57. Kaia
The shadows take me as I drift into sleep, dragging me into a world that isn't mine. They writhe and twist, their edges jagged and wrong, trying to pull me under. Above me, a symbol pulses in the dark—the same one from Darian's notes. Unlike the gentle darkness of my own shadows, these feel corrupted, bitter.
My shadows try to fight back, but they're being torn away one by one. Bob goes first, his usually steady form dissolving into nothing as he tries to maintain his protective stance. Then Patricia, her last gesture an attempt to shield the others. Finnick doesn't even get a chance for a final joke before he scatters like smoke. Even Steve and Linda, still so new, are ripped apart like paper in a storm.
"They were never truly yours," Thorne's voice echoes through the void. "Just borrowed power, waiting to be claimed."
I try to scream, but shadows pour into my mouth, choking me—bitter and sharp, like swallowing glass. Mouse's panicked yowl seems to come from very far away, followed by the sound of claws scrabbling against stone.
"Kaia!"
Hands grip my shoulders, shaking me awake. I lash out instinctively, my shadows surging up—
"Easy," Aspen says softly. "You're safe. It's just us."
My eyes snap open to find Aspen and Torric in my room. Aspen sits on the edge of my bed, his hands still steady on my shoulders, while Torric hovers near the door, practically vibrating with barely-contained energy. The air around him seems to shimmer with heat, though his expression is caught between concern and awkward uncertainty.
"You were screaming," Torric explains gruffly. "The whole wing probably heard. Mouse was raising hell at our door until we followed him."
I try to slow my breathing, checking frantically for my shadows. They're all there, clustering around me protectively. Bob does a quick head count, moving with military precision as he organizes the others into a defensive formation. Patricia fusses, trying to straighten my sweat-soaked hair while weaving gentle, swirling patterns in the air around me that somehow make it easier to breathe. Even Finnick is subdued, pressing close like a concerned puppy, though he can't seem to help making little shadow-rabbits hop across my blanket in an attempt to cheer me up.
"Sorry," I manage. "Just a dream."
"Must have been some dream," Aspen says quietly. Though he can't see them, he seems to sense my shadows' agitation. The temperature in the room has dropped several degrees from their distress, and frost patterns crystallize on my water glass. "Want to talk about it?"
I shake my head, then immediately change my mind, panic clawing at my throat as Aspen starts to get up. "Actually... could you stay? Just for a bit?"
The twins exchange a look I can't quite read. Something passes between them—some silent communication born of years together.
"Both of you," I add quickly. "I just... I don't want to be alone."
Torric shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You sure? We could get Seren, or—"
"Please?"
Something in my voice must convince them. Aspen squeezes my shoulder once before moving to grab the chair from my desk. His movements are deliberately calm, like someone approaching a spooked animal. Torric, after a moment's hesitation, sits at the foot of my bed, his back against the wall. The mattress dips under his weight, and I notice his hands are clenched into fists, like he's fighting the urge to punch something.
"The mighty shadow girl, afraid of bad dreams?" he teases, but his voice is gentle, and his hands slowly unclench.
"Shut up," I mutter, pulling my knees up. Mouse settles in my lap, purring so loudly it vibrates through my bones. Bob positions himself by the door while Patricia creates a gossamer-thin curtain of shadows across the window.
"I think it’s time for one of Torric’s legendary jokes," Aspen says, his tone all mock-seriousness.
Torric groans. "Legendary for what? Being terrible?"
"Exactly," Aspen deadpans. "But they always work."
"Fine," Torric mutters, throwing me a mock-glare. "But I’m charging you for emotional damages after this."
"Tell me," I say, feeling my lips twitch despite everything. My shadows seem to perk up too, especially Finnick, who drifts closer in anticipation. Even Bob turns slightly from his guard position, trying to pretend he's not interested.
"Why did the mage try to charm a water bucket?" Torric begins, his tone mock-serious.
Finnick is already miming a bucket spilling over dramatically.
"No," I gasp through a half-laugh, "please tell me he didn’t—"
"Oh, he did," Torric says with a grin, the punchline drowned out by Finnick’s exaggerated reaction.
I don't remember falling asleep again, but I wake briefly to find Aspen still in the chair, reading by magelight, while Torric snores softly from his spot against the wall. My shadows stretch upward, weaving together into a shimmering canopy that filters the room's dim light into soft, shifting patterns. It feels like being cocooned in safety, their presence wrapping around us like a silent promise. Patricia has woven a delicate shadow-blanket around Torric, its patterns matching his steady breathing. Finnick, for once peaceful, curls near Aspen's feet like a contented cat.
"Sleep," Aspen murmurs, not looking up from his book. "We're not going anywhere."
As I drift back into sleep, I’m struck by how much they’ve given me without asking for anything in return.