Chapter Sixteen – The Pull of Shadows

Sierra’s POV

Sierra didn’t know what to do with herself.

After everything with Malick—the shirt under her blazer, the hallway brush of their hands, the almost-touch that left sparks in its wake—she felt like she was walking around in borrowed skin. Every step felt foreign, every breath too loud in her own ears. Her shadows twitched nervously around her shoulders, restless, aware, and unnervingly attuned to the pulse of the boy whose presence had become impossible to ignore.

She tried to act normal. Tried to be casual when she stepped into the hallway five minutes earlier than usual just to “coincidentally” bump into him again. Not that she planned to. Obviously.

Of course he was waiting.

Leaning against the wall like he belonged there, arms crossed, lips twitching when he saw her approach, Malick looked effortless and infuriating. “You always walk like you’re being chased,” he said softly, voice low enough that it felt private, intimate.

“I usually am,” she muttered, brushing past him—and felt the ghost of his fingers graze hers as he fell into step beside her. Just a brush, but enough to send a current through her veins.

She wanted to pull away. She wanted to lean in. She wanted to do everything and nothing all at once. Instead, she asked, voice steadier than she felt, “Where is everyone today?”

Malick blinked, thrown. “Everyone?”

She hesitated. “The Crows. Elara. Gloria. Patricia. Haven’t seen them all day.”

Something flickered behind his eyes—sharp, calculating, and just a little unnerved. “Maybe they’re busy being horrible somewhere else for a change.”

It should’ve been a joke.

It wasn’t.

In Class

Sierra couldn’t focus.

Every flick of her pen was a cover for stolen glances. Every laugh Malick gave the teacher felt like a private gift, a tether between them in the middle of dull lectures and flickering candlelight. And gods, the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching—it made her shiver. Her shadow stirred at her shoulder, coiling and uncoiling like a living thing, curious, protective, and impatient.

But the absence of the Crows tugged at her gut. It wasn’t peace. Not even close. It was the moment before a scream, the silence before a storm. Her instincts screamed at her, her magic prickling under her skin like pins of electricity.

She felt the pull of him, like a weight in her chest. His shadow, just out of sight, stretched toward her subtly, brushing against the edge of hers as if trying to merge. She flushed at the sensation, warmth rising across her neck and chest, and her fingers twitched involuntarily.

She couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him.

Malick’s POV

He was losing his damn mind.

Sitting two rows behind her, he could feel her in ways that made no sense. Red lace. Soft curves hinted beneath the uniform. The way she’d looked at him that morning—the hesitation, the flicker between desire and fear—gnawed at him. He shouldn’t want her like this. Not in the middle of a lecture on shadow familiars. Not when everyone was around, when their fates were tangled in school politics and dangerous magic.

But he did. Gods, he did.

He imagined them pressed together in a quiet corner of the library, shadows curling around them, whispers of magic and desire brushing across bare skin. He imagined her lips, her sighs, the tiny gasp when his hands traced the familiar lines beneath her shirt.

“Malick…”

His breath caught. The voice hadn’t come from the room. Not from her lips.

It had come from inside his head.

He blinked hard, eyes snapping to her. She stiffened, shoulders rigid, fingers gripping her quill like it might anchor her to reality. Slowly, cautiously, she turned her head just enough for him to see her face.

She was glowing red. Ears pink. Eyes wide. And when her gaze briefly met his—

That look.

Like she’d seen something. Like she knew something.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just let himself look at her. Really look.

Low-lidded eyes, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Not smug. Not cruel. Hungry. Insatiable.

And then she snapped forward again, staring at her page with a concentration that set the air between them on fire. He leaned back slowly, letting the shadow at the edge of his vision curl tighter, listening. Alive. Watching. Protective.

He could’ve sworn he heard her voice again, inside his head. A whisper, soft, warm, impossibly familiar. Impossible.

…but wasn’t it?

Later That Night

Sierra sat by the window in her dorm room, knees drawn up to her chest, shadows pooling across the walls like liquid smoke. Outside, the quad was empty. No crows. No Elara, no Gloria, no Patricia. Just silence. Even the wind seemed hesitant, like it was afraid to stir the darkened corners of the academy.

Her magic felt alert. Tense. Coiled like a spring wound too tight. She could sense the echo of Malick’s presence from the morning, the way the shadows near him had danced toward hers, playful and insistent. The feeling lingered, a pull she couldn’t name, a thread that tied them together even when they were apart.

It made her chest ache.

She pressed her hand to the window frame, shadows brushing her skin as though trying to communicate, to warn, to comfort. The Crows’ absence was deliberate. It wasn’t coincidence. Something was moving beneath the surface, waiting, watching. And she knew, somewhere deep down, that it would not be gentle.

Her shadow whispered in her mother’s voice, a hiss of words she barely recognized: be ready. Be careful. Be hers.

Sierra exhaled slowly, letting her eyes drift over the quad, over the empty pathways where danger could be hiding. Her heartbeat steadied, but only just. She wasn’t afraid. Not exactly. Fear would have been simpler.

This was anticipation.

She was ready.

And she wasn’t going anywhere.

Me to tackle that next?