Page 24 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Yet within that cold darkness, I find myself warmer than I've ever been.

I'm aware now that I'm experiencing this memory as a child – small and vulnerable in ways that make the creature's protective presence even more striking. This isn't how the stories go. Duskwalkers are meant to be harbingers of death, not guardians of lost children.

But as those shadows hold me closer, as that skull tilts down to study my tear-stained face, I feel nothing but security.

Safety.

Home.

My eyes drift closed as I lean into the impossible embrace.

"Thank you," I whisper, and the words feel both like memory and present truth.

The crystal in my hands gives one final pulse before settling into its glass form, capturing within its depths a perfect reflection of the creature's skull.

A reminder, perhaps, that sometimes the things we're taught to fear might be the very things meant to save us.

In this moment between memory and dream, past and present, I understand something profound: loneliness doesn't have to be forever.

Even in the darkest void, warmth can find us.

Even if it comes wrapped in shadows and crowned with death's own face.

Tears slide down my cheeks as consciousness returns, though I can't remember why I'm crying, the aching sadness remains.

The dream that felt so vivid moments ago slips away like water through my fingers, leaving only an echo of emotion – loneliness mixed with an inexplicable sense of comfort.

"Ugh..." I groan, trying to force my heavy eyelids to stay open. My entire body feels like it's been dragged through all nine circles of Hell, with an extra lap around Purgatory for good measure.

The urge to slip back into oblivion is almost overwhelming.

Just five more minutes...

Then memory crashes back like a tidal wave.

The infiltration. The Artifacts Chamber. Landing in a naked vampire prince's bedroom. Getting tied up. Biting a Duskwalker?—

"Oh shit!"

I bolt upright, nearly falling as I scramble toward the nearest window. Sunlight streams through ornate stained glass, painting the floor in jewel-toned patterns.

Sunlight. Which means...

I'm not dead.

But that's not the only surprise.

I look down at myself, mouth falling open as I take in the oversized white t-shirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. More importantly, I take in the distinctly feminine legs beneath it.I press my hands against my chest, feeling the familiar curves there.

I'm me again.

Just to be absolutely certain, I grab the hem of the shirt and lift it, needing visual confirmation that everything is back where it should be?—

"You can conduct your personal inventory later," a deep voice drawls from the corner. "Preferably when you're not in enemy territory."

The shriek that escapes my throat probably wakes half the academy. I spin toward the voice, heart pounding, to find I'm not alone in what appears to be a luxurious bedroom.

Cassius leans against the wall in a way that should look casual but somehow manages to radiate predatory grace. The morning light casts half his face in shadow, but what I can see...

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