5. Entangled In Shadows

CHAPTER 5

Entangled In Shadows

ILEANA

No matter how long I stare, the mirror refuses to give me answers. It only throws my reflection back at me—tired eyes, pale skin, and the tension I can’t shake. Ten minutes until I need to leave for school, and my stomach is churning at the thought.

Don't attract attention. Don't get involved. Focus on your studies. Be a good girl.

Dad’s mantra loops through my mind, mocking me. After years of following those rules perfectly, one spilled drink is all it’s taken to shatter my invisibility.

“It’s fine. You’re obsessing over something that means nothing,” I whisper to my reflection. “He's already forgotten about it.”

But my hands won’t stop shaking as I brush my hair into a loose ponytail. Every time I close my eyes, I see that shadow outside my window. The deliberate way it moved. How it vanished when I checked again.

Sleep had been impossible after that, and it’s left me on edge, raw and jittery. The concealer under my eyes does little to hide the dark circles from a night spent wide awake.

I adjust my T-shirt, smoothing away non-existent wrinkles. Nothing memorable about my appearance. Nothing that will catch anyone’s eye.

Nothing worth watching . At least there shouldn’t be.

Dad is already in his usual spot when I step out, leaning in the doorway to the living room like a sentry. His gaze sweeps over me, checking every inch of my appearance, as always .

“Make sure you?—”

“Don’t attract attention. Head down, I know.” The words spill out, carrying an edge I’ve never dared use before. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the lingering fear that yesterday wasn’t a one-off. But something in me rebels against the familiar litany.

His lips thin. “Don’t be flippant.”

“Sorry.” I duck my head. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

"Just remember to be careful."

If only he knew how desperately I'm trying to do exactly that.

The October air is crisp and mild, but it does nothing to explain the cold shivers skating down my spine with every step toward school. The sensation of being watched clings to me like frost on a window.

You’re being paranoid. Stop it.

But the moment I step through the school entrance, butterflies take off in my stomach. The hallway feels different somehow, charged with something I can’t name. I have to force myself to move normally, to breathe evenly, to act like it’s just like every other day.

Because it is. Nothing has changed.

My locker provides a brief sanctuary, and I stay there, meticulously arranging books I don’t need for the morning. Anything to delay turning around. Anything to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of my neck.

Just nerves. Leftover anxiety. Nothing more than that.

But when I finally shut my locker and turn, the lies I’ve been telling myself all morning shatter like glass.

He’s here.

Wren.

He’s leaning against the wall, one foot propped behind him, arms crossed, all fluid grace and dangerous vibes. His eyes catch mine and hold, locking me in place like a vice squeezing the air from my lungs.

The hallway noise fades, replaced by the heavy thud of my heartbeat. My gaze darts around, desperately hoping he’s watching someone else, but there’s no one close enough for that to make sense.

There’s just me.

And him.

His attention puts my nerves on high alert, and my feet move before my brain catches up, carrying me sideways, away from that intense stare. But his eyes follow me, and my skin burns under his gaze.

“Ballerina.”

His voice cuts through the air, smooth and soft, but it freezes me mid-step, my stomach lurching.

Just walk away. Pretend you didn’t hear him.

But I’m already turning. He pushes away from the wall with deliberate slowness, each movement calculated and graceful. That lazy smile curves his lips into something darker, something that sends fear skittering down my spine.

He takes his time approaching, confidence radiating out from every unhurried step. My heart slams against my ribs as the distance between us shrinks, and no matter how much my mind screams at me, my feet remain rooted to the spot.

“You know,” he says, voice soft. “I’ve always wondered why someone who moves the way you do tries so hard to fade into the walls.”

My breath catches. The way he says it, so casual, almost thoughtful, suggests he’s been watching me longer than just yesterday.

“I … I don’t?—”

“Don’t what?” His head tilts. “Don’t mean to? Don’t want attention?” His smile widens slightly. “Don’t want me to notice how you sneak away to dance when you think that no one is watching you?”

My knees nearly buckle beneath me. My blood turns to ice. He shouldn’t know that. No one knows that.

The air feels thin, like there isn’t enough of it, and my vision blurs at the edges.

Run .

The word screams in my mind, but I can’t move. His gaze is a hook sunk deep beneath my skin, pulling me back and pinning me in place.

“Yesterday was … illuminating .” He steps closer, the space between us shrinking. His voice drops, almost a whisper, but it carries. “Makes me wonder what else you’re hiding.”

I stumble back a step, but his presence seems to press in, filling every corner of my awareness. “I’m not hiding anything.” The words come out too quick, too breathless.

“No?” He reaches out, his fingers brushing against a loose strand of my hair, twirling it slowly. The intimacy of the gesture twists my stomach into knots. “Then why do you work so hard to be invisible?”

The question hits too close to home, and I jerk back, pulling free from his touch. His hand falls away, but his smile deepens, the dark glint in his eyes sparking like a warning I can’t ignore.

“Careful, Ballerina.” The name rolls off his tongue, laden with meaning, a threat disguised as an endearment. “You’re not as good at disappearing as you think you are.”

He steps back, giving me room to breathe, but it feels more like a predator toying with its prey than mercy. His gaze moves over my face one last time before he turns away, and strolls down the hallway like he has all the time in the world.

I release a shaky breath as the school’s clatter and hum rushes back in, the normalcy going on around me almost jarring.

What does he mean?

His words echo on a loop inside my head.

You’re not as good at disappearing as you think you are.

The memory of the shadow outside my window crashes over me, vivid and chilling. Was it real? Am I imagining threats where there are none? Or worse … have I been fooling myself all these years, thinking I was invisible when I wasn’t ?

The thought makes me feel naked. Stripped down to my essence. And I can't shake the feeling that this is only the beginning. That he’s only just getting started.