long. The shadow pooling at his boots seemed to stretch toward hers, reaching, testing, recognizing. “I’ve got reasons,” he murmured. Dangerous reasons. Beautiful ones.

Her shadow curled and hissed softly, almost as if it was warning her, but her throat bobbed anyway. “We should get back before someone notices.”

“Let them.”

She started moving, heels clicking against the stone, familiar coiling around her arm like a living scarf of smoke. She didn’t see the way he watched her, how his eyes lingered on the sway of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, trying to memorize every detail in case she vanished forever.

Malick’s POV

He let her move first, but his shadow followed hers, stretching along the wall like a silent guardian—or a predator. Every step she took felt like a beat of his own heart, echoing through him. He wanted to say something—say anything—but words were heavy, useless.

Why do I care so much? He thought. He had no right. She wasn’t his, and yet, here she was, leaning against the cold stone, shadows wrapping around her like a cloak, and he felt like he could die if she disappeared from this corridor.

He stepped closer without meaning to, careful not to brush her, careful not to break the fragile rhythm they’d fallen into. But every inch of space between them screamed to be closed. He imagined the faint heat of her breath against his neck, the pull of her shadow curling toward his, electric and insistent.

When she turned her head slightly, catching him in the corner of her gaze, he swallowed hard. That single moment, fleeting as it was, set every nerve in his body on fire.

The Crows’ POV

Elara’s dorm room, Midnight

Candlelight danced across the ceiling, casting jagged shadows like trapped spirits. The air smelled faintly of smoke and ink, mingling with the cold tang of the night.

Elara sat cross-legged in the center of a circle of salt and shadow-ink, combing through a velvet pouch of black feathers. Each feather seemed impossibly dark, absorbing the flickering candlelight rather than reflecting it. Gloria leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression unreadable. Patricia sat on the edge of the bed, painting her nails obsidian, humming softly.

“She’s getting cocky!” Elara muttered, eyes narrow, glinting with frustration.

“You mean Malick’s getting distracted…” Gloria corrected. “She’s in his head.”

Elara’s jaw clenched. “No! She’s clouding it. There’s a difference!”

Patricia smirked without looking up. “So… what? We slap her with detention slips until she cries? I’m bored of mind games.”

“I’m not,” Gloria said, pushing off the wall. “But I want to see what she really is. I want to make her snap.”

“She will.” Elara whispered, lifting a single black feather from the pouch and dipping it into the shadow ink. The liquid hissed, curling upward in tendrils that smelled faintly of iron and smoke.

“She’s already cracking,” Elara said softly, almost to herself. “All we have to do is… push.”

Gloria tilted her head. “Push how?”

Elara’s lips curved into a slow, cruel smile. “She has power. Old power. And we’re going to make sure everyone sees it… when she loses control.”

“And Malick?” Patricia asked finally, glancing up from her nails.

Elara’s expression flickered briefly. “If he gets caught in the fallout… oh well.”

They leaned closer to the circle, shadows pooling around them like dark water. Elara whispered an incantation, her voice low, musical, dangerous:

“Korrvak nesh taloum… grahnak velmuirch. Os’hallonn. Drevuuk.”

The shadow ink twitched, smoke curling against the salt, forming itself slowly into a shape—impossibly detailed, unnervingly alive.

Then it solidified, hollow-eyed and grinning: a raven’s skull, the bones black as obsidian, the eye sockets gleaming with unseen fire.

Patricia leaned back slightly, smirk tugging at her lips. “Beautiful.”

Gloria’s eyes glimmered with a hint of unease. “It’s alive.”

Elara didn’t answer. She only stared, satisfied, her hand hovering above the raven skull, feeling its pulse through the shadows and the ink. In the quiet room, candle flames flickered against walls lined with dark magic, and the three of them waited, patient predators, for the chaos they would unleash.