Page 10 of A Touch of Darkness (Chronicles of the Cursed #1)

The sun creeps through the curtains, casting slivers of light across my dorm room. My mind churns in a haze of confusion and unease. The fragments of yesterday’s conversations echo in my head—the pieces that don’t make sense, the pieces that I wish I could ignore but can’t.

I’m not human.

Or, maybe I am? But I have abilities?

It’s all so confusing.

The words cling to me like an anchor, sinking me deeper into a sea of doubt and fear. How is it possible? All my life, I’ve been nothing more than a regular girl, ordinary and unremarkable. That’s not even entirely true, I suppose. I’ve always been the weirdo. The one who can’t stand on her own two feet. The shy, quiet one who only thrives in her sister’s shadow. I always thought I was meant to be part of the background. But now… now everything has changed.

If what they’re telling me is true.

Isabel. Nicole. Rebecca. They all said the same thing—there’s something inside me that I don’t understand. A legacy. A connection to a world I can’t fathom. And then there’s the Solstice Society, that shadowy group with their endless schemes and dark power. They seem to be connected to everything, pulling the strings behind the scenes.

I feel like I’m being jerked in so many different directions. Isabel is calling me to her group, but Rebecca and Nicole are saying they don’t trust her or what she stands for. How can I possibly know, for sure, what the right choice is?

I can’t ignore the pull I felt when they spoke of Professor Lucian Draedon. The way Nicole said, He’s going to be able to give you more information than either of us can . Her words linger in my mind, like a message I can’t escape.

A warning.

But it’s not just that. There’s something else about Lucian Draedon that draws me. The way his presence lingers even when he’s not around, like a shadow in my peripheral vision. I feel it in the pit of my stomach—a strange, hypnotic pull. He’s dangerous. That much I know. His presence feels so much older than he looks, and his aura screams of secrets buried so deep I don’t think anyone could ever pry them out. And yet, despite every instinct screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, I almost want to see him again.

The decision feels almost inevitable.

I need answers. The Solstice Society. My past. My sister, Lara—gone and with no answers about why. I’ll never have peace until I understand all of this. Until I understand me.

And until I get my sister back—and I will get her back.

I stand from the bed, decision made. I’m going to attend one of his classes. I don’t know how I’ll approach him or what I’ll even say, but I’ll figure it out when I get there.

Something pulls me toward the small desk at the far corner of our dorm. I don't know why I do it—I just find myself standing in front of it, my fingers reaching out to the familiar objects scattered across the surface.

I pick up the hairbrush. It’s Lara’s, the one she used every morning without fail, the one I would always steal for myself when she wasn’t looking, just to feel closer to her. It’s a simple thing—nothing ornate or special about it—but in my hands, it feels like a tangible piece of her, something so familiar. I trace the smooth wooden handle with my thumb, the worn grooves where she gripped it, where the pads of her thumbs and fingers once were, and for a brief moment, I’m transported back to when everything was normal. When we were together, before she disappeared.

A tightness rises in my throat, and I can feel the tears starting to sting at the corners of my eyes. My sister is gone, all I have left are these little remnants—these objects, these fleeting memories that seem to slip through my fingers no matter how hard I try to hold onto them.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, but all I can hear is the echo of her laughter, the warmth of her voice calling my name. It’s so painful—this hole inside of me that she used to fill.

With a shaking hand, I place the hairbrush back on the desk. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a betrayal. As though by letting go of this tiny part of her, I’m letting go of her entirely.

But I won’t. I will not rest until I find Lara and bring her home. I can’t hide behind her, like I always have, that’s for certain. I have to figure out who I am now, who I’m supposed to be in this weird new world, so I can get her back.

I stand for a long moment, trying to gather myself. I have to find a way to move forward, to stand on my own and be strong enough to do whatever it is that I need to do. For me. And for Lara. If I allow myself to start feeling too much, I’m going to break down. I have to stop, have to lock my sadness away until I have the answers I need.

I refuse to keep dwelling on things I can’t change, so I decide to lock up and head toward the professor’s classroom before I lose my nerve.

The walk there is almost unbearable. My footsteps echo in my ears, the weight of my uncertainty pressing down with every step. It feels like the world has shifted beneath me. My senses feel… sharper, more attuned to the people around me. I can hear the low hum of conversations from students passing by, see the flicker of movement in the trees as they sway in the wind. The sounds are too loud, the smells too distinct. It’s disorienting, and I want to scream for silence, but I don’t. I can’t.

Focus, Sylvie.

Holy fuck.

Holy fucking fuck.

My mind spins as the words repeat in my head.

Focus, Sylvie.

Only…they aren’t my words. Not my inner voice.

They’re Lara’s.

I swear that was her voice inside my mind, urging me to focus, reaching out to me, but how could that possibly be?

I’m going insane. That is legit the only reasonable explanation.

“Lara?”

I call out to her in my mind, even though I know what I’m doing is impossible. And when I get no answer back, I feel like a complete and total idiot.

Now I’m hearing my missing sister’s voice.

I seriously need to pull myself together.

I remind myself that I don’t have time to be weak. I can’t let the cracks in my reality pull me under. Not now.

When I reach the corridor with all the history rooms, the large, imposing lecture hall looms in front of me. I stand in front of the door, my hand hovering over the handle, my nerves threatening to betray me. It’s not like me to be here. I’ve always been the one who refused to rock the boat, who was content to let Lara take the spotlight. If the roles were reversed, I know she would do anything in her power to find me. But it’s her who is missing. She’s been taken from me, and it’s up to me to figure out how to survive in this world on my own—until I can get her back.

The thought unsettles me. But I push it down, square my shoulders, and open the door.

When I step inside, the first thing I notice is the sheer enormity of the room—vast and echoing, filled with rows of wooden desks that seem to stretch far beyond my reach. When I met Professor Draedon the other night with Mr. Fallon, we were in his small office. This feels like an ocean in comparison. It’s huge—and as uninviting as the professor himself.

The vast space is dimly lit with flickering sconces. The walls are lined with bookshelves, their leather-bound tomes lending the space a sense of history, of age. It feels almost as if I’ve stepped into another era entirely—an echo of something long gone.

And there he is, Professor Lucian Draedon, standing at the front of the room, his back to me. I watch him for a moment. He’s tall, impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that give him a sense of power and authority. His dark hair falls just above his shoulders, sleek and well-kept, contrasting against the unique paleness of his skin. The contradiction between the two makes him appear even more otherworldly, ethereal, like something that doesn't quite belong in this time.

He’s dressed in a long, deep burgundy overcoat that fits him perfectly, clearly tailored to show off his lean frame. It is cold in here. Much colder than the hallway I was just in. His sleeves are rolled back slightly to reveal pale forearms, muscular but elegant, and I can’t help but notice the faint, archaic patterns etched into the skin just above his wrists. His hands, when he moves them to adjust the stack of books, are long-fingered and precise, as though everything he does is deliberate—calculated.

His movements, though subtle, carry a kind of grace that feels unnatural. It’s like watching a hunter move through its territory—smooth, measured, and entirely aware of the space around him. Even the way he stands speaks of an age-old power, one that doesn’t need to announce itself.

Then, without even so much as a glance in my direction, he speaks. “Miss Rosenthal.”

His voice—low, smooth, and almost velvet-like—sends a shiver down my spine. There's an undeniable command to it, a force that pulls at something deep inside me. The moment he says my name, his green eyes lock onto mine, and I feel as if I’ve been struck by lightning. It’s not just the intensity of his gaze—it’s the depth, the history that seems to be hidden in those eyes, a secret I feel both drawn to and repelled by.

His expression remains unreadable, but I swear I see a flicker of something in his gaze—something ancient and knowing—as if he’s not just looking at me, but looking into me, past the surface, into the very depths of my soul. And I don’t like it.

He’s not like the other professors I’ve encountered in my brief time at Blackthorne—there’s an aura of something darker about him, something more distinguished and much more dangerous.

I hesitate, my pulse quickening, and then, with a smooth motion, he turns fully to face me. The air in the room changes as he takes a step closer, his presence filling the space. He doesn’t just walk into a room; he commands it. The faintest scent of something dark and intoxicating follows him, something that lingers in the air even after he’s stopped moving. It’s all I can do to keep myself from breathing it in too deeply.

“Miss Rosenthal,” Professor Draedon repeats, his voice opulent and airy, but there’s something sharp beneath the distinct calm. His eyes seem to pierce through me, reading me in ways I am definitely not okay with. “Did you enroll in my class, or have you come to chat about your sister again?”

I blink, startled out of my stupor. I open my mouth, but the words get lodged in my throat. I’m resigned to physically forcing them out, my voice sounding smaller than I want it to be— meek Sylvie . “I… I need to talk to you. Rebecca Cattell and Nicole Aradia, two second-year students, they said you might know something about the Solstice Society.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. He steps toward me, the air around him crackling with an almost tangible energy. I can’t help but step back, instinctively trying to put some distance between us. But there’s nowhere to go but out of the room and I can’t turn back now.

“I see,” he says, his voice low. “You’ve come seeking answers. How predictable.” His words are laced with something—amusement? Or perhaps something darker. It’s hard to tell.

I feel a spark of irritation, and it catches me off guard. I don’t know why, but something about his dismissal of me, of my need for answers, riles me.

I lift my chin, refusing to shrink back into the shadows like I always have.

“Maybe I don’t want to be treated like a child, sir,” I say, surprising myself. The words come out more forcefully than I expected, and I can feel my pulse quicken. It feels good. Like I’m reclaiming a piece of myself I thought I’d lost.

The professor’s eyes flicker for an instant, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, there’s silence between us. Then he gestures to the nearest chair. “Sit,” he says simply.

I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to be passive, to let him take control of this conversation.

“Sit down, Miss Rosenthal,” he repeats, this time so stern and sharp that I flinch.

I reluctantly take the seat he’s offered as I realize I’m staring like an enamored idiot at his bright white teeth, the way his lips curve up just slightly at the corners, his impeccably flawless skin.

He saunters over and stands directly in front of me, eyes still fixed on me as though he’s trying to read me, decipher me—trying to find out who I really am. His gaze is unsettling, like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know were there.

“The Solstice Society,” Lucian repeats, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “They are not your friends, Miss Rosenthal. They are playing a game you won’t understand until it’s too late. And if you come seeking my advice, the best I can tell you is to stay far, far away from anyone who claims to be part of their society. For your own good.”

I lean forward, my heart pounding in my chest. “They’re interested in me, yes. But why? What do I have to do with their game?”

His lips curl slightly, but there’s no humor in it. “Because you’re not who you think you are. You’re not merely human, Sylvie. You’ve already been told this, yes?” He pauses, watching me for my reaction, and I can’t help but be slightly enamored by the way my name sounds rolling off his tongue. The slight accent that I can’t place only makes it sound…

But how does he know I’ve been told I’m not a human?

How does everyone here know more about me than I do?

“You’re something far more dangerous,” he says, breaking me from my thoughts.

My chest tightens. I want to ask him more, to demand answers, but the words won’t come. He’s right about one thing —I don’t understand any of this. But that’s not going to stop me from trying.

I open my mouth, but before I can speak, he steps closer and my breath catches. The space between us is foreboding and filled with tension, his presence almost suffocating. A sharp, stabbing pain starts behind my eyes. “They’ll come for you,” he says softly, his voice rougher now. “You need to be prepared.”

Prepared. The word rings in my head, and suddenly, I know something deep inside me has shifted. I can’t be the quiet girl who hides behind her sister’s strength anymore. I won’t be the girl who lets things happen to her.

I will fight.

I stand abruptly, surprising both of us, and I have to crane my neck to look him in the eyes. “I am prepared,” I say, my voice steady. Stronger than I’ve ever heard it before, even if I don’t think that’s true.

For a moment, his eyes soften—almost imperceptibly—and I catch a glimpse of something I didn’t expect: regret.

“This isn’t like preparing for an exam. You don’t yet know what you’re dealing with,” he says, his voice low, almost mournful.

I shake my head, because as much as he’s right, I don’t want to face it. Any of it.

“They’ve already started, you know. They aren’t just coming, they’ve already sent someone,” I tell him, although I’m not sure why I’m even letting him in. I feel myself getting lost in his eyes, like they are perfectly hypnotic spheres sucking me in, and then I snap out of it. “They sent someone to my dorm room.”

The professor inhales a visible breath, placing his hands on his hips, as students start trickling in for his next class. The air shifts once again, this time with a looming, dark presence I can’t place.

“Stay for the class. We’ll meet after. You need to tell me everything.”