Page 30 of Darkness and Deceit (Obsidian Academy #2)

Twenty-Seven

LILITH

The further we venture, the worse the feeling in my gut gets.

Augustus’ glow flickers again, like even his magic is struggling under the pressure here. I step over another downed tree and that’s when the ground shifts under my boot. The earth cracks open like a yawn and, before I can even register what’s happening, I’m falling.

I scream, desperately reaching for something to grab onto, but it’s no use. I slam onto something hard and uneven and the breath punches out of me as I roll onto my side, coughing on dust.

“Lilith!”

Augustus’ voice echoes above, but only for a heartbeat, then he’s falling too. I scramble upright just in time to see a streak of gold flash through the darkness, followed by a thud and a very loud ow.

“Are you?—?”

“I am fine,” he grits out, pushing himself up with a groan. “Mostly.”

His glow is dimmer now. His robes are dusted in gray and his usually neat hair is tousled, smudged with dirt. Even the light pulsing from his palm falters as he lifts it, casting our surroundings in flickering half-light.

I breathe shallowly, trying to make sense of where we are.

The cavern around us is wide, with walls made of layered stone that curve inward like ribs. Roots hang down like veins, and the air is wet, cold, and old. Stale. Like there hasn’t been a breeze down here for a very long time.

“Was that a trap?” I ask, brushing debris off my sleeves.

“Sure felt like one.” Augustus tilts his head, squinting upward. There’s no sign of the opening we fell through—only darkness. “I guess there is no climbing out.”

“Of course not.” I sigh. “That would be too easy.”

We both stand there for a moment, breathing in the damp air, the sound of water dripping from some unseen place echoing faintly around us.

Augustus lifts his hand again, his glow brighter now—barely—and sweeps it across the walls.

The light pushes back the dark just far enough to show the tunnel splits ahead.

Two paths. One curves to the right, narrow and low.

The other tilts downward to the left, wider, but darker—like it swallows light instead of reflecting it.

“Well, that’s ominous,” I mutter.

“Agreed,” Augustus says, brow furrowed.

He takes a few slow steps toward the fork. I follow, stepping lightly in case the floor decides to give again.

“Can you sense anything?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Everything’s clouded down here. Like the magic is… muffled.”

I close my eyes, stretching my awareness outward. My own magic is sluggish, like it’s moving through molasses. Still, there’s a tug to the left. Faint, but insistent.

“Left,” I say softly. “It feels worse. Which probably means it’s right.”

He glances at me, mouth quirking up slightly. “That is a concerning philosophy.”

I snort. “Welcome to my life.”

Just as we start forward, something echoes through the tunnel. Not a groan. Not a growl. More like… heavy breathing.

We both freeze.

“Let’s keep moving,” I murmur. “Before the tunnel decides to finish what it started and swallows us whole.”

I take the path to the left, following my gut, despite the alarm bells screaming in my head. As we move deeper, the temperature drops fast. The stone under our boots turns slick, and the walls begin to change. Faces rise from the rock like fossils—twisted expressions, mouths open in silent screams.

I swallow. “Please tell me those aren’t real and I’m imagining shit.”

“They should not be…” Augustus says tightly.

“Not what I asked.”

We walk in tense silence, focused on every footstep. My magic stirs beneath my skin reacting to my nervousness. It’s unsettled and it’s weaker than it should be. Like the air down here is trying to smother it into submission.

Augustus’ glow flickers out completely, plunging us into darkness for a second that I swear feels like a minute before it returns.

“Yours too?” I ask, flexing my fingers.

He nods. “I have never felt anything like this. Even the Balance feels… distant. And that is quite unusual for a Keeper.”

That makes my stomach twist. The Balance is his constant. If that’s faltering… we’re way past trouble.

We move a few paces forward, stepping lightly. The tunnel opens up again, revealing another fork up ahead. “Let’s go left again,” I mutter, stepping toward it when a low crack splits the silence.

I freeze. “Did you hear that?”

Augustus lifts his hand, his glow brightening enough to show the ceiling above us. There’s a thin fissure, and it’s spreading fast.

“Back!” he snaps.

But it’s too late.

A deep, grinding groan shudders through the stone and the ceiling caves in. Dust and jagged rock rain down in a violent crash.

Before I can move, before I can think, Augustus lunges. His arm wraps around my waist as he tackles me out of the path of the collapse. He twists at the last second, taking the brunt of the fall as we slam into the ground.

I land on top of him with a breathless thud, his glow flaring bright under me.

For a beat, all I can hear is my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. Then, slowly, I realize the rocks missed us by less than a foot. Where I’d been standing is now just a heap of rubble.

I blink, lying sprawled across Augustus’ chest, both of us caked in dust, my pulse fluttering like an insect trapped in a jar.

His breath is warm against my neck, fast and ragged.

I’m vaguely aware of the fact that his arm is still wrapped tight around me, like if he lets go the tunnel will finish us off for good.

I lift my head just enough to look at him. “You alright?” I ask, voice still a little wobbly. We’re both panting. Hard.

He gives a shaky exhale. “I find myself reasonably intact. Are you injured?”

“No,” I say, then I laugh—a thin, hysterical sound that echoes off the stone, bouncing back at me louder than it has any right to be. “That was close.”

I realize then that he’s staring at me, his pupils blown wide. His hands are on my waist, fingers splayed under my shirt, skin to skin. His glow flickers violently, like even his power doesn’t know what to do with this.

We’re touching.

A Keeper is touching me.

“I didn’t think Keepers were allowed to touch anyone,” I say, still catching my breath. “Since it messes with your connection to the Balance.”

“We are not,” he answers, voice low.

I sit up, feeling the frantic beat of his heart underneath my palm.

Augustus’ fingers flex against my side and I shiver, but not from the cold as he rises until we’re at eye level with one another.

He lifts one hand, brushing back a streak of hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes.

His thumb lingers at my temple, an oddly gentle gesture for a man who isn’t used to physical contact.

His eyes don’t leave mine. There’s a charge in the space between us, a tension as palpable as lightning about to break; it’s not romantic, exactly. It’s rawer than that. Older. For the first time, I sense a fracture in his mask.

Augustus, meticulous and careful, is close to losing his grip.

I say, “You can let go now, if you want.”

He swallows, his throat working. “I am… considering.”

The moment stretches. His thumb presses just below my eye, a barely-there pressure that, for some reason, makes the whole world feel weightless.

I wonder, not for the first time, what it costs him to maintain that Keeper composure.

I wonder how many moments like this he’s smothered in favor of the rules.

He leans in, just a fraction, his lips hovering close to mine.

My hands, traitorous things, have found his shoulders, and I can sense his struggle between instinct and training, want and duty.

I don’t know which side I want to win. I just know my own rules are failing me, slipping away like water through cupped hands.

He closes the final bit of distance and brushes his mouth against mine.

No preamble, no hesitation, just the brief press of his lips, softer than I ever expected.

A spark jumps through me—magical, chemical, it doesn’t matter.

It’s soft at first—unexpected from someone who looks like he’d treat affection like an equation to solve.

His mouth is warm, and when I don’t pull away, he lets out a little hitch of breath that’s almost a gasp. The glow of his magic splutters, sparking violet momentarily.

We break apart just as quickly, like a breathless exhale. I half expect an apology or a lecture, but Augustus simply stares at me, eyes wild and unguarded. His hand falls away from my face, but not before one last brush against my jaw, a silent punctuation.

“We should keep moving,” he says, but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice breaks a little. He clears his throat, the blush on his cheekbones barely visible beneath the layer of dust.

“Yeah,” I rasp, still not sure if I’m supposed to feel embarrassed or confused. My brain is refusing to make a call.

He hauls himself to his feet, helps me up with a hand that lingers a second longer than necessary, then dusts off the front of his tunic.

For a moment, I imagine we could both pretend that didn’t happen.

But his eyes stay on my lips a beat too long, and something about that makes it very, very real.

The collapse behind us has sealed off the way back; we have only one way out now, forward. Augustus’ glow is still wobbly, but it edges back toward steady as we press on, the damp stone slippery underfoot.

The cavern tapers, squeezing us together. We brush shoulders, sometimes arms. Each accidental contact reverberates, echoing the pulse from before.

My nerves are shot and my magic feels farther away every step, but I can’t tell if it’s because of the tunnel or the way Augustus keeps glancing at me sideways, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he looks away.

I want to say something. I want to break the silence, but my tongue is jammed in the back of my throat.

The faces in the walls grow denser as we continue, pressed together so tight the stone itself seems barely able to contain their collective howl.

I avert my gaze and study my own boots—worn at the toes, dusted white with chalky residue.

They feel heavy, but I force them onward, matching Augustus’ stride, letting him lead by half a step.

The tunnel gradually widens again, opening into a chamber that feels wrong in a way I can’t name. The air grows thicker, denser, pressing in from all sides. It’s like wading through water.

Augustus lifts his hand, and his glow stretches farther than before, but only barely. The chamber is massive, carved into sweeping arches, the walls slick and glistening. More faces are etched into the stone, but they’re different now.

They’re watching us. And they’re not simply carved expressions frozen in agony—they move . Subtle twitches of the eyes, a shift of a jaw, a curl of lips pulled back over teeth.

Their stone mouths don’t open, but the sensation of screaming floods my ears anyway. I stumble, clapping a hand over my head like I can block it out. “Do you—are they?—?”

“I hear them too,” Augustus murmurs, jaw clenched. “But not with my ears.”

The glow in his hand dims again, and I don’t miss the way his other hand twitches toward mine, but he stops himself short of reaching out.

I close the distance for him. Wrapping my pinky finger around his. His magic steadies, if only a little.

“They’re not illusions,” I say softly. “They’re echoes . Like… imprints.”

“Spiritual residue,” he agrees. “Possibly from tethered souls. Or drained ones.”

I swallow, the taste of iron thick on my tongue. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Something pulses deeper in the chamber. It’s faint, yet oddly familiar, like a forgotten melody.

I step forward letting go of Augustus’ finger, my boots echoing softly against the stone floor.

I shift a little to the right, my head tilting instinctively, drawn to that elusive thread of sensation winding around my ribs, tugging gently.

It’s not quite pain, nor is it recognition. It’s more like…

“Lilith?” Augustus calls out, his voice softer now, tinged with worry.

I don’t answer. Instead, I press my hand to the wall, feeling its warmth seep into my palm. The surface almost seems to pulse beneath my touch. My own magic recoils, pulling back as if sensing something my mind can’t yet grasp.

And then realization hits me like a cold wave. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as my mouth goes dry. The trace wrapping around me, the pressure threading through the air—it’s unmistakably him.

Magnus.

His presence echoes throughout this place, woven into the very fabric of the stone, clinging to the roots like ancient vines. It throbs just beneath the surface, a heartbeat I can’t unhear, resonating with a haunting familiarity.

“He’s been here,” I whisper, my voice a mere tremor in the stillness. “I don’t know when or how, but I can feel him.”

Augustus moves to stand beside me, his eyes scanning the chamber with a newfound intensity. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” My voice is low, almost hollow, as if the very air has been sucked from the room. “This place remembers him.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. All around, the faces etched into the stone walls seem to twitch and shift, their eyes following our every move with an eerie intensity.

Augustus’ fingers graze against mine once more, and this time, he keeps the connection, a slight grip that feels like a lifeline.

“We shouldn’t linger,” he says.

He doesn’t have to say it twice.

We press forward, side by side. Until the path narrows again, and Augustus steps in front of me, lighting the way with his glow.