Walking target

“Tell me again,” Toren said, his voice bouncing off the cold stone walls, “why we thought chasing whispers into creepy murder tunnels was a good idea?”

“We didn’t,” Arian replied flatly. “You complained the whole way down.”

“And yet you still brought me along,” Toren shot back, gesturing with both hands. “Clearly my delightful personality is indispensable.” Blaze, perched on his shoulder, let out a crackle of flame as though in agreement.

Darius gave a short snort. “More like disposable.” His Obsidian Stag’s hooves struck the floor in a sharp rhythm, its glowing antlers bathing the hall in steady light.

“Disposable?” Toren pressed a hand to his chest. “Wounded. Truly. Here I am risking my life—my beautiful, irreplaceable life—and all I get is slander.”

“You’d risk less if you kept quiet,” Arian muttered.

Lucien had been silent until then, Fenris brushing against his leg with each step, but now he said softly, “He’s just trying to make it lighter. Let him.”

Arian slowed for a half step, golden eyes flicking to Lucien. For once, he didn’t argue. He just looked away again, jaw tight.

“Lighter,” Caelith repeated, his voice quiet, thoughtful. His quill scratched against his ever-present journal as Nyx glided overhead, wings whispering against the air. “Strange choice of word, considering we just saw runes older than the Academy react to Fenris’ bond. That wasn’t light. That was… weight.”

Toren groaned. “Wonderful. The human library speaks.”

Caelith ignored him. His gaze flicked to Lucien. “What did you feel? Not with your hands, but through the bond. Was it force, hunger, intent?”

Lucien blinked at him. The others all turned too, waiting. Fenris pressed tighter to his side, golden eyes glimmering up at him.

“It was…” Lucien hesitated. His throat tightened as though speaking the truth would make it heavier. “It was pulling, but not like a rope. More like… like it was trying to unravel him. Thread by thread.”

The corridor fell into silence again. Even Toren didn’t quip.

Darius’ stag snorted, its breath glowing faintly in the air. “If those people knew how to twist bonds, then this isn’t just sabotage. It’s war.”

“And war means sides,” Arian said quietly. He adjusted the strap on his sword, his expression unreadable. “We just don’t know whose.”

“Wrong.” Caelith snapped his journal shut. “We know one side already. Ours.” He looked at Lucien. “And someone has marked you as the center of it.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped. He had no answer, no clever protest, nothing to soften the weight of those words. Only Fenris’ steady warmth kept him from crumbling.

---

The group emerged from the tunnels into the cooler night air of the courtyard. The smell of smoke still lingered from the fire days ago, though the stone walls were scrubbed clean. Students milled about in clusters, laughing too loudly, voices pitched with forced normalcy.

Lucien’s eyes darted upward. Windows glowed faintly with candlelight, warm and safe. But he couldn’t shake the image of those glowing runes, the figures, the words: You are bait.

“Straight to the dorms,” Darius muttered, guiding the group toward the northern hall. His stag paced beside him, silent as a shadow. “We don’t talk about this here. Too many ears.”

“Agreed,” Arian said, though his hand never strayed far from the hilt of his blade. Sylveira padded at his side, fur bristling as though even the open courtyard was hostile ground.

Lucien kept his gaze on the cobblestones. His chest was heavy, his thoughts tangled. Fenris pressed against him, small body radiating heat. It was grounding, but not enough.

The others could dismiss Toren’s chatter, Darius’ suspicion, Caelith’s quiet deductions—but not Arian’s sharp eyes. Not the way he watched Lucien as though waiting for something to crack.

---

Their dormitory door closed with a heavy thud. Toren collapsed onto his bed immediately, arms flung wide. “If anyone ever asks me to go underground again, the answer is no. Absolutely no. Write it down, Caelith, etch it into history—Toren refuses tunnels.”

Caelith didn’t bother looking up from his notes. “You’ll go if it’s necessary.”

“It won’t be,” Toren said firmly. “Because I’ll be dead. Or retired or maybe both.”

Blaze chittered in annoyance, flicking a spark near Toren’s hair. He yelped and swatted it away. “Traitor!”

Despite himself, Lucien laughed softly. The sound startled him—it felt out of place in the heaviness that pressed against the room.

Darius leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His stag stood silently by the window, its reflection ghostly in the glass. “We can joke all we want, but Caelith’s right. They were here for Fenris. Which means next time, they won’t wait for us to stumble into them.”

A chill crawled up Lucien’s spine. “You think they’ll… come after me again?”

“Of course,” Arian said bluntly. He sat near the hearth, Sylveira curled at his feet. “And harder. They failed once—they won’t make the same mistake.”

“Lovely,” Toren groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “Our friend’s a walking target.”

Lucien stiffened. The words weren’t cruel, just careless—but they sank like stones.

“Not just him,” Caelith said suddenly. His eyes flicked around the group, sharp and unreadable. “Anyone close to him. That means all of us.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Fenris climbed onto Lucien’s lap, curling tight against him. Lucien stroked the cub’s fur, heart aching. “Then maybe… maybe I should keep my distance. From you all. If I’m the reason—”

“No.”

The word cut sharp. Lucien looked up in surprise. Arian’s gaze locked on his, unyielding. “You don’t get to run. That’ll only make it easier for them.”

“Arian—”

“No.” His jaw tightened. “You stay with us. You fight with us. Or you’ll die alone. Those are your options.”

Lucien’s throat worked, but no words came. Arian’s bluntness stung—but beneath it, Lucien heard something else. Fear.

Not for himself. For Lucien.

Darius finally spoke, steady and sure. “Then we’ll plan. We’ll watch. And if they come again, we’ll be ready.”

“Ready?” Toren lifted the pillow just enough to peek out. “We barely survived tonight. And that was with ancient magic on our side.”

Blaze hissed at him, tail sparking.

“Fine, fine!” Toren sat up, hands raised. “I’ll help. Just… don’t let me die ugly, alright? I want a heroic tale. Songs, statues. Maybe a book deal.”

Caelith’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Noted.”

For the first time since the chamber, the tension eased—just slightly.

---

Later, when the others had settled into uneasy sleep, Lucien sat by the window. The moon hung high, pale light spilling over the courtyard. Fenris lay curled across his lap, small chest rising and falling steadily.

Lucien stroked the cub’s fur, voice barely above a whisper. “Why won’t you leave me?”

Fenris’ golden eyes cracked open. His small head pressed against Lucien’s hand, a wordless answer.

Lucien’s chest tightened. He thought of the whispers, the runes, the shadowed figures. You are bait.

He looked down at Fenris again, voice shaking. “Then we’ll face it together. No matter what they say.”

The wolf cub’s tail thumped softly against his leg.

And for the first time in days, Lucien allowed himself to believe it might be enough.

•••