Chapter Twenty One - Shadows Between Us

Sierra’s POV

The sky was red again—but not the soft, blushing kind. No, this was bruised light. Torn open. Bleeding over the horizon like a wound.

Sierra stood barefoot in a field of black feathers. They moved when she tried to step, sliding under her like liquid, writhing in anticipation. Above her, the sun was a cold, watching eye, stripped of warmth.

And ahead—

Her mother waited.

Long, pale hair whipped around her face in some phantom wind. Sharp features carved from memory now sharpened further, haunted, terrified.

“You’re not ready,” her mother whispered.

Sierra tried to move toward her, but the feathers tugged at her ankles, rooting her in place.

“You mustn’t let it in,” her mother said. “It will wear you like a crown. Twist you until you forget who you are.”

The wind shifted.

The sun darkened.

The feathers parted.

A pit of shadow yawned beneath her—not a hole, but a presence. An abyss.

And it knew her.

A voice slithered into her skull, thick and viscous, like oil through teeth:

“Blood-born. Shadow-wrapped. Come home.”

Sierra screamed. She lunged forward. Her mother vanished.

The shadow rose, suffocating, choking, wrapping around her chest, her throat, her mind.

“Malick!”

She woke gasping.

Sheets tangled. Skin slick with sweat. Pulse thundering in her ears. Hands trembling. And still, the echo of her voice lingered in the room.

I called for him.

Out loud.

“Malick…”

Sierra sat up straight, heart hammering.

“What the hell,” she breathed.

The nightmare faded like smoke in sunlight—but the pressure remained. That hiss of a voice in her bones, the cold knowing—it had not left. And for the first time, she realized the most terrifying thing: she had called for someone. Not just anyone. Him.

I have to tell him.

Before her courage faltered, she threw on the closest thing she could grab—one of Malick’s shirts she’d “borrowed” and never returned, and the academy’s gym shorts, just short enough to make her blush. She tucked the shirt in as best she could—protocol be damned.

Just get to him. Tell him the dream. Nothing else.

Her legs barely touched the floor as she raced down the dorm corridor.

The hallway seemed longer than usual, stretching in warped shadows that flickered with every step. She pressed her hand to the wall for balance, heart hammering so hard she was certain Malick would hear it from wherever he was. Her mind ran over every possible scenario, none of them calm, all of them urgent:

What if he’s not there?

What if he doesn’t believe me?

What if the shadows followed me here?

Her shadow whispered against the floor, curling like smoke, but she ignored it. Focus. Just get to him.

By the time she reached the main hall, Sierra’s lungs were on fire, sweat slicked her back, and her fingers twitched against the hem of Malick’s shirt. Every shadow in the hallway seemed to linger a little too long, stretching toward her. She swallowed hard, trying to slow her racing pulse.

He’ll know.

She almost ran the last stretch. Almost slammed into the stairwell railing. Almost cried with relief when she saw his door.

As she reached his door, her hands were trembling. She hesitated for just a heartbeat, trying to steady her breathing. Then she knocked.

The door swung open.

Malick stood there, messy dark hair falling over his forehead, no shirt beneath the open robe of his uniform, and the grey gym shorts he’d apparently thrown on in a hurry. The shorts fit snugly, emphasizing the lines of him in ways that made her stomach twist and her pulse spike. She caught herself staring for longer than she intended—at the way the shorts hugged him, the angle of his shoulders, the curve of his hip beneath the fabric—before she slammed her eyes back to his face.

Her pulse thrummed like a drum. Her mind screamed

Composure, Sierra!!

But the heat coiling in her belly betrayed her. Just for a second, a reckless thought slipped through, illicit and sharp, like lightning in her chest. Suddenly she forced herself forward, muttering, “I… I had a dream. Something… bad. About the shadows.”

Malick didn’t speak. Just tilted his head, letting her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. His hand hovered near her elbow. Almost—just in case.

Almost the last thread of safety she needed.

Malick’s POV

He hadn’t slept long.

Dreams hadn’t even fully begun to claw at the edges of his mind—the usual ones: old shadows, screams, a woman’s voice that was not Sierra’s—when a knock came. Sharp. Urgent.

He was already upright before her name left her lips.

“Sierra?”

He opened the door—and his pulse flatlined.

She stood there in his shirt, hem brushing her thighs, legs bare except for regulation Ravencliff shorts. Hair wild around her face. One shoe half on. Breathless.

“Can I come in?”

He stepped aside, fast.

“You okay?” he asked, scanning her for injuries, blood, anything out of place.

She nodded, then shook her head. “I… I had a dream. A vision, maybe. My mum. Something horrible.” She sat on the edge of his bed without waiting, hands clasped in her lap, shaking.

Malick sat beside her, close but not touching.

“Tell me everything.”

And she did.

The red sky. The feathers. Her mother’s warning. The abyss. The voice. The suffocation. The name in her throat—

“I couldn’t breathe, Malick. It felt like it wanted me. Like it knew me. And then I—” She cut herself off.

“You what?” he asked gently.

Sierra stared down at her hands. Her voice came out small, fragile.

“I called for you. When I woke up. I said your name.”

Silence.

She turned beet red, eyes wide. “I didn’t—I mean—it was just the dream—I was panicking—it’s not like I—”

Malick touched her wrist. “Hey.”

She stilled.

He leaned in, just enough that his words didn’t have to travel far. Warmth in his voice, grounding.

“I’m here. Okay? I’m here for you.”

Her eyes met his—startled, vulnerable, burning.

He didn’t kiss her hard. Not demanding. Not urgent. Just leaned in, brushed his lips against hers—soft, deliberate, promising.

She kissed him back, just for a second, then pulled away, breath catching.

“I—I need to get dressed,” she stammered, standing too quickly. “Class. We have class. I’ll see you there—”

She was gone in a blur of skin, hair, and fire before he could respond.

Malick sat back on the bed, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

She called for me.

And the voice that had haunted his nights for years—the shadows, the screams, the pain—it hadn’t returned.

Not once.

Not while she was near.

School Corridor

He followed her down the hall, shadows coiling tighter around his limbs, almost reaching for her. Every instinct screamed: Not another second alone. Not another second without knowing she’s safe.

Her words tumbled out, stammered, tripping over themselves, and he listened. Every detail. Every shiver. Every half-whispered fear.

And through it all, he stayed close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to shield. Close enough to let her know: I’m here.

When she finally paused to catch her breath, he let his fingers brush hers—accidentally. Or maybe not.

She didn’t recoil.

And neither did he.

Sierra’s POV

By the time they reached the courtyard, the air had shifted. The sun had climbed higher, but the shadows they left behind clung stubbornly, like secrets they didn’t want to release.

Sierra looked at him. Really looked. Not at the shadows, not at the school, not at anything else. Just him.

Something in the pit of her stomach twisted.

Safe. Safe with him. Always safe.

Her lips parted. “Thank you,” she whispered, almost to herself.

Malick’s shadow swirled at his feet. “For what?” he murmured.

“For being here,” she said.

And in that moment, nothing else existed. Not the nightmares. Not the shadows. Not the blood of their school.

Just him.