Page 71 of Shadowed Whispers

Dorian scrutinizes the drawing next to the digital symbols, a spark of realization igniting in his eyes. “That’s it,” he murmurs, both intrigued and concerned. “This isn’t just random data—it’s a ward, a protective spell encoded digitally.”

A spell? Magic doesn’t exist. Does it?

My heart races with the implication. “So the supercomputer is treating them like they are active, not just historical relics.”

“Precisely.” Dorian nods, his voice tinged with urgency. “I need to adapt these symbols into a digital ward. The computer must handle them as protective barriers, not just information.”

“You act as though magic is real,” I blurt out, not sure how he’s going to handle it as I stuff my notebook back in my bag.

His fingers pause over the keyboard, his body freezing. “That’ll be all, Francesca.”

“What?” Is he seriously dismissing me right now?

“Go, Ms. Vale,” he snaps and closes his eyes.

He says nothing more to me. Huffing out a breath, I grab my things, and this time when I go to head out of the lab, I don’t look back.

What the hell was that? Not my problem. At least, it shouldn’t be, but as much as I want to storm out and never look back, something about those symbols—and Dorian’s desperate plea—echoes in my mind, refusing to be ignored. It’s not just about helping Dorian Gray anymore, it’s about unraveling a mystery that might be bigger than both of us. One thing is for sure though…

I’m never helping Dorian Gray again.

Chapter 24

Frankie

My shoes slam against the pavement, my lungs burn in my chest, and my head is thankfully clear for the first time in weeks. The sun just begins to crest over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow that bathes everything in a warm light, and the humidity isn’t as bad, allowing my lungs to burn only from exertion.

It’s early, far earlier than I’m usually awake, but I couldn’t sleep. Reading about the cipher kept me up well past the usual hour I like to fall asleep. I’m running on caffeine and pure stubbornness today—a combination that I’ve normalized, unfortunately.

As I round the back of the island where the field is, the rugby team comes into view, and a knot tightens in my stomach. It’s Leo. I haven’t seen him in days, and even the distant sight of him sends a jolt of nervous excitement through me. Why today? I think, frustration mingling with anticipation. My runs are my escape, my time to be alone with my thoughts. Seeing him now, so unexpectedly, disrupts the careful balance I’ve maintained between my solitude and the world I’m usually part of. I pause, tempted to turn back, yet something about the way he moves, so carefree and focused, anchors me in place.

It’s absurd, feeling disrupted on a college campus known for its early risers, yet here I am.

My thighs burn as I move closer, feeling every bit the voyeur as my gaze immediately seeks out Leo and Matteo among the players. The air is punctuated by shouts, the sounds growing louder as I draw nearer. Suddenly, a loud call slices through the field, and I see Leo charging toward Matteo, who crouches. The ball spirals gracefully through the air, and in a moment that seems choreographed by the gods of sport, Leo steps onto Matteo’s cupped hands and is vaulted skyward.

A gasp escapes me, freezing me in my tracks. My eyes widen, my breath caught in my throat as Leo soars through the air with almost supernatural grace, snatching the ball from its lofty heights. His laughter rings across the field as he lands, Matteo catching him in a seamless motion, their shouts mingling with their laughter.

A buzzer sounds sharply, cutting through the excitement, and the coach’s voice booms, “Hit the showers! Rest up. We have our first scrimmage tonight.” A twist of regret pinches my stomach. I won’t be able to make it, though I never promised I’d be there.

Turning away, I try to jog on, pushing the image of the field and its electrifying energy out of my mind. I crank up the volume on my earbuds, letting the moody music drown out my racing thoughts. The melody swirls around me, a temporary shield against the pull of the past few moments.

Before long, I’m past the field, the burning in my lungs pulling me back to reality. I’m so absorbed in my efforts to outrun everything that I don’t notice the figure beside me until Leo jumps in front, jogging backward with that ridiculous, infectious smile.

Slowing, I pull out my earbuds, my muscles stinging with the effort. “How are you doing that?” I ask breathlessly, more than a little impressed by his effortless backward run.

“It’s my superpower.” He winks, his voice playful. “Coming to the scrimmage?”

It’s the question I dreaded. Shaking my head, I feel a pang of genuine regret, a rare sensation for missing out. “It’s Friday night. I work,” I admit, nibbling on my lip and avoiding his gaze.

Leo’s expression falls into an exaggerated pout, making him look like a disappointed, oversized puppy, but just as quickly, his smile returns, a mischievous glint gleaming in his eyes. “You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

I almost choke on my breath, my steps faltering as I slow to a walk. The words “make it up to me” echo in my head, stirring a whirlpool of memories. Owing someone something always comes with a price, I think, a shadow of old fears creeping over me. I turn to him, trying to mask the sudden tightness in my chest. “Make it up to you?” My voice cracks slightly, betraying my cool exterior.

“Yep.” He pops the P with a cheeky grin, still jogging backward. “I’m thinking a coffee date. You owe me one steaming cup of companionship. Consider it a latte penalty for missing the game!” His playfulness is disarming, and despite my attempts to keep things light, his flirty demeanor stirs something within me that makes the early morning air feel charged with possibility.

As we slow to a stop, the distance between us feels electric, our breaths mingling in the cool air. His gaze lingers on mine, making every nerve in my body hum with an unspoken question. Could this be more than just a missed game?

Leo’s eyes sparkle with a playful challenge. “So, about making it up to me,” he starts, his voice a gentle tease that warms the cool morning air. A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. His lightness feels like a balm, yet it stirs a deep-seated unease within me. Am I ready for this? The question lingers between us.

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