Page 19 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

Chains of molten gold around my wrists, each link inscribed with words of binding. My twin's face inches from mine, herbreath sweet with stolen power. "I'll take it all, Gwen. Your magic, your birthright, your very name. And you'll thank me for the mercy of letting you exist in my shadow."

"NO!" The scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. These aren't just memories—they're weapons, each one perfectly crafted to flay another layer from my sanity. On repeat. Endless. Merciless.

I slam against invisible walls, fists connecting with barriers that yield like water but hold like steel. The impact reverberates through my bones, but the pain is almost welcome—something real in this nightmare of recollection.

"Let me out!" Another strike. Another. My knuckles split, healing instantly only to split again. "I need to go back. They need me. I need?—"

Them.

The thought crystallizes with startling clarity. Cassius with his careful control and hidden depths. Nikolai—Nikki—with her complicated pride and fierce loyalty. Atticus with his dangerous charm and unexpected protection. Mortimer with his ancient wisdom and gentle guidance. Even Zeke, new but somehow essential.

I care about them.

The realization should be warming. Instead, it brings fresh agony because I'm trapped here while they're—where? What's happening on the surface? Time moves strangely in this prison of consciousness. Minutes or centuries could have passed.

I bite my bottom lip hard enough to flood my mouth with copper. My fangs descend fully, responding to the cocktail of fury and desperation coursing through my veins. The blood doesn't fall—it spreads across my skin in deliberate patterns, forming incantations I don't remember learning.

Black script writhes across my flesh, each symbol pulsing with its own heartbeat. The darkness shifts to crimson as myrage builds, power responding to emotion in ways that should terrify me. Should, but doesn't.

Terror is for those with something left to lose.

"LET ME OUT!" The words carry more than sound—they're edged with magic that makes reality shudder. The invisible walls crack, hairline fractures spreading like infected veins. "LET ME FREE!"

Silence answers. Then?—

A presence behind me. Not arriving but simplybeing, as if it had always stood there, waiting for me to notice.

I spin with vampire speed, hand shooting out to close around a throat that feels both foreign and familiar. My snarls reveal fully extended fangs as I lift the figure, muscles coiled with killing intent.

Then I see the face.

My face. But not.

The masculine version of my features stares back with infuriating calm. Same silver eyes but lacking my current crimson rage. Same bone structure carved into sharper angles. Gabriel—not my assumed identity but something else. Someone else.

He doesn't struggle against my grip. Just arches one perfect eyebrow as if my attempt at violence is mildly amusing but ultimately irrelevant.

"Your friends request to see you on the surface," he says conversationally, as though I'm not actively trying to crush his windpipe. "So I'll let them have their wish. Temporarily, at least."

I release him, stepping back as confusion replaces fury. "Who are you?"

The eyebrow climbs higher. "You know who I am." His head tilts, studying me with ancient eyes in a young face. "Just as you know who you're destined to be. Or at least—" his lips curve in asmile that doesn't reach those silver depths, "—whom your dear sister wished to bury beneath naivety and forsaken wonder."

Sister. The word triggers fresh rage that has me hissing, fangs fully bared. My hand shoots out again, ready to do more than choke—ready to tear, to rend, to?—

"Stop." The command carries weight that freezes my muscles mid-strike. Not compulsion—something deeper. "You need me, or you'll kill everything you love before you snap out of it."

I breathe steam, literal vapor rising from my skin as fire and ice war within my blood. "Is that a threat?"

"An observation." He remains perfectly still, unconcerned by my proximity or obvious homicidal intent. "Go ahead—kill the part of you who rules this realm of internal flames. I die, you won't make it to the gates of the academy."

"WHY NOT?!" The walls shake with my fury. "This is MY realm!"

His smirk is a knife between ribs. "Our realm, sweet sister." The endearment drips with condescension. "Though your hate for Fae is going to kill that pretty, weak Fae girl. The one you currently despise."

My entire body goes rigid. Nikki.

"You should be more forgiving, you know." He examines his nails with affected boredom. "I'm sure her excuse is worth her secrecy."