Page 106 of Shadowed Whispers

“Not now, Francesca,” he interjects without looking up, his tone dismissive, a sharp contrast to the brief glimpse of camaraderie we shared moments earlier.

The abruptness of his response stings, a harsh reminder of the distance that normally lies between us. It reignites the familiar spark of irritation that has always fueled our interactions, grounding me in our usual dynamic of reluctant allies at best, adversaries at worst.

Ironically, he is giving me exactly what I wanted.

“I think it’s exactly the time,” I counter, refusing to let him sideline my concerns. “Whatever is happening, it’s big, Dorian, and it’s not just academic curiosity anymore—it’s about...” What the hell is it about? Maybe I’m delusional.

He sighs, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine. There’s a flash of something in his eyes before he masks it with his usual indifference. “Francesca, we are here to work, not to theorize about doom and gloom. Focus on the cipher. That’s all we can do right now.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he snaps, the coldness in his voice more biting than the chill of the library’s basement. “You’re letting your imagination run wild. Stick to the facts. Stick to the data.”

I recoil, taken aback by his harshness. It’s not just his words, but the way he says them, as if my fears are trivial and I’m a child lost in fanciful nightmares. Anger simmers within me, mixing with the knot of anxiety that has taken permanent residence in my stomach.

“Fine,” I sneer. “Let’s just pretend everything is perfectly normal. Let’s pretend that every shadow peeling off the wall isn’t filled with red eyes.”

Dorian narrows his eyes, and for a moment, I think he’s going to argue, but instead, he turns back to his notes, effectively ending the conversation. His dismissal feels like a slap, a reminder of our fundamental disconnect. It isn’t just our views on the situation that are at odds—it’s how we view each other.

I force myself to breathe, to focus on the worn pages in front of me, but each word blurs into the next, tainted by frustration and the echoing question of whether Dorian really believes in what he’s saying, or if it’s just another layer of the barriers he’s built around himself.

We work in silence, the only sounds the scratching of our pencils and the distant hum of the air-conditioning. It’s a cold, uncomfortable silence, one that stretches and twists around us like the shadows we both pretend aren’t drawing closer with each passing minute. The chilliness of the room seeps into my bones, mirroring the growing coldness between us.

Every now and then, I steal a glance at him, noticing the way his jaw clenches when he’s deep in thought or the slight frown that creases his brow when he encounters a particularly challenging piece of the puzzle. The dim light from the desk lamp casts deep shadows across his face, accentuating the stern lines of concentration. Despite my irritation, despite our disagreements, I can’t help but admire his focus, his unyielding dedication to the task at hand.

As much as I try to bury it, though, a part of me longs to break through the barriers he puts up to reach the person beneath who must surely feel the same fears and impending darkness that I do. For now, that part remains silent, suppressed beneath layers of pride and a stubborn refusal to show vulnerability.

As the silence stretches between us, thick and fraught with unspoken words, my frustration slowly ebbs, giving way to reluctant introspection. Dorian’s distant demeanor, while infuriating, also intrigues me, stoking a flame I’m disinclined to acknowledge. Despite the barriers he erects, his presence has always commanded my attention, perhaps even more now in his dismissals than if he offered comfort.

His avoidance of my questions, his refusal to engage with my fears, shouldn’t attract me. It should drive me away, but here I am, drawn to the challenge he presents. In his rebuff, I see not just a dismissal, but a test, and in his focus, I find an escape.

As I pack up my notes, my gaze lingers on him. “Goodnight, Dorian,” I say, my voice softer. He nods, not meeting my eyes, and I turn to leave, feeling the weight of the unsaid pressing down on me.

When I step out into the cooler hallways of the library, it’s not the cipher or the shadows that occupy my thoughts—it’s Dorian. As much as I tell myself that it’s his paradox that pulls me in, I can’t deny the budding interest that whispers just beneath the surface, growing stronger with every dismissal and sharp word. It’s an interest laced with danger, with the thrill of the unknown, and I find myself unable to resist the pull. The echo of my footsteps in the empty hall seems to beat like a second heart, a rhythm of attraction and apprehension that I carry with me into the night.

Chapter 37

Frankie

Something is coming. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, churning like stormy waves crashing against the shore. Today is the meeting with Professor Blackwood and Dorian, but I can’t move from my bed, my gaze locked on the storm clouds gathering over the coast.

Tonight is the lunar eclipse, a celestial event that feels like a Damoclean sword hanging over me.

This isn’t just paranoia—it’s a sense of an impending catastrophe that I can’t shake.

I haven’t slept.

I haven’t eaten.

More than anything, I need Leo to show up with a cup of coffee, but he’s missing, and so is Matteo.

Their absence gnaws at me, feeding the anxiety twisting in my gut. Something terrible is about to happen, and I’m powerless to stop it.

Why does their absence bother me so much?

It shouldn’t. It doesn’t.

Fuck, it really does.

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