Page 22 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

I wonder how long I have left.

I woke up to the sound of humming. Not the good kind. Not like a funeral dirge or the low vibrations of a haunted pipe organ. No, this was the chirpy, optimistic hum of someone who had voluntarily chosen to face the day.

Mayawas standing near the fake window, brushing her hair and murmuring to herself like a princess who’d been cursed into sharing a tower with a sleep-deprived misanthrope.

The projected morning light spilt across her face in watery patches of green and red.

The illusion of sunrise rippled faintly when she moved.

It looked like a real window. But when I poked it last night during the hours I’d been too wired to sleep, the illusion shivered. It really was just an enchanted screen. No fresh air. No breeze. Just scenery, on loop.

I loved windows more than anything. Mine at home were rarely shut. Especially in winter.

“Morning, Jinxy.” Maya hummed. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I spent half of the night thinking that I wanted to throw myself out of a window.” I answered honestly. “I wondered if it would work or if I would become a meta-shadebound.”

She stopped humming and lowered her hairbrush. I spotted the dark circles under her eyes and pursed my lips.

“Is your mental health bad, or is it just from the room and your first real day here?” She asked.

“The room.” I replied, blinking slowly enough to dry out my eyes even more than I had during the hours spent staring at the ceiling or reading poetry in the dark. “The people, too. My mental health is at the same level as always.”

I didn’t bother to mention that my mental health was always somewhere in the murky black zone. It seemed easier to blame the room.

The dorms were miserable. Thirteen bunks jammed into one stone-walled room really did fuck with your privacy.

Worse for my lack of magic senses keeping me safe from any irritants.

I’d seen prisons with more charm. Even with three bunks of my mystery roommates clearly unused and most of the others still occupied by sleeping bodies, it was gross waking up with so many people so close to me.

I wanted to scream into the void. But I did not scream. Instead, I just continued to blink at the ceiling, calling to the abyss of death to take me from this hellscape.

Death chuckled in the back of my head. It was the only reason I didn’t throw myself off the bed and test out my window theory for real.

I liked that he understood me. It made me calmer.

As I forced myself to sit up, the cuff on my wrist pulsed, digging in just enough to remind me it was still there. Still poisoning me. Still preventing me from making sure Fiore died a painful death.

My magic was barely a whisper now. Even that tiny effort last night—sending Silk after Draven for half an hour—had drained me to the point of collapse. Every pulse of magic echoed through bone, scraping me raw from the inside out. I was shattered. Absolutely fucking shattered.

I managed to get back to sleep about three hours after Fiore’s unwelcome disruption.

But it hadn’t been restful. My sleep was fitful at best—interrupted by the bitter memory of him pinning me down.

Every time I drifted off, my mind dragged me back to that moment.

To that feeling of utter helplessness that I’d never felt before.

To make it worse, that stupid bastard shifter had the audacity to sleep soundly while I replayed every second of his threat on loop.

I fantasised about ruining his day. No, his entire week.

Maybe I’d fake niceness long enough to sneak crushed glass into his coffee.

Maybe I’d drop a bucket of freezing water over his head mid-sleep.

Or ideally, I would have found some petrol, doused his smug face, and set him ablaze the way I’d planned.

Death hummed in agreement as he whispered, Fire can easily be found. Just wish for it hard enough.

Excitement flooded through me. Really?

No , he chuckled darkly. But it would not work for him, regardless. He breathes fire, and he cannot burn. The fool is a dragon, but an exceptional one at that. He breathes cold blue fire, among other talents.

As much as I would have liked to continue our conversation, Maya noticed I looked less grumpy when I let out a massive sigh. There was no choice but to stop talking inside my mind as she turned toward me with a hopeful smile.

“So other than the window throwing, how are you?” she asked softly. “Did you have a nice sleep?”

“Sleep was fine, thanks,” I muttered. “Everything is fine.”

She hesitated, clearly wanting more. But I wasn’t about to tell her what happened with Fiore. Because if I told Maya, she’d tell Zayden because she was too soft to keep a secret if she thought I was in danger. And if Zayden found out, he’d lose his temper.

Sure, I enjoyed the sight of him riled up, and a protective man was hot.

But not like that. Not when we were supposed to just be friends.

And not when I knew he’d come barrelling in like a one-man wrecking crew to fight for my honour.

I didn’t want him involved. Not with this.

I could handle it myself, and I had no honour left to save.

I only needed vengeance and petulance.

And a cup of tea that wasn’t hawthorne.

Maya fiddled with the edge of her combats as she flattened the stiff black material to her legs.

“I don’t know how much Zayden explained to you,” she said slowly, “but the second stage of initiation... it’s not pleasant.

Try to sneak a nap in today if you’re tired. Or use your goblet to down coffee.”

“Not pleasant?” I arched a brow as I stretched out. “As opposed to the first one, where we had to fight in a death pit?” I yawned. “Help yourself to a coffee with my goblet, if you want one.”

“Thanks!” She yanked on some black socks and combat boots as she snorted. “And yeah. It’s worse. The arena is over quickly. This one is—”

“Don’t tell me,” I cut her off as I forced myself to my feet. “I want to be surprised.”

“Are you sure?” She blinked her big blue eyes at me. The glittery blue liner around them the only sign of her usual siren fun.

She was delightfully dark today, dressed all in black and without shine. It made me feel happier about looking at her, even if I disliked the notion of her being forced not to dress as she pleased.

“Yep. Surprise is the only thing that’s going to keep me going today.

I like the anticipation of predicting just how fucked they’re going to be to me,” I muttered as I looked around to see who else was awake, and she hurried into the small bathroom to steal my goblet, and make herself a steaming coffee.

She moaned when she sipped it. Graphically.

Most of the others were asleep or doing a half-decent job pretending.

Zayden, unfortunately, wasn’t one of them.

One bunk over, he snored loud enough to shake the damn walls.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my cushion, handing it off to Maya without a word.

She took it, aimed with all the deadly precision of a pissed-off siren, and chucked it straight at his head.

The thud startled him awake with a grunt.

“Wake up. We’re gonna be late.” She sang, allowing a touch of her magic to flow into the words so he would have no choice but to stay awake.

He groaned, dragging his pillow over his face with a dramatic flair. His black-and-purple hair was sticking up in a dozen chaotic directions, like it had gone to war with the pillow and lost. His eyes squinted open just enough to glare at the room until he saw me.

It was like a switch flipped. His scowl was replaced with a soft smile. His glare with a stare sweet enough to kill.

“Morning, Heartache. Did you sleep okay?”

“You both seem to be obsessed with my sleep.” I replied. “I slept soundlessly and darkly. There isn’t anything more to add.” Pausing, I spotted the dark circles under his eyes too. Then I remembered he hadn’t been in his bed when I’d had my late-night visitor.

“Late night?” I asked too dry for it to sound casual.

“Yeah.” He nudged the pillow aside just enough to give me that classic side-eye squint. “Pack stuff came up. I had to be a functioning member of society for far too long,” he mumbled, his voice carrying an air of mystery as if he were sharing a cryptic code.

He and Maya exchanged a look—meant to be subtle, the kind you’d miss if you blinked—but neither of them had the talent for subtlety.

Their gazes lingered too long, their expressions shifting just enough to spark suspicion.

Whatever silent message they were trying to pass, they both executed it with all the finesse of a toddler trying to lie about stealing biscuit’s when they had crumbs on their face.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

I hated secrets. They grated on my skin like sandpaper. To me, they weren’t some noble preservations of privacy. They were just lies dressed up to look prettier, easier to swallow, easier to excuse.

And yes, I was aware that I was a hypocrite. But it was every woman’s right to be. Gaslighting and other nonsense was cute from the girls. It just pissed me off when it was from a man

Zayden dismissed my curiosity with a casual wave. “Nah, we’re chill,” he said. “Maya just had to help with the pack stuff. Sometimes I need to use her as a portable jet wash when things get dirty.”

She said his name, and her water magic stirred instantly. It shimmered to life, coiling along her arms in soft, glistening threads. Her neon blue eyes glowed, a visible protest against his forced calm.

“Maya,” he cautioned, his tone sharp enough to cut through the sudden tension in the room.

I glanced between them, my brow pulling tight. Something flickered between the two of them. A glance, too quick. An expression too tense. My gut twisted. Was I reading too much into it, or were they really hiding something? I couldn’t tell. But I didn’t like it.