The Queen's Shadow did not speak—not at first.
They moved through the academy like smoke: silent, unannounced, always watching. A presence that turned whispers into silence, that made even professors hesitate before speaking.
On the third day, they appeared outside my classroom.
Not during lessons—after, when most students had already left. I was gathering my things when the door creaked open. That dusk-colored figure stood in the frame.
"Elira Winterose," the voice was smooth, ageless. "Walk with me."
We stepped into a side corridor rarely used. The stained-glass windows cast fractured color across the walls, but their presence drained it all to ash and steel.
"Do you believe justice was served?" the Shadow asked.
I didn't answer. I could feel the air shift—warm, like coals beneath cold ash.
They didn't wait. "You were named. Then erased. Your name survived only in the margins of someone else's guilt."
I froze.
The Shadow tilted their head. "After the Flameheart incident, you chose to return to this academy, unburying things best left forgotten... The Queen wants to know—how far do you intend to go?"
I held their gaze. But behind my silence, something coiled tighter in my chest.
A pause. Then: "Don't disappoint her."
They turned and left, robes trailing like ink in water.The corridor felt colder in their absence—but also more dangerous.