Page 129 of Black Wing and Shadows
I choked out loud, and everyone shifted their eyes to me. My cheeks turned seven shades of red.“Fuck Zane!”
“Sorry.” I dropped my gaze to the table. There wasn't an excuse to throw out that came to my mind.
At the head table, Melamora finally broke her silence, her voice smooth as silk over steel. “Then perhaps, General, we can compromise. Limit the interrogations to cadet leadership alone. If there is rot, it will be most evident in those closest to the command. Spare the first-years until necessity demands otherwise.”
My father stared at me. I felt like he could see right through me. He straightened himself and looked around the room. “First off, this isn’t a negotiation, not a compromise. Every cadet in this roomisin leadership, which is why I ordered this meeting. Furthermore, no one will know that I have used my gift on them, because I amthatgood. I am informing you all. These cadets and anyone who didn’t know just got briefed on classified information. I am reminding you that MCOE 1.1.3 states that any member of the military who shares classified information with anyone who does not have the clearance will be punished by death. This is your warning, in that regard.”
Professor Pascal cleared his throat, as if he were almost afraid. “Clearly, we will not be talking you out of this. How do you want to proceed with this little mind violation?”
My father shot a look at him. “Well, first off, I could have done it, without you knowing, making it truly violating. Secondly, we will do it momentarily. Lastly, anything I may or may not see will not be shared with anyone who doesn’t need to know, unless you, of course, are murdering cadets for fun. After I make sure everyone in this room is honorable, I will discuss the next steps.”
I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes down to the table so my father wouldn’t see the panic rising in me. My cheeks still burned from Zane’s earlier comment, and the weight of my father’s pale gaze remained..
At the front of the room, Brigadier General Scullin shifted impatiently in his seat. “Then let’s get on with it. The longer we sit here debating, the longer the killer remains at large. If the General has the means to find the truth, I say we let him.”
Professor Melamora’s jaw tightened, her voice like polished steel. “You speak as if memories are infallible. They are not. They warp. They twist. They can be weaponized and misinterpreted. Reading them is no less dangerous than ignoring them.”
Pascal added, quieter, “And yet here we are.” His gaze cut toward me for just a fraction of a second, sharp and knowing. “We’ll see if the General is as precise as he claims.”
My father’s voice cut through the room again, unyielding. “Precise enough.” He scanned the table once more, then he leaned back against the table with the poise of a male who already owned the truth. “Does anyone have anything to share before we begin?”
Everyone was silent, lips pursed, staring at him. It’s not like we can argue with him. He was the General of the military after all.
Every muscle in my body wanted to bolt, but Zane’s hand slid across beneath the table, his fingers brushing mine, a grounding weight against the chaos.
“Stay steady,”he whispered in my head.“No walls crack unless we let them.”
“You don’t know my dad. He is powerful.”And if he pulled too hard—if he pushed too deep—every secret I carried could unravel.
Chairs scraped as everyone shifted, stiff with dread, but no one left. My father made it clear that this wasn’t optional. One by one, he moved around the U-shaped table.
He didn’t rely on theatrics. He simply stepped behind a cadet, placed his hand on the crown of their head or along their temple, and closed his eyes. The room held its breath, waiting. The cadet flinched, stiffened, sometimes gasped—but never for long. After a minute or two, my father moved on, his face unreadable and his voice sharp. “Next.”
Each time, he found nothing—no killer, no confession, no guilt. Yet fear kept growing.
By the fourth cadet, sweat beaded on foreheads, knuckles whitened against the table. The brigadier generals who demanded these interrogations sat with uneasy expressions, as if witnessing the process felt far more invasive than they expected.
When he reached Zane, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from trembling.
My father’s hand settled against the side of his head, his pale eyes shutting as the silence grew heavy. Zane’s bond presence flared immediately, sharp and molten, wrapping tight around mine like a shield.
“Stone walls,”he whispered through the bond.“He won’t take more than I give him.”
I felt the pressure immediately—a tug in the bond, like a current trying to pull me under. My chest tightened as panic clawed at me. Zane put up a block, which also shut me out. It felt strange to sense him tugging at me through Zane.
The pressure shifted. It stayed but redirected and forced through paths I couldn’t quite trace. Zane held it steady, offering him something but not everything.
My father lingered longer than he did with anyone else. Abruptly, he lifted his hand. He stayed silent, making a sharp, unreadable expression as his mouth tightened for a moment before he turned to me.
My heart nearly stopped.
When he pressed his palm to my head, the world narrowed. The cold weight of him pushed inside, searching and peeling back layers of thought like pages torn from a book.
I built every wall I could. I pushed everything down—Zane, the letters, the shimmer twisting in my chest, the mutiny. I tried to think of Esme’s wingbeats, saddle straps, chalk lines on leather—anything else, anything ordinary.
He overpowered me. I felt him brush deeper, pressing harder.
Zane was there in the bond, anchoring me, steady as stone.“Focus on me. Just me. Nothing else.”
