The academy’s gardens were a stark contrast to the shadowed halls and cold stone walls of Nightshade. In the moonlight’s gentle glow, the vines and pale blossoms seemed to shimmer with life, swaying softly in the cool night breeze. The air was lighter here, free from the oppressive weight of the academy’s secrets, and it was in this rare tranquility that Eryon found himself sitting beside Misery. Their partnership, an alliance born of necessity, had grown into something neither of them could name nor entirely understand.
Misery leaned back against the stone bench, her crimson eyes fixed on the stars above. Her usual sharpness was dulled, softened by the serenity of the moment. “You know,” she began, her voice quieter than usual, “you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”
Eryon turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”
She smirked, but it was a softer expression than her usual razor-edged grin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, wolf. It’s not a compliment. Just an observation.”
Eryon chuckled lightly, the sound unfamiliar even to himself. The tension he so often carried felt lighter around her, and he hated to admit how easily Misery had a way of disarming him. There was a sharpness to her that intrigued him, but it was the glimpses of vulnerability beneath that held him off balance.
“I could say the same about you,” he replied after a moment, his voice carrying an undertone of sincerity.
Misery turned to him, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly, glinting with curiosity in the moonlight. “Is that so?”
“You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be,” Eryon said, his tone light but his words cutting through the pretense between them.
Her smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of something that looked almost vulnerable. She broke his gaze and looked back to the stars, her expression unreadable. “Maybe,” she said softly. “Or maybe I’m just good at pretending.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy with unspoken truths. Eryon studied her out of the corner of his eye, wondering about the walls she had built around herself. Misery was dangerous, unpredictable, and infuriating—but there was a loyalty in her that he hadn’t expected, one that drew him in despite himself.
“You know,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet, “you’re not half bad company. For a werewolf.”
Eryon smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in response. “I’ll take that as another compliment.”
Misery rolled her eyes but leaned closer, their shoulders almost touching as she settled into the bench. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still keeping score.”
Eryon chuckled, but his wolf stirred quietly, sensing the fragile truce that existed between them. As they sat there, the tension of the academy seemed far away, replaced by a strange, tenuous peace. The world felt smaller in the moonlit garden, the night wrapping around them like a cocoon.
For the first time in a long while, Eryon allowed himself to feel something other than fear or anger. And though he didn’t trust Misery completely, in this moment, he realized he didn’t have to.
