Page 40

Chapter

Thirty-One

Bloom

Buried Truths

T he curfew lifted like a sigh of relief, and with classes canceled for the day, Sindy and I slipped back into Umbra Grimoire library.

She had agreed without much persuasion to help me search for answers.

I hadn’t told her everything, only that I’d seen my death threaded among the other red-haired women and the killer was stalking the campus, hunting with a purpose we didn’t yet understand.

Sindy weaved through the labyrinth of shelves toward the newspaper archives.

Forsaken Academy had no internet, no blinking screens or digital whispers, nothing like the mortal world.

But magic had its own ways. Here, knowledge lived in the slipstream, a shimmering matrix of spells and memory.

Sindy knew how to navigate it. That and her friendship with Mabel, the sharp-eyed witch who guarded the library’s secrets, gave us an edge.

While my friend sifted through reports and faded headlines, I turned my attention to the gods—their legends, their power, their hidden vulnerabilities.

I had already mapped the magical hierarchy on my charts, tracing the threads of divine bloodlines.

Kingsley, Sebastian, Stardust, and Ravencrux stood apart, direct heirs to the gods, while the rest of us carried only faint echoes of divine blood.

Sindy remained buried in her research on the fourth floor while I had other plans.

A bribe, the wristband token Sebastian had bought me from Tabula Rasa, had bought me an hour in the restricted section.

Mabel had taken it with a knowing glance, her fingers closing around the offering before she ushered me into the forbidden stacks.

My thoughts circled back to Persephone. Her name tugged at me like an arrow, pulling me toward the familiar shelves where her stories had once been waiting.

But this time, nothing. The space where her books should have been was hollow, a gaping absence.

The volume I’d pored over before sat in its place, pristine and untouched… except now, its pages were blank.

A cold prickle ran down my spine. I tore through every text on the Olympians, my fingers flying over spines, flipping pages with growing urgency.

But Persephone was gone, not just missing, but erased.

Even Hades’ records had been rewritten. No stolen bride, no queen of the Underworld.

Just a solitary king, ruling in eternal silence.

Yet Iremembered . The truth flickered stubbornly in my mind, a lone candle refusing to be snuffed.

Then somethingshifted . A whisper of power brushed against the edges of my thoughts like a thief testing a lock.

My body reacted before I could question it.

Fingers snapped up, magic flaring to life as effortlessly as a drawn breath, just as it had when I’d first gripped that dagger in the training hall, the steel singing in my hand as if it had always belonged there.

This magic wasn’t learned. It wasinborn . A secret even my mother had never known. Or perhaps it had lain dormant until Forsaken Academy’s shadowed walls coaxed it awake.

I gritted my teeth and shoved back against the invading force, my shield hardening like ice.

The presence recoiled, then surged again, probing for weakness.

But I clung to the memories of the red-haired victims, their faces, their stolen futures, and locked them away where no unseen hand could pry them loose. Remembering is survival.

The weight of eyes pressed down on me, unseen but undeniable. Wasthis how they’d always known my steps before I took them? Had they been watching, waiting, scrubbing every trace of Persephone from the texts I sought? Not the other gods. Only her.

Why?

Persephone had been a footnote before Hades claimed her, a minor goddess—overlooked, her power whispered about more in myth than in worship. She was spring’s fleeting touch, a queen forced into the dark. What threat could she possibly pose now?

Yet every trace of her had vanished. Not just from the pages, but from history itself. And as I stared at the hollowed-out spaces where her story should have been, a cold hollowness spread through me, as if part of me had been carved away too.

A sharp twitch in my left eye, the only warning before I felt it again. That presence, slithering closer. The air stirred with a phantom breath, and between the shelves, a wisp of shadow curled. The same one that had whispered in my mind before.

You won’t find their truth within these walls. The voice was barely a sigh, threading through my thoughts. Only the brave soul and the true seeker…

The shadow drifted toward the staircase. A silent invitation. Unease coiled in my gut, but my steps didn’t falter as I followed, the weight of unseen eyes prickling against my skin. The library was nearly empty, no curious glances, no raised brows, as I trailed the darkness.

Down, then deeper still, until the shadow led me to a cramped corner on the second floor, tucked behind a skeletal shelf. The wall thereshimmered faintly, like heat rippling off stone in summer. A hidden door. Warded.

The shadow coiled around its edges, and with a soundless sigh, the doorway yielded, peeling open like a secret too long kept. No creak of hinges. No rush of trapped air. Just silence, and the sense that it had been waiting for me, for this moment, forsomething .

I didn’t hesitate. I crossed the threshold.

The door sealed shut behind me, and the dark swallowed me whole.

Shit , this felt like falling down the rabbit hole. Let’s hope no monsters, hunters, or demons waited at the bottom.

The shadow guided me deeper, down winding stairs that bled into an underground tunnel. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp moss, the distant echo of dripping water the only sound besides my footfalls. Maybe I should turn back, but I’d come too far to retreat now.

After several turns, we reached a stone archway framing a crimson door. A serpent coiled around its frame, carved with unsettling precision. The shadow didn’t open the door for me this time. I grasped the cold metal handle, turned it, and pushed.

The new door swung open to reveal a vast underground archive, its polished walls stretching upward into shadow.

I stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind me with a sigh of finality.

Trapped. Or chosen.

Either way, there was no going back now.

The air seemed to hum with forgotten power as I took in the chamber’s impossible grandeur. Ancient books lined the black walnut shelves, their spines glowing with strange scripts. Above me, constellations shifted across the ceiling, casting faint starlight on the obsidian floor.

At the center, white sofas curved around a glass table hewn from a single block of crystal, so clear it looked like it was floating.

The air smelled of parchment, rich leather, and old magic. This place didn’t belong to Forsaken Academy. It felt much older, more hallowed, as if preserved from an age long before the school’s foundations were laid.

The walls told stories of the War of the Gods in vivid detail: a shadow-cloaked figure clashing against radiant beings, oceans swallowing mountains, the earth splitting open. The depictions were somehow familiar, though I couldn’t place why.

Then I heard the door clicking shut. When I entered, I had made sure the door closed. Someone was here. My pulse spiking, I ducked behind the nearest shelf and held my breath.

Footsteps echoed. Then, the unmistakable weight of Nero’s presence filled the room.

Shit.

Had he followed me? Was that guiding shadow his accomplice, luring me into a trap? My heart hammered violently. It didn’t matter how still I stayed. Nero would sense me as clearly as I sensed him. I shouldn’t be here. How many rules had I broken already?

I edged deeper along the shelf, silent, putting distance between us. Longing and fury twisted inside me, sharp as a thorn.

Nero appeared before me in a swirl of shadows, materializing so suddenly I yelped, nearly jumping out of my skin. Before I could either get away or punch him in the face, his hands slammed down on either side of my head, his powerful frame caging me in place.

My back hit the shelf.

Trapped.

I glared up at him, his presence still stealing my breath.

He wore his beauty like a weapon, all hard angles and perfect lines. His hair, the color of midnight tides, fell past his shoulders, wild and untamed, as if shaped by salt winds and immortality rather than scissors.

“You’re in my space,” I warned in a frosty voice.

“Yes,” he said, regarding me darkly. “What did I say about when I summon you, you come running? You refused, little flower, so I had to hunt you instead.”

The memory of that damned note flared in my mind—the encrypted line left on my pillow, demanding I meet himwhere he’d drunk from me .

His crude reference to the pleasure he’d given me had sent fury and heat coursing through me in equal measures.

How had it even gotten into my room? The arrogance, thevulgarity of it!

I didn’t forget his betrayal, and I’d never forgive. My code was ironclad. Once a cheater, always a cheater. And losers didn’t deserve second chances.

I’d practiced weaving flames just to watch his summons burn, savoring the petty victory as the parchment turned to ash. And now he had the audacity to hunt me down? After humiliating me in the club, spanking me like I was…his whore?

For a wild moment, I thought about slamming my forehead into his perfect nose. But he was an immortal, and I was painfully mortal. The only blood spilled would be mine, followed by the humiliating wheeze of my inhaler.

So I bared my teeth instead. “Fuck you.”

His smirk deepened, all dark amusement. “That can be arranged.” He leaned in, his minty breath warming the shell of my ear. “I’ve been waiting for you to take the initiative.”