Shadows of Suspicion
Adrian’s new mission consumed him entirely, his thoughts dominated by Lyra and Eryon. With every passing day, his observations grew sharper, his focus unrelenting. The way Lyra’s gaze flickered with unease whenever blood rituals were mentioned, or how Eryon’s stance during combat seemed restrained, as though he were holding something back—these details didn’t escape him. They didn’t fit the mold of Nightshade’s elite, and Adrian was determined to uncover why.
Lyra felt Adrian’s gaze like a constant weight, an invisible pressure that made her wolf bristle beneath her skin. He was always there—silent, watchful, calculating. She did her best to avoid him, masking her tension with practiced indifference, but the effort drained her. Every time their paths crossed, her heart betrayed her, racing uncontrollably under his scrutiny.
Eryon, however, was less composed. One evening, as the two of them lingered in the solitude of their shared quarters, he broke the silence with a sharp, frustrated whisper. “He’s getting too close,” he said, his tone brimming with agitation. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, betraying the wolf that lingered just beneath the surface.
Lyra nodded, her throat tightening. “I know.”
“But do you?” Eryon pressed, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. “You’re not exactly subtle around him. You freeze up whenever he’s near. What if he puts the pieces together?”
“I’ll handle it,” Lyra said, her voice quieter than she intended. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Eryon’s gaze, guilt gnawing at her resolve.
Eryon studied her for a moment longer, his jaw tightening. “You’d better. Because if he figures out what we are…” He let the sentence hang, the unspoken consequences suffocating.
Adrian, meanwhile, was relentless in his pursuit. He noticed how Lyra’s hesitation during the academy’s blood-drinking rituals stood out, her movements too measured, too deliberate. He watched how Eryon avoided sparring with stronger students, choosing opponents who posed little challenge. The inconsistencies piled up, each one sharpening his suspicion.
One evening, Adrian’s patience bore fruit. Lingering in the shadows of the dining hall, he observed Lyra leaving her goblet untouched as she slipped away. His eyes narrowed as he moved swiftly and silently to her table, his hand reaching for the ornate cup.
Lifting it to his nose, Adrian inhaled deeply, his heightened senses parsing every subtle note. The blood smelled faintly of herbs and something else—magic. Its metallic tang was muted, diluted, as though it had been altered. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
He retrieved a small vial from the inner pocket of his coat, careful to keep his movements hidden from the few remaining students in the hall. Tilting the goblet, he poured the remaining liquid into the vial, watching the crimson fluid swirl within the glass.
Adrian held it up to the flickering candlelight, his mind racing. “This will give me answers,” he murmured, tucking the vial safely into his coat.
The game had shifted, and Adrian was no longer content to merely observe. He intended to uncover their secret, no matter what it took. As far as he was concerned, the hunt had begun, and Adrian never lost a hunt.
