Chapter Four – Blood, Sweat & Shadowfire

Sierra’s POV

Gym changing rooms

The changing room stank of sweat, cheap perfume, and hostility. The smell hit her like a wall, thick and unyielding, clawing at her stomach. She kept her head down, tugging off her school shirt and shoving it into her locker, forcing her fingers to ignore the tremor she felt creeping up her spine.

She reached for her athletic tunic—only to find empty metal.

Her heart gave a sharp kick. She dug through the pile of clothes, panic rising with each frantic shove.

Of course. Of course they’d done something.

By the time she finally spotted it crumpled beneath the bench, the whispers had already started.

“Holy shit, is that lace?”

“Didn’t know freaks wore lingerie.”

“Desperate much?”

Sierra clenched her jaw. She always ignored them. Always. But today felt different—the air seemed heavier, thick with expectation and malice. The kind that made it almost impossible to breathe.

When she yanked the dark red tunic over her head, it hugged in all the wrong places, seams biting into her skin like reminders of her own awkwardness. She tugged at the hem, cheeks burning, but the damage was already done.

And then she stepped in: Elara—her personal nightmare in a ponytail—flanked by her two venomous shadows. Gloria, wolf-eyed and sharp-jawed, cracked her knuckles as though she could hear Sierra’s fear and wanted to taste it. Patricia, flawless in her fake pout and glossy smile, mirrored Elara’s every smirk like a cursed reflection in a cracked mirror.

Elara circled her slowly, voice syrupy and lethal. “Well, look at you. That bra’s not regulation. Trying to seduce the rugby team with your pity tits?”

Patricia leaned in, fake concern dripping off her like poison. “Red lace, though? Bold. Very… trauma-core-chic.”

Gloria laughed low and sharp, the kind of sound that made your skin crawl. “Bet it makes her feel powerful. Poor little thing. All dressed up for no one.”

Sierra’s fists clenched at her sides.

Don’t show emotion. Don’t give them the win.

Elara’s head tilted, sugar and venom twisting together. “Maybe she wants the attention. Should we tell Coach?”

Patricia’s smirk widened. “Or stream it? Call it: ‘Shadow Freak in Lace.’”

Gloria moved closer, close enough that her breath brushed Sierra’s ear, sour with mint and malice. “I could tear that off you in one pull.”

And then—the boys came. Two of them, wandering from the neighboring changing room, half-dressed and smirking like predators who’d been handed a free show. One wolf-whistled. “I heard freaks in bed don’t feel pain. Bet she’s a good time.”

The girls didn’t stop him. Patricia’s laugh tinkled like broken wind chimes. Gloria just stared, deliberate, predatory. “She’d probably say thank you.”

Something inside Sierra snapped taut, like the string of a bow pulled too tight. And then—

“That’s enough.”

The room fell silent.

Malick stood at the doorway, arms crossed, rugby shirt pushed up to his elbows, shadow tattoos writhing faintly along his forearms like snakes in slow motion. His eyes locked onto Elara’s, cold and precise, cutting through her bravado.

She blinked, trying to smile through the sudden fear. “M-Malick… We were just teasing. Me and Sierra are friends, aren’t we?” She shot Sierra a warning look—play along or pay the price.

Sierra said nothing.

Malick’s voice dropped, velvet and steel. “You’ve got a funny way of treating your friends. Must be why you don’t have any.”

The boys snickered behind him. Gloria’s sharp gaze lingered on him, fists flexing, while Patricia suddenly seemed smaller, her arms crossing defensively. Elara’s face flushed crimson.

“Piss off, all of you,” he snapped, sharp as a whip crack. “Before you find out how many ribs I can break without leaving a mark.”

The boys scrambled out like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Gloria lingered, a slow, dangerous gaze still fixed on Malick, before finally following. Patricia muttered something acidic, but trailed after her. Elara stayed a second longer, fire in her eyes—but the room knew she wouldn’t dare push.

Sierra swallowed the lump in her throat. “You didn’t have to—”

Malick gave her a sidelong glance, dark amusement hiding beneath the storm in his eyes. “They’ve been poking shadows that don’t belong to them.”

And then he was gone.

School sports field

Later, on the field, magic crackled in the air like tiny lightning storms. The girls were playing a floating-rounders match: bats that hovered in their hands, levitating bases, and balls charged with kinetic energy that could throw you across the pitch if you weren’t careful. The boys tore into their brutal Mage-Rugby game, the ball sparkling with runes and each tackle sending shockwaves that made the grass tremble.

Sierra tried to stay invisible. Again.

But Elara didn’t do subtle. She slinked up behind Sierra, Gloria and Patricia flanking her like vultures circling prey.

“Malick really went white-knight for you, huh?” Elara whispered, teeth hidden behind her sweet smile. “Does he know what you are, or is he just into charity cases?”

Sierra’s eyes stayed fixed forward, though her shadows twitched, sensing her irritation.

“Or maybe,” Patricia added, voice low and insidious, “he’s into freaks. The quiet ones always are.”

Gloria chuckled, dark and low. “He’d get bored once she starts crying.”

Sierra gripped her bat tighter. The shadows at her fingertips whispered, not yet.

Elara leaned closer, sugar-coated venom dripping from her words. “Careful. You start batting your eyes at boys like him, you might not live long enough to regret it.”

Then—THWACK.

The enchanted rugby ball slammed into Elara’s head from across the field. She staggered, fell flat on her ass, shrieking in outrage.

Everyone turned.

Malick stood at the edge of the pitch, hand extended like he’d just finished a perfect throw, a lazy, knowing smile playing on his lips. His voice carried, smooth and dangerous:

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t see you with your head that far up your own ass.”

Half the class erupted in laughter. Elara sputtered, eyes blazing. Gloria moved between her and the field, knuckles flexing like steel traps. Patricia looked ready to collapse into tears, humiliated.

Malick didn’t look back. But as Sierra turned away, fighting the smirk that threatened to surface, she caught the faintest flicker of shadow curling around his fingertips—just for her.

He was watching.

And something told her… he always would be.