22. Frankie

Chapter 22

Frankie

Early morning classes are the worst.

I’ve never been much of a morning person, not since Valerie. She had this belief that all her girls should wake with the dawn and rest at dusk. It always felt wrong, going against everything that I am and everything I wanted to be.

Hell, now that I know who and what I am, rising with the dawn feels even more unnatural. I feel like I should wake with the dusk and rest with the dawn like a vampire.

Old habits die hard, I guess. Even now, years later, I find myself stirring as the first rays of sunlight peek through the dingy dorm room curtains. I groan and roll over, burying my face in the pillow.

The alarm on Tori’s phone chirps insistently, and I swat at it blindly, nearly knocking it off the nightstand that rests between our beds.

Somehow, Tori sleeps through it.

“Five more minutes,” I mutter to no one in particular, my voice a mixture of exhaustion and defiance.

I know I can’t afford five more minutes though. Professor Blackwood’s class starts at eight sharp, and he has zero tolerance for latecomers.

I force myself to sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. At least he’s fine with coffee, because at this point, I’m going to need a gallon of it.

As I shuffle to the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There are dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is a tangled mess. I look like death warmed over. For a moment, I hear Valerie’s voice in my head, chiding me for my unkempt appearance.

It’s still hard for me to look in the mirror and see myself and the weight I’m slowly but surely gaining. I don’t know if anyone else has noticed it, but I have. Every damn day, I have to remind myself that this is what healthy looks like.

Not only that, but I have my suspicions about that whole ordeal as well. I lost my connection with my shadows when she told me I was perfect .

There’s no way that’s a coincidence.

I shake it off, splashing cold water on my face. The shadows in the bathroom corner seem to recoil, as if the water offends them.

Great, now even the darkness is judging me.

“You’re not there anymore,” I remind myself, my voice a quiet mix of determination and lingering fear. “You’re free now.”

I’ve learned freedom, however, comes with its own set of challenges. Having no one telling me what to do, what to eat, or how to dress is liberating but also terrifying. Sometimes I find myself longing for the structure and certainty of life with Valerie, but then I remember the cost of that certainty, and I shudder.

I brush my teeth and attempt to tame my hair into something presentable. As I’m finishing up, Tori finally stirs.

“Morning,” she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get your ass out of bed,” I reply, tossing a pillow at her. “I have Blackwood in twenty minutes, and you have psych.”

Tori groans dramatically, but I can see her starting to move. She used to be a morning person until this semester, and I suspect it’s because she doesn’t have to deal with Amanda or Chloe anymore. Lucky her.

I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater over my uniform—comfort over style. As I’m lacing up my boots, Tori emerges from the bathroom, looking far more put-together than I feel.

“I need to go because I need coffee from the cafeteria,” I say, finishing lacing my boots and grabbing my backpack that seriously looks like it’s about to fall apart.

“Lunch?” Tori’s jaw cracks as she yawns.

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “Meet you at the usual spot?”

Tori nods, already rummaging through her closet for something to wear. I hesitate at the door, a familiar anxiety creeping in. It’s stupid, I know, but part of me still expects Valerie to be waiting outside, ready to critique my every move.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself once again that I’m safe now. With a final glance at Tori, I head out into the hallway.

I half expect to see Leo with a steaming cup of coffee, and I’m mildly disappointed when he isn’t there. His annoying cheerfulness might actually be welcome right now.

The campus is just starting to come alive as I make my way to the cafeteria. Students shuffle along, most looking as zombie-like as I feel. The line for coffee is long, but I don’t care. I need the caffeine if I’m going to make it through Blackwood’s lecture without falling asleep or accidentally unleashing my shadows in a caffeine-deprived haze.

As I wait, I find myself scanning the crowd, searching for familiar faces. Not Valerie’s—I know she’s not here—but maybe Amanda’s or Chloe’s. It’s been days since I’ve seen either of them, and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

With my coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other, I head to class.

I drag myself into the dimly lit classroom for Blackwood’s class. As I slump into my seat, I notice the shadows around me seem more active than usual, swirling and dancing at the edges of my vision. It’s been happening more often lately, and I’m not sure if it’s comforting or creepy. They seem to reach for me, like hungry things seeking sustenance.

I resist the urge to swat them away.

My classmates file in, and I can’t help but catalog their expressions. Some look as zombie-like as I feel, while others have this unnervingly alert gleam in their eyes.

Behind me, I overhear a conversation between two students I vaguely recognize but can’t name.

“Ready for another riveting lecture on the joys of shadow history?” one of them says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. They must be those in the know.

His friend chuckles. “I wish we had some coffee to share. That’d make these lectures a lot more bearable.”

Are they talking about me and my coffee?

“I don’t know,” the first one replies, his tone becoming more serious. “I have a feeling today’s lecture will be… illuminating.”

I resist the urge to turn around and join their conversation. Instead, I focus on getting my notebook out, trying to ignore the way the shadows seem to lean in, as if eager to eavesdrop.

An undercurrent of tension thrums through the room. It’s in the way some students eye each other warily, like they are sizing up potential competition. Great, another thing to add to my ever-growing list of worries. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with, now I have to worry about my classmates possibly trying to murder me for power.

Blackwood walks in, and everyone shuts up. He looks us over like he’s sizing up prey. “Today,” he announces, his voice slicing through my exhausted haze, “we delve into the darkest corners of shadow shifter lore. Pay attention, for this knowledge may very well save your lives.”

I straighten up in my seat, suddenly more alert. This is the kind of stuff I’ve been waiting for, the real meat of why we’re all here—not just learning to control our abilities, but understanding where they come from and what they mean .

Blackwood’s eyes sweep the room, landing on each of us in turn. When his gaze meets mine, I feel a chill run down my spine. It’s like he can see right through me. For a moment, I wonder if he knows about the shield incident, but that’s impossible, right?

“Shadow shifters,” he begins, his voice low and intense, “are not just manipulators of darkness. They are conduits for ancient, primordial forces that predate human understanding.”

I wonder if he is talking about Nyx. The name seems to whisper through the shadows around us, a half heard susurration that makes me shiver.

The shadows in the room seem to deepen, coalescing around Blackwood as he speaks. I blink, unsure if it’s just my imagination or if he’s actually manipulating them. They writhe and twist, forming shapes that are almost recognizable before dissolving back into darkness.

With another blink, they disappear. Yeah, so it’s just me. Great, now I’m hallucinating shadow puppets . Just what I need.

“Throughout history,” Blackwood says, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, “shadow shifters have been feared, revered, and hunted in equal measure amongst those who learn of our existence. Some cultures believed we were messengers of the gods, while others saw us as harbingers of doom.”

I can’t help but think about all the shadow shifters before me. Did they feel this lost? This messed up? Did they ever look in the mirror and wonder if they were turning into monsters?

“Shadow shifters,” he presses on, his intensity palpable, “are among the most enigmatic and feared beings in our world. Our ability to manipulate darkness itself makes us formidable opponents… and dangerous allies.”

I feel a flutter of pride at his words, quickly followed by a wave of shame. I shouldn’t be proud of being feared, should I? There’s a part of me, though, a dark, hidden part that relishes the power. It’s the same part that sometimes whispers that maybe Valerie wasn’t entirely wrong about everything.

“But with great power comes great vulnerability,” Blackwood continues. “A shadow shifter’s strength is also their weakness. Light can be both a weapon and a shield against them.”

My hand hovers over my notebook as I listen. My heart races, and I can feel the shadows around me pulse in response.

“Light shifters have all but died out.” He pauses with a twitch to his lips, his eyes falling on me. “They were reported to be the only ones who could kill a shadow, and we were the only ones who could kill the light.”

I feel as though there is so much more to his words than he is saying. A chill runs down my spine, and I resist the urge to look around at my classmates.

“Light shifters have disappeared,” he says cryptically. “I blame that on why our kind has become so lax.” There are murmurs as he says this.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the weight of Blackwood’s gaze as it zeros in on me.

“However,” Blackwood continues, his eyes finally moving away from me, “the absence of light shifters doesn’t mean we’re invulnerable. Far from it. Our greatest threats now come from within our own ranks.”

The room falls silent, tension thick in the air. I can feel the shadows around me pulsing, reacting to the collective unease of the class. It’s like being in a room full of living darkness, all of it hungry and restless.

“Power struggles within shadow shifter communities can be… catastrophic,” Blackwood says. “When shadow turns against shadow, the results are often fatal—not just for the individuals involved, but for entire bloodlines.”

I think of Valerie and the iron grip she held over her girls. I always thought Valerie was human, and it’s something I didn’t even think to ask. They all knew about her, but who is Valerie really?

I never looked back, not once since I escaped.

Now I can’t help but wonder.

“In the coming weeks,” Blackwood continues, “we’ll delve deeper into shadow shifter politics and power dynamics. I suggest you read up to chapter five in your textbooks.”

Groans echo all around us, earning a smirk from Blackwood.

“Come now,” Blackwood remarks, his eyes sweeping the room, “you will all enjoy the history on the trials. We have the Twilight Trials, where potential pack leaders prove their worth through tests of strength, cunning, and shadow manipulation.”

My pen hovers over my notebook. This is the kind of stuff I should probably write down, but my mind is buzzing with questions. Do people still die in these trials? Am I expected to participate in something like that? I glance around, trying to gauge my classmates’ reactions.

“Female pack leaders,” Blackwood says, his gaze lingering on me in a way that makes me want to shrink into my chair, “face unique challenges. You must be stronger, faster, and more cunning than your male counterparts. The price of failure is not just defeat, but often death and by your female friends.”

Blackwood’s eyes darken as he speaks. “And it’s not just direct competition you need to worry about. In our world, the strength of a pack leader is intrinsically tied to their mate. Some ambitious females have been known to eliminate rivals for the powerful males they’ve chosen, not for their own position. It’s a deadly game of strategy and alliances.”

Great, another layer of complexity in this already twisted world. I glance around the room, suddenly hyperaware of the relationships forming among my classmates. Who here might be sizing up potential mates? Who might see me as a threat?

Sure as fuck isn’t me. I’ve already stated I don’t want a pack, but then again, it seems that men keep surrounding me.

Leo, Matteo, Bishop, and Dorian.

It seems they are hell-bent on forming a pack with or without me.

“That leads us into the divine fem?—”

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “What about the goddess Nyx? Didn’t she lead without relying on brute strength?”

The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Blackwood’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think I’ve made a huge mistake, but then he smiles—it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Whoops. Way to go, Frankie. Why don’t you just paint a target on your back while you’re at it?

“An interesting question, Ms. Vale,” Blackwood replies, his voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and warning. “The legends of Nyx are… controversial. Some see her as a symbol of feminine power in our society, while others see her as a myth used to challenge the established order. Perhaps you’d like to enlighten us on your perspective?”

I swallow hard, acutely aware of all eyes on me. The shadows in the room seem to lean in, hungry for my response. “I… I’ve only read a little about her, but it seemed like she used wisdom and shadow manipulation more than physical strength. Isn’t that also important for a leader?”

Blackwood’s expression is unreadable. “Indeed. A thoughtful observation. However, in our world, physical prowess often determines who lives to apply that wisdom. The debate over Nyx’s influence is as old as our society itself, Ms. Vale. While wisdom is crucial, our history is written in both shadow and blood.” He pauses, then adds, “Mr. Reeves, perhaps you’d like to share the traditional view on this matter?”

As another student starts speaking, I feel a spark of defiance ignite within me. Physical strength isn’t everything. There has to be more to this, and I’m going to figure it out, even if it kills me, which, in this place, just might.

As the lecture continues, my mind races. I sneak a glance at Dorian in the corner. His pen moves across his notebook in quick, efficient strokes, his face a mask of concentration. His intensity is palpable, even from across the room.

Does anything ever rattle him?

I catch Dorian’s gaze as I pack up my things at the end of class. He nods almost imperceptibly, a hint of approval in his eyes.

Why does that send a flash of excitement through me?

I quickly avert my eyes from Dorian, trying to quell the unexpected flutter in my chest. As I stuff my notebook into my bag, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve stumbled onto something bigger than I realized. The legends of Nyx, the power dynamics, and the trials are all connected somehow, I just can’t see the full picture yet.

The rest of the class filters out, and I follow behind, looking over at Dorian every few seconds, but he doesn’t look up, so I leave.

In the corridor, the shadows seem to reach for me more insistently than ever. It’s like they are trying to tell me something, but hell if I know what. All I know is that I’m in way over my head, and I need to figure out how to stay afloat in this shark tank of a school.