The days blurred together after the hunt, each one feeling more suffocating than the last. Ilya watched me more intently, her gaze sharper than ever. Reynard's curiosity lingered, though he seemed to be biding his time. Even Dain, normally lost in his own world, occasionally cast a glance my way, like I was a puzzle he didn't know how to solve.
The academy's routine continued, but the shadows of their questions followed me everywhere. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, studied, analyzed. And the weight of it made me uncomfortable, like a thread unraveling, one that I wasn't sure how to tie back together.
But that wasn't the only thing on my mind.
I had begun to notice strange shifts in the world around me.
At first, I thought it was just me—adjusting to my new life inside the book. But no. The signs were clear now. Things were changing. Not just the creatures I encountered, but the very fabric of the academy itself.
Classes felt different, off in subtle ways. The halls where I once walked in solitude were now full of whispers, of rumors I couldn't quite place. Even the weather seemed to change unpredictably. A storm might brew overhead in the morning, only to clear by noon. A strange tension buzzed in the air like static, as if something—or someone—was altering the world around us.
That evening, as I walked the hallways after my final class, I stopped in front of a window and stared out at the looming trees beyond the academy's borders. Something flickered in my peripheral vision—an unnatural shadow darting among the branches.
I turned, my eyes scanning the surroundings. Nothing. But the unease remained.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.
"You're looking for something."
I turned to see Ilya standing in the doorway behind me. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable as she regarded me from across the room.
"I wasn't looking for anything," I replied coolly. "Just getting some air."
Ilya's gaze was sharp, cutting through the words like a blade. "You know something's wrong here, don't you?"
I didn't answer. My eyes drifted back to the window, though my thoughts were elsewhere. How much did she know? How much had she figured out?
"I've been keeping an eye on you, Kael," she continued, her tone softer now, but laced with something dangerous. "You're different. You don't fit in with this academy, with this world. And it's starting to show."
I didn't respond immediately. My fingers tightened around the edge of the windowsill, but I kept my face neutral.
"I don't need you to keep an eye on me," I said, my voice flat. "I'm just here to get through it."
Ilya stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. "It's not that simple, is it? You're hiding something, and it's not just your ability with that gun. It's... more than that."
I didn't like where this conversation was headed. She was getting too close. Too curious.
"You're wrong," I said, turning to face her. "I don't owe you explanations."
A long silence passed between us. I could see the conflict in her eyes—the desire to pry, to dig deeper. But she held herself back.
"You know," Ilya said softly, "there's something about you. You don't belong here, Kael. You're not part of the story."
I froze. The words hit me harder than they should have.
Not part of the story. I had known it, but hearing her say it out loud made it feel too real. Too final.
"I didn't ask to be here," I said, my voice quieter this time. "And I'm not trying to be part of anyone's story."
Ilya took a step back, her eyes searching my face one last time before she spoke, her voice low but still cutting. "Then why are you here? Because it's starting to look like you're the one who's rewriting the plot."
Before I could respond, she turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. Her words echoed in my mind. Rewriting the plot. Was she right? Was I somehow changing things—shifting the course of events without meaning to?
The pressure of it all—the weight of her suspicions, of my own growing doubts—was starting to feel like too much. The cracks in the story were growing wider, and I had no idea how to fix them. I had no idea if I even wanted to.
I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to matter.
But somehow, I did.