Page 15 of Darkbirch Academy

“All security parameters normal,” responds a disembodied female voice.

Mazrov makes a sound—half sigh, half growl. “Extend scan to residual energy signatures.”

Another hum, higher pitched.

“Trace atmospheric disturbance detected,” the system responds. “Consistent with door opening approximately four minutes ago.”

“And yet no entry logged in the security system,” Mazrov muses. He moves again, footsteps drawing closer to my hiding place.

I press myself further into the shadows, feeling the cool glass of the window against my back. Through a tiny gap in the curtains, I catch a glimpse of him—tall and imposing in his dark-gray armor, his movements bearing the unmistakable precision of military training.

He pauses, those unnaturally bright blue eyes sweeping the room once more. They linger on the curtains for a heartbeat longer than I’d like. Does he know? Is he toying with me?

But instead of ripping the curtains aside, he returns to the desk and begins gathering papers into a folder. “Double security protocols on this wing,” he commands the system.

“Acknowledged,” the system responds.

He moves efficiently, collecting key documents and securing them in what appears to be a warded case. I take mental notes of which papers he prioritizes—the synchronized graph, the dual silhouette diagram, the technical specifications for the chamber.

“Subjects 7 and 12 are scheduled for phase three soon,” he says, apparently dictating notes to the system. “Observation indicates increasing harmonic resonance even when physically separated. The hypothesis appears correct—once initialized, the connection self-strengthens without additional stimulus.”

I commit every word to memory. Whatever experiment they’re conducting, it’s progressing rapidly.

After what feels like hours but must only be minutes, Mazrov completes the task he’s come for. He scans the room one final time, those flame-bright eyes narrowing slightly as they again pass over my hiding place. Then he turns and strides toward the door.

It closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like freedom to my straining ears. Still, I remain motionless for another full minute, counting my heartbeats until I’m certain he’s truly gone.

Only then do I emerge from behind the curtain, my mind racing with implications. The clearbloods are experimenting with some kind of artificial connection between subjects—a forced bond that affects their very essence. And they’ve had success.

I approach the desk once more, quickly photographing the remaining documents with a concealed micro-lens embedded in my bracelet. The technology is our own—darkblood innovation that captures images using shadows rather than light, undetectable to clearblood security systems.

When I’ve gathered all I can, I make my way to the door, listening carefully before easing it open. The corridor remains empty. I slip out, pulling the door locked behind me.

As I navigate back through the restricted wing toward the main academy halls, my mind catalogs everything I’ve learned. The clearbloods are venturing into territory they don’t understand—the fundamental energies that define us. They’re creating connections between subjects that shouldn’t exist, forcing bonds where nature intended boundaries.

What’s their endgame? Weaponization seems the obviousanswer. It always is with clearbloods. They never can resist turning discovery into dominance.

By the time I emerge back into the bright, polished halls of Heathborne’s public face, I’ve composed myself fully into Clara Winters once more.

But beneath that careful mask, my darkblood heart beats with urgency. What I’ve discovered could change everything about this mission—and perhaps the future of the eternal shadow war between our kinds.

I want to call Corvin and tell him everything I’ve found immediately, but communication is only for emergencies. I need to forge ahead to the next step, as fast as possible: eliminating Mazrov. Then I can return to Darkbirch.

The wide corridors feel deserted at this hour, my footsteps echoing against stone walls. I maintain Clara’s careful gait, though my mind races. These experiments had to explain Mazrov’s unnatural abilities.He’s not just their weapon but their successful prototype.

I turn down the east corridor leading to the dormitories but hesitate mid-step. Faint footsteps echo behind me.

I don’t turn immediately. Instead, I pretend to adjust my satchel, using the movement to scan the corridor behind me in my peripheral vision. There—at the far end where the passage curves—is a shadow darker than it should be. Too tall to be a typical Heathborne guard. Even too tall to be Mazrov.

I continue walking slowly and force myself not to look back directly. But as I pass a decorative mirror, I catch a glimpse of the figure. It’s moving with deliberate stealth,keeping pace with me but maintaining distance. The silhouette is massive—taller and broader than any normal person should be. And it’s following me.

A chill runs through me, but my first instinct is to confront, to challenge—Esme Salem doesn’t flee from threats. But Clara Winters would, and Clara Winters would never place herself in unnecessary danger. I adjust my strategy accordingly, continuing my walk with slightly quicker steps.

This is no ordinary patrol guard. And it’s definitely not Mazrov—this figure stands at least a head taller than him. Whoever—whatever it is—slips quickly into the shadows every time I attempt to get a better look.

My pulse quickens as I make a sharp turn down another corridor. The presence follows, its movements unnaturally fluid for something so large. There’s something wrong about the way it moves—too graceful, too precise. The air around me feels suddenly overcharged: intense and… reminiscent of the energy I felt last night.

I’m not hallucinating now, surely?

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