60. Kaia
"Huh," Finn says as we enter Malrik's room. "I was right about the black silk sheets. Classic brooding vibe. Do you practice brooding in here, or is it just natural?"
"Finn." Malrik's voice carries a warning, but there's a flush creeping up his neck.
"What? I'm just appreciating the aesthetic. Very broody prince of darkness. Very you."
I try not to look at the bed at all, but my shadows apparently have no such restraint. Patricia is literally taking notes on the decor while Finnick bounces experimentally on the mattress.
"If we could focus," Aspen says, though his lips twitch. "Preferably before Kaia spontaneously combusts." My cheeks burn as I glance around, avoiding their eyes. Why does everyone insist on making this more embarrassing than it already is? Even my shadows seem to mock me, their flickering shapes hinting at silent laughter. Traitors.
I snap my gaze away from where Malrik is shrugging off his outer robe, revealing a criminally well-fitted shirt underneath. "I'm not—I mean, I'm fine."
"Sure you are, sunshine." Torric drops into a plush armchair, grinning. "That's why you're drooling."
I am not drooling. Okay, maybe I am, just a little.
"Can we please," I say through gritted teeth, "focus on the potentially life-threatening situation?"
"Right." Finn sprawls across the foot of Malrik's bed like he owns it. "The whole 'Thorne might be working with an evil soul binding madman thing. Much less interesting than—ow!"
A book has mysteriously flown off the shelf and hit him in the head. Malrik looks far too innocent.
"The ritual Alekir attempted," Malrik continues smoothly, ignoring Finn's dramatic pouting, "required specific circumstances. A convergence of power that only happens—"
"During the new moon," Aspen finishes, studying one of the texts. "Which is..."
"Three weeks away," I realize, my fingers brushing against my necklace without thinking. The subtle weight of the pendant feels heavier as Malrik’s expression darkens.
"Well that's not ominous at all," Finn mutters, now using Malrik's expensive pillows to build some kind of fort. "Hey, anyone else notice how Thorne always wears high collars? Maybe he's hiding evil ritual tattoos. Or a hickey from Alenya's mom."
"Finn!"
"What? I'm processing through humor. It's very healthy."
"Nothing about you is healthy," Malrik says, but there's a fondness in his voice that makes Finn beam.
"Your shadows agree with me," Finn points out. "Look, they're already planning battle strategies."
He's not wrong. Bob has gathered the others for what appears to be a tactical briefing, complete with Patricia's detailed shadow diagrams and Finnick's enthusiastic but questionable suggestions.
Aspen sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Torric squints at the shadows’ activity. "I hate that I can feel the chaos even if I can’t see it."
"You get used to it," I say absently, my gaze lingering on Malrik. His demeanor is steady, but there’s a tension to his movements that sets my nerves on edge. My shadows shift closer to him, as if trying to anchor us both.
"They grow on you," Malrik murmurs, then freezes as if he didn't mean to say it aloud.
His tone softened at that and I can’t help but think of what it means to me that he’s accepting of them.
An awkward silence falls, broken only by Mouse's amused purring.
I clear my throat but pause as movement catches my eye. A new shadow materializes near the others, its edges wavering uncertainly, as if testing its welcome. Linda immediately abandons her diagrams, drifting over with an air of fascination, while Steve bounces toward the newcomer, his exaggerated movements inviting chaos.
The shadow tilts slightly, observing them, before darting under Malrik’s desk.
“Well, hello there,” Finn coos, crouching to peer beneath the desk. “Who’s this sneaky little void?”
“He’s already in the restricted section of Malrik’s collection,” Aspen says dryly, clearly unaware of the shadows’ movements.
“Restricted section?” Torric raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”
Finn waves a hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s shadow business.”
Torric groans. “Of course it is.”
As if on cue, a faint scraping sound echoes from behind the desk. Moments later, the shadow emerges triumphantly, dragging something behind him.
“What’s that noise?” Aspen asks, frowning as he glances toward the desk.
“Carl’s doing his thing,” Finn says, entirely too pleased.
“Carl?” I echo, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, Carl.” Finn gestures dramatically at the shadow. “He looks like a Carl. You can’t tell me he doesn’t.”
Torric glances at Aspen, then back at Finn. “You’re naming him Carl, just like that?”
“Obviously.” Finn gestures dramatically at the floor, where the shadows are engaged in a full-fledged tug-of-war over the object Carl has unearthed.
To everyone except Finn, Malrik, and me, it looks like the item has mysteriously appeared from nowhere.
“What is that?” Aspen asks, his tone suspicious.
Carl finally drags his prize into the middle of the group and lets it drop with a flourish.
A long, sleek object gleams faintly in the candlelight.
“Is that a—” Torric starts, before abruptly choking on his words.
“Malrik!” Finn exclaims, his eyes widening with unholy glee. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s not—” Malrik’s voice rises, uncharacteristically flustered. He snatches the object, his face a perfect storm of annoyance and mortification. “It’s a weapon!”
“Sure it is, Your Darkness.” Finn collapses into laughter, clutching his stomach. “A very... personal weapon?”
Aspen, ever the diplomat, tries (and fails) to suppress a smirk. “I suppose that’s one way to disarm someone.”
Linda and Steve watch with what can only be described as rapt fascination, while Carl bounces happily on the spot, clearly proud of himself.
“Carl’s either going to save us all or kill us from secondhand embarrassment,” Torric mutters.
“Carl’s my new favorite,” Finn announces. “He’s an agent of chaos after my own heart.”
Malrik groans, his composure in tatters. “I’m banning all shadows from my room.”
“You’d miss them,” Finn says, grinning wickedly. “Especially Carl.”
Malrik looks like he’s debating whether the effort of arguing is worth it. “Get back to work.”
“Whatever you say, Prince of Pleasure,” Finn retorts, dodging a book Malrik hurls in his direction.
The group dissolves into laughter, the earlier tension forgotten—at least for the moment.
"So, evil ritual. New moon. Final trial. What do we do?"
"We could just not participate," Finn suggests from his pillow fort. "Call in dead. Take a romantic vacation. I hear Absentia is lovely this time of year."
Malrik pinches the bridge of his nose. "For the last time, Finn, Absentia is not a vacation spot. It's a corrupted realm of eternal darkness."
"So... perfect for you then. Moody, dark, and dramatic—just like your soul.?"
Before Malrik can retort, Aspen holds up a hand. "There's something else. The ritual needs more than just the Heart and a Valkyrie's power. It needs... consent."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"The bearer has to willingly give up their power," Aspen explains. "It can't be taken by force."
"Which explains why Thorne's been so invested in controlling you," Malrik says, his expression darkening. "He doesn’t need trust. He needs submission."
A chill runs down my spine, my fingers curling protectively around my necklace. Submission. The word echoes in my mind, heavy with implications I’m not ready to confront. But like hell I’m submitting to anyone, let alone him.
"That’s why he’s been keeping you in line," Finn says, unusually serious. "He’s playing the long game."
"Then we’ll break it," Torric growls, the glow of his fire rune faintly visible beneath his shirt. "Whatever Thorne thinks he’s building, it’s not happening."
"Agreed." Aspen flips another page of the tome in front of him, his tone brisk. "But the ritual still needs a specific place—the nexus—and a very specific moment."
"The arena," Malrik says, his voice low. "It’s not just a trial ground. It’s built where the veils between realms are thinnest."
"Of course it is," Finn groans. "Because where else would an evil ritual go down?"
Finn somehow managed to migrate from his pillow fort to sprawl across both the bed and Malrik's lap. Malrik doesn’t move him, which seems significant. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it, like always.
“Maybe that’s why he’s been here, waiting for the right student to come along. It couldn’t have been anywhere else.” Aspen replies thoughtfully.
"Because we couldn't have our dramatic showdown somewhere sensible, like a coffee shop."
"Yes, Finn," I drawl. "Let's invite the evil soul binding madman for scones."
"See? Kaia gets it."
"Kaia needs sleep," Torric mutters without opening his eyes. "She's starting to sound like you."
He's not entirely wrong. The words on the page are starting to blur, and my shadows are getting punchy. Bob's usual military precision has devolved into something more like interpretive dance, and Patricia appears to be doodling little hearts in her shadow notes.
"We should rest," Aspen says, ever practical. "Take shifts watching—Kaia, that wasn't a suggestion." He adds quickly, arching an eyebrow in challenge at me.
I open my mouth to argue, but the weight pressing down on me is undeniable. My limbs feel leaden, and even my shadows are slowing, their usual liveliness dimming. I sigh, the protest dying in my throat, and nod reluctantly. "Fine," I mutter, leaning back and letting exhaustion win.
I realize I'm swaying slightly where I sit cross-legged on the floor. "I'm fine."
"You're exhausted," Malrik says softly. "We all are."
"But—"
"No buts," Finn interrupts, finally extracting himself from Malrik's lap. "Except yours, going to sleep. I'll take first watch."
"Not alone," Malrik says immediately.
Their eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between them. My shadows flutter with interest while Mouse makes a sound suspiciously like a snicker.
"I'll stay too," I say quickly, not sure why my heart is suddenly racing. "Three sets of eyes are better than two."
"Technically, more like twenty," Finn says, grinning. "If we count your shadow squad."
Bob paces a precise perimeter, while Patricia's shadow notes now include detailed diagrams of defensive formations. Finnick, refusing to be completely serious even now, keeps adding artistic flourishes to her work - though even his usual chaos seems more focused and purposeful. Mouse watches them all with ancient eyes, his form seeming to grow more solid as the stakes rise.
"We'll get more books from the library," Aspen decides, hauling a grumbling Torric to his feet. "Meet back here in a few hours."
As the twins leave, I find myself hyper-aware of the room's new dynamic. Malrik still sits against his headboard, all dangerous grace and sharp edges. Finn has migrated to the window seat, his usual manic energy softened by fatigue. I'm caught between them, my shadows swirling with an agitation I don't want to examine too closely.
"You should rest," Malrik says into the silence. "We'll wake you if anything happens."
"I told you, I'm—" A yawn betrays me. "Fine."
"Sure you are, Trouble." Finn pats the space beside him. "Come on, this window seat is surprisingly comfy."
"I don't—"
"Kaia." Malrik's voice is quiet but firm. "Let us help."
Something in his tone makes me shiver. Or maybe it's the way Finn's watching me, his usual humor replaced by something deeper. My shadows practically shove me toward the window seat.
"Traitors," I mutter, but I go.
The window seat is comfy, and Finn is warm when I settle beside him. Through half-closed eyes, I watch Malrik pretending not to watch us while he reads. My shadows drift between them like lazy cats, equally content in either's presence.
"Sleep," Finn murmurs, and his fingers brush my hair with surprising gentleness. "We've got you." His touch is light, but it anchors me in a way I can't explain. A warmth blooms in my chest, easing the tension I didn't realize I was holding. For once, the chaotic swirl of my shadows settles, matching the steady calm they seem to draw from Finn and Malrik. Trusting them feels natural, even if it terrifies me.
The last thing I register is Malrik moving closer, his voice a low murmur as he and Finn discuss watch rotations. Their quiet conversation is intimate, but I'm too tired to overthink it. I fall asleep to the sound of their voices, feeling safer than I have any right to be.