Shadows of Change (Arcanum Academy #1)

44. Darian

Dawn bleeds through the classroom windows, casting long shadows that seem to shift unnaturally, like they know what I’ve done—or failed to do. The weight of last night’s failure settles heavily on my shoulders. I keep my hands clasped behind my back, hiding the slight tremor as I meet Thorne’s unrelenting gaze. His silence feels sharper than words.

"You’ve embarrassed me," Thorne finally says, his tone deceptively calm. "You were entrusted with a task, and you failed spectacularly."

"I tried—" I start, but he slashes a hand through the air, silencing me.

"You failed," he repeats coldly. "Worse, you’ve wasted the power I gave you. The gift of shadow within you wasn’t for you to squander. Use it, Darian."

The words cut deeper than they should. I clench my fists at my sides, the familiar burn of resentment flickering to life in my chest. "Her shadows overwhelmed mine," I admit, forcing myself to remain steady. "They’re... different. Stronger. I couldn’t hold them back."

"Excuses," Thorne snaps, the word cracking like a whip. "Do you think I gave you the shadows for their strength alone? They are a tool. You’ve allowed them to become a crutch."

A leash is what he truly means and I flinch at the rebuke, even as I feel the corrupted magic within me stir, an almost sentient force that I’ve never fully understood. It coils uneasily, more restless than usual after last night’s failure.

"I’ll fix it," I say, though the words sound hollow. "I can still—"

"What you can do," Thorne interrupts, leaning closer until the faint scent of ozone prickles my senses, "is stop making excuses and reclaim control. Or I will."

"And if you do?" I ask, my voice quieter, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

"Then she becomes expendable," he says simply, as if he’s discussing the weather. "And so do you."

The words are a reminder of how little I matter in the grand scheme of his plans. A part of me wants to fight back, to push against the chains he’s wrapped around me. But the shadows inside me stir, coiling tighter, as if warning me to stay silent. I can’t tell whether the cold fear curling in my chest is from Thorne’s words or the magic he forced into me all those years ago—magic that twists in ways I barely understand, that sometimes feels like it’s trying to consume me.

Thorne straightens, his calm mask slipping back into place. "You have one chance to set this right. Do not waste it."

I nod stiffly, my hands still trembling as I turn for the door. Just before I reach it, his voice cuts through the room like a knife.

"Remember, Darian," he says, his tone deadly soft. "Those shadows may live within you, but they are not yours. They are mine. Don’t make me take them back."

The memory rises unbidden: the searing pain as light twisted into shadow, the way Thorne’s magic dug into my soul like claws. Even now, the phantom ache lingers, a constant reminder of what I owe him—and what he could take from me.

The door shuts behind me, the finality of the sound ringing in my ears. I press my palms against the cool stone wall outside, trying to calm my racing heart. Inside me, the shadows churn, a restless tide of power that has never truly felt like my own.

I hate them. And yet, without them, what would I be?