Page 104 of Shadowed Whispers

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine for something I’m unsure I can give. Reassurance, perhaps, or maybe a dismissal of her fears as irrational, but I can offer neither. “Bishop, why would this sigil appear now? What does it mean?”

She decoded a section that speaks about Eredar coming to the human realm when theirs is threatened, and they leave to seek out one who can call to them. That explains why it was at the game.

Did Frankie call to it?

I wish I had answers. Instead, I only have the same gnawing unease that seems to have taken hold of her as well. “I don’t know, Frankie, but it’s no coincidence. It’s here for a reason.”

Her gaze drifts back to the paper, to the red-eyed beast that almost seems alive beneath the strokes of ink. “I feel like it’s watching me,” she confesses, her voice a mere whisper. The chill in the room deepens, as if her words invite the cold to wrap around us, a tangible dread that settles in the air we breathe.

“I’ll keep this safe,” I say, my decision firm. I reach out, gently taking the document from under her fingers, careful not to disrupt the delicate balance we tread between curiosity and fear. “We need to understand more before we can determine what to do next.”

She nods, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield her body from the chill that neither of us can deny. “Yeah, we do.”

We sit in silence, the weight of our discovery settling over us, heavy and oppressive. The sigil feels like a harbinger. For what, I can’t say, but as I lock the document in my desk, I catch Frankie’s eye. There’s resolve there, an acknowledgment of the path we have inadvertently chosen to walk together.

She rises to leave, pausing at the door before she turns to me, her profile etched against the dimming light. “Bishop,” she says, her voice steady despite the shadows in her eyes, “I need to go.”

She doesn’t wait for my response before stepping out into the corridor, leaving me with the echo of her words and the unsettling feeling that the eyes of Eredar are upon us, watching and waiting from the shadows. As the door closes with a soft click, the silence it leaves behind is louder than any words could be, a haunting reminder of the secrets that bind us and the truths yet to be uncovered.

Chapter 36

Frankie

They are real.

All of it.

The whispered legends, the shadows flickering at the edges of my vision—everything is terrifyingly real. These words pound in my head, a relentless echo that refuses to be ignored or silenced.

I rush out of the building, the weight of my scheduled lunch with Dorian pressing down on my shoulders like a physical burden. My heart pounds out a frantic rhythm, syncing with the sun that scorches the campus, heating the pavement beneath my hurried steps.

Sweat beads on my brow, trickling between my breasts. I can’t breathe. The air feels too thick with secrets and sudden revelations. Bishop knows. The thought hammers in my brain. Who else knows? Where am I in this web of hidden truths?

Grinding my teeth, I pivot sharply and head to the library. The structure is an imposing sanctuary of knowledge that now seems like a facade covering something darker. I see Dorian from a distance. He leans casually against the building, his back pressed against the wall and his legs kicked out in a relaxed pose. His gaze is fixed on the bustling courtyard, seemingly lost in thought or perhaps avoidance.

Bile builds in my throat. Does he know too? Am I the fool in a play where everyone else knows their part? Shivers race up and down my spine, a creeping dread that makes my skin crawl as I push myself to move toward him. I want to lash out, to unleash the swirling storm of questions and accusations building inside me, but as I draw nearer, an overwhelming surge of panic threatens to sweep me under.

My approach is swift, almost reckless, but as I near Dorian, the familiar sights of the campus—students lounging on the grass, laughing and chatting, oblivious to the storm raging inside me—feel surreal. It’s as though I’m moving through a different dimension, one where the ordinary and extraordinary clash with silent ferocity.

Dorian finally notices my approach, his expression shifting from contemplative to alert, his posture straightening as he reads the turmoil written on my face. I close the distance between us, each step heavy with the weight of imminent confrontation.

I need answers, but I want to retreat and find a way back to ignorance. I know, however, that the path forward is the only option, through the tangled thicket of lies and revelations. As I stand before Dorian, the sternness in his gaze and the rigidity of his posture remind me painfully of another who once controlled my fate. I’m breathless and on the edge of breaking, bracing myself for how the answer will irrevocably change everything. My voice, when it finally emerges, is a whisper.

“Dorian, do you—” His expression, so reminiscent of Valerie’s commanding sneer, sweeps me away from the library’s quiet, spiraling me back to a dimly lit bar where another figure controlled my life.

Valerie’s voice slices through the haze of my recollections. “You see him?” She swings toward me on the bar stool, her movements sharp and predatory. Her eyes, dead and gray, flicker with malicious excitement as she scans the dimly lit bar, the neon lights casting ghastly shadows over her face. Glasses of club soda sit in front of us—the contents untouched, fizzing softly.

She reaches out, trailing her finger down my arm in a mock caress that sends a shiver of revulsion through me. “Did you hear me?” she asks, her voice a low hiss over the murmur of the crowded bar.

“Yeah, I heard you,” I respond, trying to mask my discomfort with indifference. I sip the club soda, the taste bitter and unappealing on my tongue, but I sip because I’m thirsty, and this is the first time Valerie has allowed me out of the house in almost a year.

Shackled, she has me shackled. There’s nothing I can do but follow her orders. The chip implanted in the middle of my back ensures that. I swear, as soon as I can, I’m digging it out, but Valerie made sure it was placed in a spot I couldn’t reach.

I have no choice. None. Either I follow through or I die.

“He’s a good customer,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Always takes care of my girls.”

Unease simmers in my stomach as my eyes drift across the bar. Hatred pours off me in waves. Suddenly, I can’t swallow the drink. I almost choke on it. The man across the bar has a nice face, too nice—handsome in that daytime soap opera way with all white teeth and charming smiles.

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