Page 6 of Darkness and Deceit (Obsidian Academy #2)

Four

LILITH

I don’t realize how badly I’m shaking until we’re finally alone.

The four of us slip into the Predator common room, the door swinging shut behind us with a final click that sounds far too loud in the heavy silence. The space is dimly lit, and—thank the gods—surprisingly empty. I couldn’t handle the stares. Not right now.

I lean back against the stone wall just inside the threshold and finally exhale. The adrenaline burns off fast, leaving my limbs feeling like jelly and my lungs too tight to expand properly. I want to sit. I want to scream. I want to sleep for a week and pretend none of this is happening.

Instead, I breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Again and again.

Kai stands close. Always close. Silent as ever, his cloak still torn from the fall.

I’m not angry. Not anymore.

But that doesn’t make this easier.

How the hell do you look someone in the eye when they let themselves be thrown off a building just to make sure you were okay? When they didn’t even try to stop it—because keeping you safe mattered more?

Guilt twists in my chest like a blade.

I sink onto the edge of the battered leather couch, staring at my hands. They tremble, barely visible in the fading firelight. I dig my nails into my palms just to turn it into a different kind of pain. A manageable one.

Kai stands above me, face unreadable except for the subtle twitch of his jaw. He waits silently, like he’s waiting for permission to sit beside me.

I nod, and the couch groans under his weight. I lean into him before I can talk myself out of it. His presence is the only thing holding the pieces of me together.

“Next time you want to check on me,” I murmur, my voice cracking a little, “maybe don’t get thrown off seven stories.”

“I didn’t land on my head,” he says, calmly. Like this is a normal occurrence.

“It was the seventh floor, Kai.”

“I rolled.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I ask, jaw slack.

He just blinks at me, like he’s trying to decipher why I’m upset. Like concern is a language he understands but doesn’t speak.

“Are you hurt?” he asks instead.

I shake my head. “Not physically.”

Behind us, Simon hovers near the hearth, his jaw tight with unspoken worry.

He’s gone quiet, too, but it’s a different kind of silence than Kai’s. I can see him tracking every nuance of my breathing, of how tightly I’m holding my fists closed. But he’s holding himself in tight check, the weight of leadership pressing down on him.

Vaughn flops into a worn armchair opposite with a dramatic groan, like a wounded prince collapsing onto his throne, legs sprawled across the side. His fingers drum a frenetic rhythm on his thighs until, with a curse under his breath, he digs for his cigarettes and lights up.

Smoke curls in the space between us, softening the edges of the room, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s the only shield he has.

We sit there for a long time, the four of us orbiting each other like planets too exhausted for another revolution.

Eventually, Simon breaks the silence.

“You were in there a long time,” he says.

I shrug. “They wanted me to confirm I’m some kind of monster. That I’m dangerous. But I’m not.” I swallow. “I’m just… me.”

He nods. “You held your own,” he responds and the quiet in his voice is reverent. Fierce in a way that doesn’t match the softness of his features. Like he means it. Like he sees something in me I’m not sure I want seen.

And just like that, I have to look away.

I can’t carry that kind of belief—not when I’m still trying to hold myself together.

A beat passes, and the silence starts to thicken again. And that’s when Vaughn pounces.

“Well,” he announces, arms flung wide, “we’re all alive. No one got exiled. Kai took a casual dive off a building and walked it off like a lunatic. I’d say that’s a pretty solid day.”

Gods, he’s obnoxious as fuck. But I’m starting to clock his bullshit for what it really is.

A pressure release.

Vaughn doesn’t know how to fix silence, so he fills it with chaos instead.

And somehow... It helps ease the tension.

Kai’s eyes flick toward him. “I was thrown.”

“Oh, sure. Thrown. Gently launched. Call it what you want.” Vaughn grins, crossing one leg over the other. “All I know is you scaled seven damn stories just to check on your mate. Can’t wait for the ballads. The girls are going to love that one.”

Kai doesn’t respond, but the look he gives Vaughn could kill a lesser man.

I roll my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re vaguely charming.”

“I’m not lucky,” Vaughn smirks. “I’m just excellent at emotional damage control.”

I want to laugh and I almost do. But before the sound can form, I hear it.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Bennett’s crow.

I lift my head, dread sinking low in my stomach like a stone dropped in water.

It perches on the wrought-iron banister above the common room—feathers like oil, eyes like embers, watching us with a stillness that feels unnatural. It doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just waits.

Of course she didn’t come herself. Not after everything. Not after using the boys to monitor me without ever telling me I was something to watch. Not after sending me to the Keepers like a weapon she wasn’t sure how to aim.

No, she sends the bird.

Kai shifts beside me like he’s considering whether he can reach it before it takes off.

“Kai,” Simon says quietly.

Kai doesn’t move, but the tension in his shoulders hums like a bowstring drawn too tight.

The crow lets out a dry, crackling caw and extends one leg. A scroll is tied to it with crimson twine—neat and impersonal. The kind of order that doesn’t allow for questions.

I push to my feet, cross the room, and grab the scroll before anyone else can.

All four of you. My office. Now.

Do not keep me waiting. —B

I stare at the ink, at her cold, clipped message, then crumple the parchment in my fist.

“So much for having a moment to breathe,” I mutter.

Kai straightens beside me, already calculating. Already ready for a fight.

Simon exhales slowly, like he’s bracing for whatever comes next, and quietly blaming himself for it.

Vaughn rises with a groan, raking a hand through his hair. “Well. Time to disappoint our beloved headmistress. Again.”

He tries for a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

And even though none of us say it aloud, I feel it—all of us do.

We’re not being summoned for answers.

We’re being reminded who’s in control.

But here’s the thing about control…

It only works if we’re still afraid.

And I stopped being afraid hours ago.