Page 70 of Shadowed Whispers

His words are meant to be a warning, but they only anchor my feet more firmly to the spot. Why isn’t it safe? What is he trying to protect us from? The mystery of what he’s dealing with wraps around my curiosity, making it impossible to just walk away. The look in his eyes tells me he’s burdened by whatever secrets he’s holding, and despite his stern directive, a part of me wants to cross the room and say, It’s okay, you can tell me, but I stay silent.

“So…” I draw the word out, breaking our staring contest.

“Go to your dorm, Frankie.” He dismisses me by turning back to the computer. Bending over a chair, he inputs a few commands then stands up, one arm crossed over his chest while the other is bent. He keeps running a finger across his top lip while his eyes remain completely focused on the screen.

I hate to say I’m intrigued, but I am. Usually, he’s angry at the world, but right now, he’s angry at the screen, which keeps flickering with images of sigils I’ve never seen before.

“You’re staring at me,” he mutters, still looking at the screen.

Irritated at getting drawn into this due to my curiosity, I push off the chair and head over to him. “I’m curious.”

“And this is out of your depth.” He dismisses me again by bending over the chair and issuing a few more prompts.

“Try me.”

“Go away, Ms. Vale.”

Back to Ms. Vale, I see. “Fine.” I reach down and grab my backpack, knowing when I’m not wanted somewhere.

“Tell me, how are you with ancient text?” he asks as I near the door.

“Well…” I swing around, staring at him. He looks tired, with deep circles under his eyes that weren’t there earlier. “I know a little.” Mostly due to my fascination with ancient puzzles.

It’s kind of like code before computers ever existed, so of course I’m naturally drawn to it.

He pauses then motions me closer with a reluctant tilt of his head. I hesitate, but curiosity wins out, and I approach, setting my backpack down again. As I near him, the flickering images on the screen catch my eye—symbols that feel both ancient and unnaturally powerful.

I can almost feel my shadows vibrate with their own curiosity.

“Alright,” Dorian begins, his voice low, barely above the hum of the computer’s cooling fans. “There’s something about these sigils... They aren’t just old, they are potent, charged with a sort of... energy I can’t fully explain.” He glances at me, assessing my reaction. The air around us feels electric, as if the very atmosphere is responding to the power of the symbols displayed on the screen.

I just hum in acknowledgment and lean against the table that sits in the middle of the room, running my eyes over the symbols that pop and flicker on the screen.

“These aren’t just random designs. They are connected to something much older and far more dangerous than your typical academic study,” Dorian continues. His eyes shift back to the screen, watching as the symbols pulse. “They are part of a cipher—a key, I believe, that could unlock... well, let’s just say some doors are better left unopened.”

“But why are you involved with this?” I ask, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. “Aren’t you an art major?”

Dorian sighs, his posture slumping slightly as if the weight of the entire situation rests solely on his shoulders. “Because it isn’t just academic for me,” he admits. “It’s personal. These sigils... They might hold a clue to a cu—a secret.”

Alright, he isn’t telling me the whole story. I raise a brow, staying silent.

He looks away, frustrated, then back at me. “I can’t give you all the details—it’s too dangerous, and frankly, it’s a burden I’d rather not share, but your knowledge of ancient texts might be helpful. Just... be careful. This isn’t a game, Frankie.” His stern voice is back in play.

His warning sends a shiver down my spine. Part of me wants to run, to leave this all behind, but another part is drawn even deeper into the mystery. First Bishop and the cipher, and now Dorian with another puzzle. It’s like they suddenly discovered my weakness and can’t help but exploit it—and I’m about to fall right into the trap.

“What do you need from me, Dorian?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

“For now, just help me decipher these sigils. See if anything looks familiar, or if you can make any connections to texts you’ve studied,” he instructs, moving aside to give me a better view of the screen.

As I lean in, the symbols seem to dance before my eyes, a cryptic puzzle that beckons with both danger and promise. Dorian watches closely, his presence a steady force beside me. Despite the risks, I know we’re about to step into something profound, and there’s no turning back now.

I look closer at the flickering screen, a jumble of intricate lines and curves. Something about the pattern seems familiar, and I dig deep into my memory.

“Hold on,” I say, realization dawning slowly. “I’ve seen this pattern before.”

Rummaging through my bag, I pull out a notebook filled with scribbled notes and sketches from various lectures and museum visits. I flip through the pages feverishly until I find what I’m looking for—a detailed drawing of an ancient stone tablet I’d sketched during a field trip to a museum exhibit on pre-Celtic tribes last semester.

“Look at this,” I urge, holding the notebook beside the screen for Dorian to see. The hand-drawn symbols in my notes nearly mirror those glowing ominously on the monitor. “These were part of a ritual used for warding off evil. The museum curator explained they were believed to protect sacred grounds from dark forces.”

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