Page 20 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Three (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #3)
The Observer's Choice
~GAbrIEL~
T hose scorching golden eyes widen, and for the first time in centuries of borrowed existence, I witness true fear mixed with genuine regret in a living being's gaze.
Not the performed emotions I've observed through my sister's eyes—those calculated displays of vulnerability designed to manipulate or survive.
This is raw. Unfiltered.
The kind of honesty that only comes when someone realizes they've made a terrible mistake milliseconds too late to correct it.
It's difficult to distinguish my reaction.
Centuries of magic flow through my soul—inherited, stolen, earned through surviving what should have killed us both. That ancient power wars with something smaller, quieter. Something that dares to carry a hint of human emotion, whispering about mercy in this moment of crystallized choice.
The world slows around us.
Not metaphorically—literally. Each particle of ash floating through the infernal air suspends mid-drift.
The bubble of lava below her falling form freezes mid-burst, captured in a moment of violent potential.
Her hair—that golden cascade that marks her as everything this realm despises—fans outward in a corona of arrested motion.
Her hand shoots out instinctively, fingers grasping for anchor that doesn't exist.
And there it is. The answer I needed.
Does she truly wish to perish by her own hand?
No.
The reaching speaks louder than any words. The body's desperate attempt to survive even as the mind had chosen surrender. She wants to live—she simply doesn't know how to anymore.
I understand that feeling with intimacy that makes my chest constrict.
I've always been the silent observer. Even before the merging, when we were three separate children playing in shadow-meadows, I watched.
Elena with her desperate need for acknowledgment.
Gwenivere with her easy assumption that love was renewable resource.
And me, cataloging every micro-expression, every tell, every sign of the storm that would eventually tear us apart.
Watching from afar became my nature. First by choice—someone needed to see the patterns others missed. Then by force, when Elena's jealousy wove the spell that should have killed us both but instead created something unprecedented.
One body. Two souls. An abomination that shouldn't exist but does.
I remember the moment of merging with clarity that time can't erode.
The searing pain as our essences were forced together, oil and water trying to become one liquid.
Elena's laughter echoing through dimensions as she claimed what she thought was her birthright.
The throne accepting her even as it burned her from within, corrupted power eating away at whatever humanity she'd retained.
And then— silence .
I woke in a cage that wasn't made of bars but of bone and breath. My sister's body became my prison, her consciousness the walls I couldn't break. For years— decades —I could only watch through eyes that were mine but not mine, experience through skin I couldn't control.
Do you understand what it means to be passenger in your own existence?
Every breath calculated by another's rhythm. Every word spoken in voices that never quite matched my thoughts. Every touch— intimate or violent —felt but not chosen.
I became the whisper she'd attribute to instinct. The sudden certainty that made her turn left instead of right, avoiding the blade meant for her spine. The inexplicable knowledge of which herbs would heal versus poison. The rage that erupted when someone threatened what we both considered ours.
She got used to those instincts saving her.
Made her reckless in ways she wouldn't have been if she'd known each one cost me fragments of already-fractured identity.
Every intervention drained what little independence I'd maintained, bleeding me into her until sometimes I couldn't tell where she ended and I began.
It gave me purpose when I, too, felt like perhaps it would be better to dissipate into nothingness.
Maybe that's why I understand Nikki.
The thought arrives with uncomfortable clarity as I watch her suspended form, inches from death that would solve nothing but create new wounds in people already bearing too many scars.
I know the feeling of devastation in an environment that doesn't want to see you transpire to greatness.
The Infernal Realm accepts me only because it must—I carry the blood, the power, the birthright.
But it knows I'm wrong.
Shared space where there should be sovereignty. Two where there should be one.
The realm tolerates my existence the way you tolerate a broken bone that healed crooked—functional but never quite right.
Seconds stretch like centuries. In real-time, her body would already be combusting, flesh meeting lava in union that allows no divorce. But time bends to my will—or rather, to my sister's will that I've somehow accessed.
The realization stops me cold.
This is Gwenivere's magic. Time manipulation belongs to her arsenal, not mine. Yet here I stand, holding temporal flow like reins in hands that shouldn't be able to grasp them.
"Annoying," I mutter, the word carrying dismay rather than true irritation.
I don't know how to feel about accessing her abilities. It suggests connection deeper than shared flesh—our powers beginning to blend the way our consciousness sometimes do in dreams. Is this evolution or dissolution?
Are we becoming more ourselves or less?
"Were you going to let it transpire?"
I turn my head slowly, already knowing who I'll find.
The black cat sits precisely where physics suggests nothing should be able to perch—suspended in frozen air as if gravity is a suggestion rather than law.
Golden eyes shift to purple and back again, the transition happening between one blink and the next.
Watching me with intelligence that has nothing to do with feline nature and everything to do with being something far older wearing fur as disguise.
With a shift that ignores the stopped time around us, Zeke transforms. Not gradually—instantaneously. One moment, cat. Next, man floating cross-legged on nothing, casual as if sitting on furniture I'm too limited to perceive.
"It was tempting to," he admits, voice carrying that musical quality that makes even admissions of potential murder sound like lullabies. "But I wanted to see if time reversal would be needed. Especially when you seem to have no problem using your sister's gifts."
I pout—the expression feels childish on my face whether child or adult, but some reactions transcend age.
"No wonder the vampire prince doesn't like you."
Zeke's smile transforms his face from beautiful to something approaching divine. The kind of beauty that makes you understand why ancient cultures worshipped cats.
"It's not that he dislikes me. He fears replacement by one who can be loyal simply by nature."
He shrugs with feline eloquence, shoulders moving in a way human joints shouldn't allow.
"Now, how long do you plan to hold time? You're stronger magic-wise than your sister only because she's the one holding this barrier afloat unconsciously. You're not on the same level."
I huff, feeling my child-form assert itself despite my desire to maintain adult dignity.
"I don't like being told that."
His smile becomes genuine rather than performative—a rare gift from someone who wears masks like others wear clothes.
"No one likes to acknowledge weaknesses. But I guess that leads to the real question."
He pauses, gaze shifting to Nikki's suspended form. She looks peaceful in frozen time, the fear erased by temporal pause that caught her between one expression and the next.
"Is she going to be a weakness for you?"
The question hangs between us like a sword waiting to drop. Not threatening—simply present, demanding acknowledgment.
I don't answer immediately. Instead, I study her—really study her for the first time as myself rather than through my sister's perceptions.
Golden hair that catches light even in this realm of shadows. Features that carry delicacy the Fae prize but strength they refuse to acknowledge. The tear tracks still visible on cheeks that have known too much salt. Hands that reach even when reaching seems futile.
"My mind is annoyed with her," I finally admit.
Zeke's head bobs in understanding.
"Due to the implications, yes. But your heart?"
My heart.
Do I even have one anymore? Or do I share that too with my sister, taking turns with ventricles and valves like children sharing toys?
But no—I feel it beating. Singular. Mine. Accelerating as I stare at this Fae who should represent everything I've been conditioned to hate.
"My heart wants to save her." The words emerge slowly, each one tested before release. "Not out of pity, but maybe... understanding?"
I pause, searching for words to capture something I don't fully comprehend myself.
"It's not like her potential isn't great. It's endless. Maybe it's just..."
I trail off, unable to complete the thought. But Zeke nods as if I've said everything necessary.
"When you're a bird trapped in a cage for so long, it's only a matter of time before one thinks they will never be free again, isn't it?"
The metaphor hits with unexpected force. Yes. That's exactly what this is. Two caged birds recognizing each other's captivity, seeing freedom in the other that neither can achieve alone.
I nod slowly, but reality intrudes with all its impossible complexity.
"I can't love her though." The words taste like ash. "Me and my sister are one. Just like she and Nikolai are one."
Zeke agrees with a motion that suggests this obstacle is significant but not insurmountable.
"But what if there's a way for you to be your own?"
I stare at him, hope and suspicion warring in my chest.
The feline's expression remains neutral, giving nothing away.
"Do you know how?"