Page 22 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 21

Frankie

“The pack house?” Leo suggests as we all stand exhausted in Shadow Locke’s parking lot. Through our various bonds, I feel their collective need for sanctuary, for a moment of peace. “I mean, we did technically pay for the whole semester...”

“God yes,” I breathe, then catch Finn shifting awkwardly beside me. Through our twin bond, I feel his hesitation, his glance toward where Tori waits by her car. His light pulses with uncertainty that makes my shadows want to soothe. “What?”

“I just... maybe...” He flushes deep red. “Could Tori come? For movies or whatever? Just... not ready to be alone after everything...”

“Oh my god,” Leo stage-whispers to Matteo, his shadows dancing with delight. “Baby shadow twin has a crush.”

Matteo tries and fails to hide his smile. “Like you were any smoother when you first met Frankie.”

“I was perfectly smooth!”

“You tripped over your own feet to get to her,” Bishop reminds him dryly, his usual formality softening with fondness.

“That was a tactical move to initiate physical contact,” Leo insists with dignity.

Dorian doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Is that what we’re calling social awkwardness these days?”

“Says the man who communicates primarily in withering stares,” Leo shoots back.

“At least I’ve never used coffee as a mating ritual.”

Finn’s embarrassment radiates through our bond as his light flutters nervously. “I’m not... that’s not what I...”

“Ignore them,” Tori says walking toward us, her cheeks pink but her voice steady. Her shadows unconsciously reach for Finn’s light even as she maintains her cool demeanor. “They’re all disasters. You should have seen Bishop’s attempt at asking Frankie on a date. He made a flowchart.”

“It was a logical approach,” Bishop mutters, though our bond carries his fond remembrance of that night.

“It had contingency plans for seventeen different scenarios,” Tori continues mercilessly. “Including, and I quote, spontaneous star gazing.”

I can’t help but smile at the memory—that carefully planned date that led me to discover the cove, my sanctuary for so long. Through the pack bonds, I feel their shared amusement and affection.

“Alright, alright,” I say, feeling Finn’s hope rise through our twin bond. “Pack house it is, and yes, Tori, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Finn’s relief washes over his face, and Leo bumps his shoulder affectionately. “Come on, disaster twins. Let’s go home.”

The drive back to the pack house is a blur of exhaustion and quiet chatter. By the time we pull into the driveway, the last light of day paints the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks. It feels surreal to be back here after everything that’s happened, but through our bonds, I feel the pack’s collective sense of homecoming.

As we pile out of the cars, stretching cramped limbs, I notice Tori hanging back, her earlier confidence seemingly evaporated. Her shadows curl inward uncertainly. I catch her eye and gesture for her to join us, feeling Finn’s immediate response to her presence through our bond.

“Welcome to Casa de Shadow Shifter,” Leo announces grandly, throwing open the front door, his shadows dancing playfully. “Where the coffee flows freely and the drama never ends.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dorian mutters, shouldering past him, though his usual sharp edges have softened with the comfort of home.

Inside, the familiar scent of home wraps around me like a warm blanket. Such a transformation from the dusty, cobweb-filled wreck we’d first moved into just months ago. The peeling wallpaper and stained carpets are gone, replaced with warm neutrals and plush rugs. Leo’s houseplants crowd the once-broken windowsills, while Dorian’s books fill the custom shelves Bishop insisted on building to proper specifications. Even Matteo’s influence shows in the careful arrangement of protective wards disguised as decorative elements around doorways.

Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s wonder echo my own as he takes in the spacious living room, the wall of windows—no longer cracked—overlooking the forest beyond. His light pulses with a tentative sense of belonging.

“This is... wow,” he breathes.

“Pretty sweet digs, right?” Leo grins, darting into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and closing echoes as he rummages around. “Who wants hot chocolate? Or coffee? Or both mixed together in an unholy caffeine bomb?”

“Please, no more coffee,” Matteo groans, collapsing onto the plush sectional. His shadows curl contentedly as he sinks into the familiar comfort. “I think I’m still vibrating from earlier.”

I sink down next to him, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones. Finn hesitates for a moment before perching on the arm of the couch, his light unconsciously reaching for where Tori hovers uncertainly nearby.

“Make yourself at home,” I tell her, patting the space next to me. Through our various bonds, I feel the pack’s warm acceptance. “Mi casa es su casa, or however that goes.”

“Thanks,” she says softly, settling in. Her shadows gradually unfurl from their tight coil as she relaxes. “This is... not what I expected.”

“What, you thought we’d live in some spooky haunted mansion?” Leo calls from the kitchen. “With cobwebs and creaky floors and maybe a dungeon or two?”

“I mean... kind of?” Tori admits sheepishly. “Honestly I’ve never been in one of the pack houses. It’s cozy.”

Bishop snorts as he claims an armchair, his Guardian formality softening in the familiar space. “The dungeon’s in the basement. We only use it on special occasions.”

Tori’s eyes widen, and I can’t help but laugh at her expression, feeling Finn’s amusement echo through our bond. “He’s kidding. Mostly.”

“You’re all terrible,” Dorian sighs, but there’s a hint of fondness in his voice as he leans against the doorframe, his usual rigid posture relaxing slightly.

Leo emerges from the kitchen balancing way too many mugs of hot chocolate, his tongue stuck out in concentration. Through our bond, I feel the others’ automatic shift to catch him if he stumbles. “Okay, we’ve got regular hot chocolate, extra dark for our brooding professor?—”

“I do not brood,” Bishop protests.

“You’re literally brooding right now,” I point out, feeling his mock offense through our connection.

“—peppermint for Matteo because he’s fancy?—”

“It’s refined,” Matteo corrects, accepting his mug with dignity that makes his shadows dance.

“—and extra marshmallows for the twins because they deserve sugar after dealing with our drama.”

Dorian eyes the mountain of marshmallows dubiously. “That’s essentially sugar soup with chocolate garnish.”

“Bold words from someone who puts exactly three and a half sugar cubes in his tea,” Leo retorts. “I’ve seen you measure them, Dorian. With a scale.”

“Precision is important.”

“You’re all ridiculous,” Tori declares, but she’s smiling as she accepts her own mug. Her shadows reach unconsciously for Finn’s light, making him blush harder. Through our twin bond, I feel his pleased embarrassment at her closeness.

“Speaking of ridiculous,” Leo sprawls across the couch, somehow managing not to spill anything, his shadows curling contentedly around us all, “who’s ready to watch the worst horror flick ever put to film?”

“Please no,” Dorian groans, though his usual sharp edges have softened. “The last one had far too many jump scares.”

“That’s why it’s perfect!” Leo insists, his enthusiasm pulsing through our bonds. “After the day we’ve had? We need something so bad it’s good. I’m thinking all of the Halloween movies. Or Scream!”

“Scream!” I rest my head on Matteo’s shoulder as Leo puts the movie in. Through our bond, I feel Finn’s growing comfort as Tori’s shadows drift closer to his light.

“Oh hell, why did we agree to this?” Bishop groans twenty minutes into the movie. “The amount of basic survival instincts these teenagers lack is physically painful to watch.”

“My personal favorite,” Dorian drawls, “is how they keep answering their phones despite clearly being stalked.”

Leo straightens up excitedly, shadows dancing. “We should totally get one of those voice changers?—”

“No,” Matteo and I say simultaneously, our bonds pulsing with shared exasperation.

“You’re no fun.” Leo pouts, then brightens. “What about just for training?—”

“If you ever call any of us asking what our favorite scary movie is,” Matteo warns, “I’m telling your sisters about the rugby incident.”

Leo gasps, his shadows recoiling dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare. We swore never to speak of that!”

“What rugby incident?” Finn asks innocently, his light flickering with interest.

“Nothing!” Leo squeaks.

Tori leans forward, her shadows curling with interest as they unconsciously reach for Finn. “Oh no, now you have to tell us.”

“Let’s just say,” Bishop smirks, his usual Guardian formality completely gone, “it involved three cheerleaders, a misplaced shadow jump, and Leo somehow ending up stuck in the girls’ locker room ceiling.”

“In my defense,” Leo protests, his shadows swirling with embarrassment, “the ceiling tiles looked very stable.”

“Your defense is noted and rejected,” Dorian says. “Much like your dignity that day.”

Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s delight at being included in these stories, at seeing this playful side of people who had been so fierce earlier. His light pulses happily as Tori’s shadows drift closer, both of them pretending not to notice their growing connection.

“For trained killers, they’re remarkably inefficient,” Bishop critiques, gesturing at the screen. “The amount of unnecessary dramatic pausing alone...”

“Says the man who once spent twenty minutes explaining the historical significance of different stabbing techniques to his freshman class,” I remind him, feeling his mock offense through our bond.

“It was a relevant academic discussion!”

“You had a PowerPoint,” Tori adds helpfully. “With animations.”

“Some of us appreciate thorough research,” Bishop sniffs, though his shadows betray his amusement.

“I particularly enjoy,” Dorian comments dryly, “how running upstairs is apparently the universal human response to danger. As if height advantage means anything when you’ve cornered yourself.”

“To be fair,” Leo points out, bouncing slightly, “some of us actually could jump from a second-story window.”

“Yes, but they can’t,” Matteo reminds him, his arm tightening protectively around me. “Which makes their decision-making even worse.”

Through our various bonds, I feel the contentment, the simple joy of being together. Even Dorian has abandoned his phone, occasionally offering devastatingly accurate predictions about which character will make the next poor life choice.

“Wait,” Finn says suddenly as the tension builds in a scene. His light flickers with genuine concern that makes my shadows want to soothe. “Are they... are they really going to split up? After everything that’s happened?”

“Oh this is my favorite part,” Leo sits up eagerly, his shadows dancing with anticipation. “Watch how they all somehow forget how to use their phones the moment it would actually be useful.”

“That’s an insult to basic human competence,” Matteo mutters, though his shadows curl contentedly around us.

“Wait, did anyone grab snacks?” Bishop asks during a lull in the movie.

“Forgot them,” I admit, then grin at their disappointed faces. With a dramatic flourish, I reach into what looks like thin air, my arm disappearing up to the elbow into shadow space. “Just kidding.” When I pull my hand back, it holds a massive bowl of popcorn, still warm.

“Show-off,” Matteo mutters, but there’s fondness in his voice.

“Something I figured out after Mom died,” I explain, reaching into the darkness again to retrieve sodas. “She had all these theories about Martinez shadows being different—how we could access what she called the void space if we practiced enough. I’m still working on anything bigger than a beach ball.”

“Who wants more hot chocolate?” Leo bounces up during a particularly tense chase scene. “And no, Dorian, I won’t measure the marshmallow-to-chocolate ratio.”

“Your lack of precision physically pains me,” Dorian calls after him, but his usual sharp edges have completely softened.

“Everything pains you,” Bishop points out. “Yesterday you spent twenty minutes lamenting about how the library’s ancient texts weren’t alphabetized by original language and publication date.”

“They had a 12th century grimoire filed next to a 1980s shadow theory textbook!”

“The horror,” Matteo deadpans, but his shadows curl protectively around Leo as he returns juggling fresh mugs.

Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s quiet amazement at this – at how natural it all feels, at how easily we shift between fierce protection and gentle teasing. His light reaches unconsciously for Tori’s shadows as she accepts her refilled mug.

“Hey,” Tori nudges him gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just...” Finn’s light pulses softly. “It’s nice. Being normal. Or whatever counts as normal for shadow shifters watching people make terrible life decisions.”

“Normal is overrated,” Leo declares, distributing hot chocolate with his usual flourish. “Though seriously, if I ever become a serial killer, please know I would have a much better plan than this.”

“That’s concerning,” Bishop mutters, accepting his mug while his shadows betray his amusement.

“Says the man who color-coded his murder board for lecture purposes,” I remind him, feeling his mock indignation through our bond.

“It was a forensics demonstration!”

“You had little red string connecting all the potential suspects.”

“That affects visual learning and you know it.”

As they bicker, I notice Tori’s shadows have completely entwined with Finn’s light, creating subtle patterns neither seems aware of making. Through our twin bond, I feel his contentment, his growing understanding that he belongs here.

“They’re kind of adorable,” Leo whispers, having migrated to sprawl across Matteo and me. “In an awkward baby-shadow-shifters way.”

“Like you were any better,” Matteo rumbles fondly, his shadows curling around us both.

“I was smooth as hell.”

“You walked into a door because you were staring at Frankie.”

“Tactically walked into a door,” Leo corrects with dignity. “And at least I never made a spreadsheet about optimal ways to ask someone out.”

“That was one time,” Bishop protests through our bond.

“You had a pie chart,” Tori adds. “About romantic success probability based on location and time of day.”

As another character makes a questionable decision that has us all groaning, I feel the last tension finally release. Through our various bonds – pack, twin, mate – flows simple contentment. Even Dorian has given up pretending to research, his cutting commentary on the “statistically improbable survival rates of horror movie protagonists” becoming increasingly elaborate.

Tomorrow we’ll face it all again. But tonight?

Tonight we’re just us.

Together.

Watching teenagers make terrible decisions in a slasher film.

Making fun of Bishop’s ties.

Pretending not to notice how Finn’s light keeps reaching for Tori’s shadows.

Living.

As Leo starts the sequel – despite Dorian’s protests about “diminishing returns in horror franchises” – I curl deeper into my pack’s embrace. Through our twin bond, I feel Finn’s matching contentment, his growing understanding that this isn’t temporary. That he belongs here, with us, in this strange family we’ve built.

That sometimes, after the darkness, you get to come home.

That sometimes, home is a pack house full of slasher movies and hot chocolate and people who love you.

That sometimes, that’s enough.

More than enough.

Everything.

“If anyone gets murdered in their sleep,” Dorian mutters as the sequel begins, his shadows curling contentedly despite his tone, “I’m noting it in my research as death by poor judgment.”

“Shh,” Leo throws a marshmallow at him, his shadows dancing playfully. “Some of us are trying to enjoy the mindless violence.”

“I’m surrounded by heathens,” Dorian sighs, but his shadows curl with ours, another strand in the web of belonging we’ve woven.

And really, what more could I ask for?