Page 68 of Guardian of the Cursed Egg
Mina raises her hands, her fingers moving in quick, precise gestures. Her smirk when she turns back to me is fleeting, but it lights a small spark in the gloom. “I told him I’ll be there in a moment. That I’m okay.” She tilts her head, studying me like she can see every thought in my head. “It’s a Shadowblade thing. We can speak with our hands like those who can’t hear do, except our language is different.”
She smiles, her lips quirking in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and kisses me once more. This one is softer, more fleeting, but it lingers all the same. Then, without another word, she turns and steps into the classroom, her boots making a faint tapping sound on the worn stone floor. She takes her seat in the far back corner, where shadows seem to gather around her like a cloak.
I stand there for a moment, watching her. Balor’s gaze flickers to me briefly before settling back on Mina. The air feels heavier now, filled with the unspoken weight of what’s to come. Turning away, I walk back down the hall, my steps echoing in the emptiness. Fear twists in my gut—the fear of the unknown, of what might be waiting for us all.
Maybe, just maybe, if we survive this summer break, I’ll find a way to play cupid. Maybe I can help those two—find something that lasts. For now, though, the uncertainty is a shadow I can’t outrun.
CHAPTER 42
Mina
I feel something coming...a faint, electric sensation that prickles across my skin like static, lifting every single scale of mine, one by one. My nerves hum as if charged with an unseen current, my dragoness bristling beneath the surface. The sterile tang of the science lab doesn’t help; it clings to the back of my throat, metallic and sour, mingling with the faint musk of overworked bodies crammed into too-close quarters.
Science class was horrible this morning—completely unbearable without Cora sitting beside me. The emptiness she leaves feels like a gnawing void, amplifying every creak of a chair, every scrape of a beaker against the counter. My mind is a fractured mess, spinning in three million directions at once. The strongest drive pulls me toward the comforting instinct to dig, to nest, tobuild. It’s primal, clawing, insistent.
The guys were right. This school has little left to teach me that my father hasn’t already hammered into my bones. The air in here reeks of wasted potential, stale ambition. Even the so-called “experiments”are pointless. The outcomes are as predictable as the rising sun—stupid veil walker shit. I go through the motions anyway, my hands moving automatically to correct the errors in the instructions. The faint smell of alcohol from the solution we’re working with burns my nose, sharp and irritating.
Kai, the instructor, seems to have it out for half the class. His clipped voice grates in the background, barking corrections like we’re in a room full of fumbling children. Vaughn and I finish long before anyone else, along with the two Shadowcarve students assigned to our group. We’ve split the work cleanly: Chase adjusts measurements with steady hands, Tejan handles the setup, and Vaughn’s fluid script captures every detail in our notes.
“Can you put a word in with the General for me? I really want to be picked for a patrol route after graduation,” Chase says, not looking up as he carefully adjusts the flame beneath the beaker.
I shake my head; the motion dislodging a few stray strands of hair from my braid. They stick to my neck, damp with the suffocating heat radiating from the ancient overhead lights. “I’ll tell you again what I’ve said for the last three classes,” I reply, my voice tinged with exasperation. “I’m not getting in the middle of Abraxis’s decisions. He’s very particular about how he forms his teams.”
Chase looks up, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement. “How do you figure?”
I smirk, tapping my fingers on the edge of the counter. The cool metal grounds me, just barely. “You’ve got the hardest assignment of all,” I say, my voice low, teasing.
His brow furrows, his confusion palpable in the way his hands still mid-motion. “What do you mean?”
“You’re babysitting me,” I say, tilting my head and letting my gaze drop meaningfully to the medallion hanging against his chest—the same one all my assigned guards wear. “Without making it obvious, of course. That’s the real challenge.”
Chase’s jaw tightens, his eyes darting to Vaughn for confirmation. “Seriously? Damn it,” he mutters, his voice thick with disbelief. “Vaughn, you knew too?”
“Sadly, yes,” Vaughn replies, his voice laced with dry amusement as he leans over to press a kiss against my cheek. His lips are warm, a brief comfort against the growing tension in my chest. A smile tugs at my lips despite myself.
“You’re both way too stiff to pull this off,” Vaughn adds, grinning as he straightens. “The real tip-off? Two third-years from Shadowcarve suddenly showing up in a second-year class with us. Subtle, right?”
Chase groans, Tejan’s face splitting into a rare smirk as he glances between the three of us. The heavy, oppressive hum of the lab fades for a moment, replaced by the faint rustle of papers and the muted laughter spilling from another group. But the tension remains, thrumming beneath the surface like a coiled spring, waiting to snap.
Class thankfully ends soon after three other experiments explode into balls of flames, the acrid stench of burning chemicals clinging to the air. Ours, by comparison, is tame, merely shifting colors depending on how we tilt the beaker. The subtle glimmer of iridescent liquid is almost hypnotic, like the surface of an oil slick under a harsh light. As we clean up our station, the faint warmth of the beaker lingers on my fingertips.
I say goodbye to Chase and Tejan, their voices blending into the cacophony of post-class chatter. Vaughn and I head toward our art class, the corridor dimly lit, the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead grating against my nerves.
“Uncle Nigel asked if we can have dinner with him and the clan soon,” Vaughn mentions, his tone casual as I adjust the cursed egg carrier pressing uncomfortably against my ribs. Its leathery surface shifts slightly, almost like it’s alive, the sensation sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
“With everything that’s happening, I don’t want to bring trouble to the heart of your clan,” I reply, sighing as we make the turn toward the cherry blossom garden. The faint, sweet scent of blossoms reaches us even before the first trees come into view, their delicate petals fluttering to the ground in a gentle breeze.
“I didn’t think about that. My clan is small as it is.” Vaughn lowers his eyes, the shadows under them more pronounced. “Maybe we can do a picnic with him in the gardens?” he offers, his voice soft. I nod along, the tension in my chest easing just a little.
“Sounds perfect,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice even as the pit of dread grows heavier in my gut. The air feels charged, as if a storm is brewing, though the sky remains painfully clear. Something big is coming, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t force a vision to break through the fog clouding my mind.
The cherry blossom garden unfolds before us, its vibrant colors muted in the soft light of late afternoon. Nigel’s easels are already set up, their wooden frames weathered and sturdy. Vaughn and I head to our usual spot in the far back, the quietest corner, where the scent of blossoms mingles with the earthy aroma of damp soil.
Ziggy manifests suddenly, his eerie presence sending a subtle chill through the air as he hands me a drink and snack sticks. “Boss man sends his snuggles,” he says with a playful smirk, the green of his eyes seeming to glow unnaturally in the soft light.
“Yeah, well, he owes me. He left before I got up this morning,” I pout, the salty crunch of the snack stick snapping satisfyingly between my teeth. I catch the flicker of something in Ziggy’s gaze—an emotion I can’t quite place—and it lingers longer than it should.
“Leander has been on nightmare duty, so it’s been difficult for everyone to spend time with you,” Vaughn supplies, his tone almost apologetic. I glance at Ziggy, lowering my head in thought.
