Page 101 of Shadowed Whispers

Leo’s statement hangs between us, charged and heavy with an unspoken message. I stare at him, trying to decipher his meaning, trying to understand why his past, his fears—or lack thereof—seem so vital. His eyes hold mine, steady and unwavering, as if anchoring me in the tumult of my own roiling thoughts.

“Frankie,” he says softly, “you’re not alone here. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re afraid of... It isn’t just you. You can open up to me.”

I take a deep breath, the sea air filling my lungs, mingling with the scent of damp earth and the distant tang of salt. Part of me wants to spill everything, to share the burdens that have been piling up inside me since I arrived at Shadow Locke University, but another part holds back, wary of exposing too much, too soon. I made that mistake in the past, and I won’t make it again.

“Why are you telling me this, Leo?” My voice is barely above a whisper, as fragile as the mist that begins to gather around our feet.

“Because I see you,” he replies, his voice soft. “You’re always looking over your shoulder, always on edge. It’s like you’re waiting for something bad to happen, and I think... I think you see things. Things others don’t or can’t.”

I blink, taken aback by his insight. It’s true. I see the shadows, the sigils, and the subtle movements that no one else seems to notice. How does he know?

Leo takes a step closer, his presence reassuring yet intimidating. “Frankie, this island, this school—it’s not normal, but neither are we. We’re part of something bigger, something older than any of us can understand. You aren’t alone.”

His words echo in my head, a mantra that seeps into the crevices of my solitude. You aren’t alone. It’s a concept that feels foreign yet desperately desired. I look up at him, seeing the earnestness in his gaze, and something shifts within me. Trust, tentative and fragile, begins to form.

All I can do is nod and look away. I understand what he’s saying, but it isn’t that easy, at least not for me.

We start walking toward the dorms, our steps naturally synchronizing. As we walk, I feel the weight of the island’s secrets pressing down on us, but alongside it, there’s a new feeling—a sense of partnership and shared understanding.

When we reach the tower, Leo stops and turns to me. “Hey, Frankie?”

“Yeah?” I look up at him, caught in his gaze.

“Thanks for opening up to me. I know it’s not easy for you.” He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. His touch is light, but it sends warmth through me.

“It’s getting easier,” I admit, allowing myself a small smile. “Thanks to you.”

He grins then glances up at the sky where the sun hides behind clouds. “I can’t wait for you to understand,” he whispers to himself, more to the wind than to me.

I’m suddenly determined to figure out the mystery of Leo, this island, and my own place within it. All of it feels like a puzzle I’m compelled to solve, each piece more intriguing than the last.

Chapter 35

Bishop

She’s waking up…

The words flash on my phone screen from an unknown number, but it’s unmistakably connected to one of the people lingering around Frankie lately. Urgency knots my stomach—this has to be about Frankie, my firefly, stirring from her slumber.

Nerves flip over and over in my stomach as I pocket my phone and step out of the dorms for instructors and into the courtyard. The air is crisp, each breath a visible puff in the chilly morning. Fall showed up with a vengeance as the semester bleeds deeper into the year. Leaves, painted in fiery shades of orange and red, crunch underfoot as I make my way across the cobblestone path. One thing I’ve learned about the northeast is that the winters show up early, and they are brutal.

Flipping the collar on my tweed jacket, I pull the end of my scarf snug against my neck, creating a shield against the cold that bites through the fabric. I quicken my steps, partly to ward off the chill, and partly due to anxiety as my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I greet a few students with a nod and a tight smile, the familiar faces providing a brief distraction from the unease twisting inside me. I pull my phone out, seeing my mom’s pale face on the screen. Clearing my throat, I answer because I know the consequences if I don’t—she won’t call again. Oh no, she would show up in my classroom, claiming I need an audit.

I love my mom, not just for the stability she provided after years in foster care, but for her relentless dedication to our people. As a dean at one of the esteemed shadow universities—colleges dedicated to safeguarding our kind—she’s been at the forefront of efforts to locate and protect lost shadow shifters. These efforts are critical now more than ever. Our numbers are dwindling, a decline that threatens the very fabric of our realm. This has had dire consequences, including our diminished ability to shift forms in the human realm, a skill once taken for granted among us.

I’m thankful she found me, thankful she chose to adopt me, but the woman is hard, choosing our fate instead of allowing nature to take its course. With shadow shifters becoming endangered, and women even more so, she made it her mission to form perfect packs.

I haven’t told her about Tori yet.

As I swipe to answer the phone, my stomach tightens into knots. My footsteps echo heavily against the stone as I tread the leaf-covered path, the sound a somber drumbeat to my troubled thoughts. “Good morning, Mom. How are you?”

“Bishop,” comes her soft voice. I’m not fooled. No one is fooled. She’s a hard woman, making important decisions to keep us safe. That means she isn’t always popular. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

No, but there is no way I’m about to tell her that. “Of course,” I lie smoothly, my voice steady despite the tremor I feel.

She hums as though she doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t believe me either.

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