Page 113 of Black Wing and Shadows
“Shit…” another snapped. “Those Historians are some of the weeeeeirdest.”
“Maybe it’s Sorcerers,” a third cut in, bitterness sharpening their tone. “They’ve got the magic for it. That burn on his chest. It looked cursed to me.”
I braced against the stone wall, heart sinking as the words spread, sharp as daggers. Every name thrown, every branch accused, only twisted the room tighter.
“Infantry. Sorcerers. Shifters. Maybe Riders.” Someone laughed harshly. “Gods, maybe it’s one of us in this very room.”
The noise rose all at once—voices overlapping, accusations flying, fear bleeding into anger. Boots scuffed on the mats as cadets squared off, teeth bared.
“For fucks sakes,” I hissed, louder than I meant to. My voice cracked through the noise, pulling a dozen eyes to me. My stomach lurched, but I held my ground.
“We’re turning on each other and whoever is behind this is laughing,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “You think they want us strong? No. Theywant us to be afraid, divided. Keep pointing fingers, and we’ll hand them exactly what they want.”
The room fell into a tense silence. No one answered. But no one argued either. From the far corner, Zane’s eyes met mine. Dark. Fierce. Proud. Although the whispers died down, I knew the damage was done.
Fear had already sunk its claws in.
CHAPTER 39
The indoor stadium classroom was always cold in the mornings, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones while you waited for the professors to begin. I trudged in with the others, still heavy with the ache of yesterday’s training.
I froze completely.
There were already three professors present. Their robes were pushed up at the sleeves, their hands covered with gloves, and their faces bore serious expressions. One knelt in the middle of the aisle, scrubbing vigorously at a dark stain on the stone floor. Another quietly muttered precise words that shimmered faintly before fading into the walls. For a moment, I found it hard to breathe because I recognized those stains, knew what they concealed, and understood who was involved.
My stomach clenched fiercely. The boy I saw sprawled in the courtyard a day earlier was a stranger to me. But this one... I knew him too well. The Rider cadet whose sneer echoed in my mind. The one I had wounded across the Achilles tendon days ago, who limped away cursing my name. Who directed hatred at me? He was no longer here.
Dead.
The professors worked faster, scattering powders and scrubbing away the last traces. By the time the rest of the class filed in, there would be nothing but a faint metallic tang in the air, the kind that would be explained away with a lie. An “accident.” A “disciplinary removal.”
But I knew better.
My breath came shallow, my palms slick as I forced myself to my seat, forcing my face into something unreadable. Around me, cadets whispered nervously, catching the edges of what happened but not daring to name it.
My bond shivered in my chest, unsettled.
Two shifters, two Infantry, and now a Rider. The message was clear. No branch remained safe. I clenched my fists in my lap, my pulse pounding. Whoever this killer was, they had not only left another body behind. They left it here, where all of us would walk in and see what awaited us.
I couldn’t keep my hands still. I laced my fingers together, unclenched them, and clenched them again. Every creak of the old seats made me flinch, and every whisper felt like it was aimed straight at me. Because I had cut his Achilles tendon, everyone remembered it. He swore he would pay me back for it, spat my name like a bitter curse. Now he was dead.
What if they thought I had a hand in this? What if the professors already suspected? The thought gnawed at me, tightening like a noose.
At the front of the room, the professors finally straightened from their scrub work. The floor was clean now, the stain vanished as though it had never been there. But the smell lingered, metallic and sharp, sticking to the back of my throat.
Professor Melamora cleared her throat, her voice carrying over the restless cadets. “Due to recent… incidents, the college will be enacting stricter measures.” Her eyes swept the room, daring anyone to challenge her. “Earlier curfews will be enforced. Chamber inspections will be conducted without notice. We will start by having every wing, every platoon, and every squad conduct morning and evening formations, where every cadet will be accounted for. Morning formation will happen at zero-six hundred, evening formation at eighteen hundred. After evening formation, every cadet will be released to their rooms. The college will be receiving various second lieutenants from outposts to help enforce and monitor the situation.”
A ripple of unease swept through the seating.
Professor Fogg stepped forward, “You will continue your training as scheduled. Fear is a disease, and it will not take root here. You are not children, don’t cower in the shadows.”
“What about winter leave?” A Healer cadet shouted from the middle row.
Professor Pascal turned to face the cadet. "Winter leave will still happen. This year, no cadet will be allowed to stay on the premises unless they are incapacitated or have explicit permission. We have six days before Winter Solstice and seven days before cadets go home for two weeks. Leadership is still trying to determine if we will be having our annual winter celebration.”
The chamber erupted—gasps, whispers, hands clutched over mouths. The thought of losing even that one bright spot sent shockwaves through the cadets.
But I couldn’t join the chorus. My thoughts churned too fast, too dark.
