Chapter Twenty Two – Familiar Shadows

Sierra’s POV

She was late.

The mystical bell hadn’t rung yet—but the runes along the hallway sconces were already pulsing amber, ticking down like a magical countdown. One more pulse and she’d be locked out.

Sierra didn’t even try to blend in. She sprinted through the last archway, shoulder braced, boots skidding slightly on polished stone. The door closed behind her with a slow, enchanted thud.

“Made it.”

She exhaled, relief rushing through her… until her eyes landed on the scene in front of her.

Malick was already in his seat—surrounded.

Elara draped herself over the desk next to him, the picture of careless elegance, lazily twirling a quill between her fingers. Patricia leaned forward on the other side, whispering something with a coy smile. Gloria sat back, quiet, her gaze tracking Malick like she was memorizing him—the rise and fall of his chest, the subtle flex of his fingers.

Sierra’s gut twisted.

The air felt heavier, loaded with a charged energy she recognized too well. The Crows weren’t just back—they were watching, and the way they were doing it? Cruel, calculated, deliberate.

Elara let her gaze flicker to Malick, lips twitching with amusement. “Hmm… I see she’s finally realized where her place is,” she murmured. Soft, almost a whisper, but meant for him.

Patricia leaned closer, tilting her head just enough so Sierra could see the shimmer of shadow-laced ink curling from her fingers as she traced Malick’s papers, murmuring to herself. “Poor boy… distracted by little Crowhurst again,” she said lightly, voice honeyed but sharp as glass.

Gloria didn’t speak, but her eyes glinted with quiet mischief. She tapped her boot in slow, uneven rhythms—five taps, pause, five taps, pause—syncing to the faintly vibrating magic of the chalk runes Sierra had left behind the day before. It was subtle, almost invisible, but deliberate. Malick noticed it immediately.

Malick’s jaw tightened. He didn’t rise, didn’t snap, just let the shadows around him flicker in irritation. His dark eyes swept over the three of them, narrowing. “You’ve got your claws out early,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough only Sierra could hear.

Elara smirked, leaning closer to whisper, just barely audible: “Still playing the protector, I see. How sweet. Afraid she might step out of line without you?”

Malick’s hands clenched into fists, but he remained seated, voice low and dangerous: “Back off. She’s not a toy for you to play with.”

Patricia laughed softly, a sound like tinkling glass. “Oh, we’re not playing. We’re testing. Seeing what she’ll do when left to herself—and what you do when she’s in trouble.”

Sierra’s stomach knotted. The Crows were deliberately pushing him in plain sight, baiting him. They were toying with both of them at once, like predators and prey rolled into one.

Malick’s eyes flicked to hers, dark and sharp. He muttered a low, almost private growl: “Focus. Ignore them.”

But the Crows weren’t done.

Elara’s finger tapped the edge of Malick’s parchment, trailing in a mock-casual way. “Imagine if she really lost control… That would be something worth watching, don’t you think?” Her eyes glimmered as she said it, not even disguising the cruelty.

“Not happening on my watch,” Malick snapped, shadow flaring slightly around his sleeves like a warning. He leaned in just enough so his voice could reach Sierra: “See? These are the types you warned me about.”

Sierra clenched her jaw, fists tightening on the edge of her desk. Every ounce of her wanted to stand, to confront them, to step in—but she forced herself still. To move prematurely was to play into their hands.

Gloria leaned forward suddenly, smirk wide, whispering to Patricia: “Watch him squirm. He cares too much. Isn’t that cute?”

Patricia tilted the compact mirror so that Sierra could faintly see her own reflection—shadowed, tense, aware. Then she whispered just barely: “Don’t worry, darling. She’s ours to push… and he’s just the guard dog.”

Sierra’s stomach flipped. Her pulse raced. She hated feeling small, trapped, observed. And yet—every glance Malick threw her way reminded her she wasn’t completely alone.

Malick straightened imperceptibly, jaw set, and muttered under his breath: “They’ll regret underestimating her. And you’ll see it, but they won’t like it.”

Elara’s lips quirked, and the faintest sound—a smothered laugh—slipped from her. “We’ll see, Thorne,” she whispered. “We’ll see.”

Professor Maiven cleared his throat. “Miss Crowhurst, front and center, please.”

Sierra’s heart lurched. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she could feel the familiar coil of shadow stir beneath her skin, responding to the surge of emotion she was barely keeping in check. Her anger boiled hot, sharp as steel, and jealousy stung like acid. Malick, so calm, so indifferent to the Crows’ provocations—he hadn’t even reached for her. And the way they leaned in, whispered, smiled… it was like they were poking at some raw nerve inside her, daring her to lose control.

She rose slowly, deliberately, forcing her hands to stay at her sides, but the power thrummed beneath her palms. Each heartbeat echoed in the room like a drum. She could feel the shadowlings in the corners of her vision shifting, curling, stretching toward the heat of her emotion.

Her breath came faster, shallow, and every step toward the front of the classroom made her awareness of Malick’s presence sharper. She could feel his eyes tracking her, but it only fueled her frustration. He wasn’t intervening—not yet—and the Crows were grinning like predators. That flash of jealousy made her hands tremble. Her shadows sensed it. They knew it, and they responded.

By the time she reached the circle, her fingers were glowing faintly with the faint shimmer of her magic, reactive to her rising ire. Every whisper, every glance from Elara and Patricia sliced through her composure. Every flick of Gloria’s boot tapped against the floor like a reminder that Malick wasn’t hers to command—and Sierra’s shadow twitched, hungry, eager, almost impatient to lash out.

Her chest heaved, pulse racing. She could feel the runes beneath her feet pulse in sympathy—or perhaps in warning. The power in her veins was no longer calm, obedient. It was electric, jagged. She hated them all at once, and that hate was spilling into her magic. The chalk lines of the circle seemed to quiver, responding to her surge of emotions. The shadows at the edges of the runes shivered like they were tasting the air for blood, for fear, for dominance.

Sierra clenched her fists, fingers grazing the chalk. She whispered the trigger phrase, her voice tight, sharp. A flicker of silver sparked at her fingertips—but it was wilder than usual. The shadows responded instantly, snaking higher, twisting faster than she expected. Her anger, her jealousy, her protectiveness over Malick—it all fed the spell, amplifying it beyond the controlled parameters she’d intended.

The temperature dropped. The hairs on her arms rose. Her pulse hammered in her ears. The edges of the circle darkened to black, curling upward like smoke. It wrapped around her ankles, teasing, testing, alive with a sense of anticipation. She could feel Malick’s gaze—dark, steady, protective—but it was like a tether she couldn’t reach, and that made the shadow surge even more, feeding off the tension between desire, fear, and anger.

Sierra’s teeth ground together as she forced herself to maintain focus. Every second the Crows lingered, every glance and smirk from them, added fuel to the spell she barely had under control. She could feel the magic humming in the air, sensing the danger, the threat, the vulnerability. Her stomach twisted, not from fear, but from raw, untempered emotion.

The room felt too small, charged with the hum of her energy. She could hear the faintest crackle, the whisper of power in the corners, responding to the heat of her heartbeat, the sting of envy she refused to let show outwardly.

Then, just as the shadows began to curl and pulse more aggressively, Elara leaned slightly forward, whispering, “Well. That’s new.”

The words sliced through the charged air, and Sierra’s magic recoiled slightly—not out of obedience, but out of acknowledgment that her emotions had made the summoning wilder, more potent, than intended. A flash of fear mingled with pride surged through her: she had felt the raw edge of her own power for the first time in front of Malick, in front of everyone.

Patricia’s hand brushed a rune etched in the floor, whispering words that made the shadows tremble faintly. “Curious little Crowhurst. Does she know what she’s awakening?”

Gloria tapped her foot—five, pause, five, pause—aligning with the pulse of the magic that wrapped Sierra. Her smile widened as if she already knew the answer.

Sierra swallowed hard, letting the magic dissipate before it surged too far. The shadows obeyed… for now.

She stepped back from the circle, chest tight, and returned to her seat. Malick’s eyes followed her, dark and protective, silently warning the Crows to stay away.

The rest of the lesson passed in a haze. Professor Maiven called another student to the front, but Sierra barely registered the words. The pulse of her summoned shadow still hummed faintly, echoing in her chest.

When the final rune-chime rang, chairs scraped back, voices rose again, and motion returned to the classroom.

The Crows left together, a shadowed flock dissolving into the corridor. Gloria glanced back once, a flicker of a smile that promised they’d all return to play their games later.

Sierra pressed her hands to her knees, the tension in her chest refusing to release. The world felt heavier, stranger, more dangerous. And she knew, deep in her bones, this was far from over.