“He’ll keep his distance,” I promise, glancing over my shoulder, past the others at where Xaden follows close behind, the only one who refused to wear a disguise. Then again, if I was a shadow wielder I’m not sure I’d walk around in anything but black, either.
“I’ll be wherever you are,” Xaden counters as the bells ring out six times, signaling the hour. “Remember, the goal is secrecy, not showing off. This isn’t the Squad Battle,” he says, his tone low.
We pass the stairwell on the right that leads up to the rest of campus and down to the brig, then round the last corner. The Archives door comes into view, and lucky for us, Nasya is exactly where I expect him to be: asleep at his post.
Bodhi moves quickly with Ridoc, slipping behind Nasya and hiding behind the door to keep watch.
First obstacle complete.
Jesinia surprises me, meeting us at the door. “No,” she signs, appraising our group, the lines of her mouth tense. “Only four of you. Any more, and it’ll be too suspicious.” Her gaze sweeps over Xaden. “Especially you.”
Fuck. Everyone here was chosen for not only their loyalty but their signets.
“No one will see me,” Xaden assures, keeping his voice low as he signs simultaneously. “Aaric. Violet. Imogen.”
Jesinia’s gaze catches on Aaric, and I see the moment she realizes who he is. The blood drains from her face, and she jerks her attention to me.
“Is he that obvious?” I sign as the others start to argue quietly.
“Only if you’re looking for it,” she replies. “They have the same eyes.”
“The wonder of heredity,” Aaric signs.
“I can retrieve.” Rhiannon whispers her argument at Xaden.
“And I can wipe short-term memory if we’re seen,” Imogen replies. “Classified signet, remember? Your power is impressive, Matthias, but I’m the last line of defense around here.” She moves to Nasya, putting her hands lightly on his head. “Just in case.”
“We’ll stay close.” Quinn steps away from the group and motions at Sawyer and Rhiannon to follow. “Just in case you need us.”
Rhiannon looks between Xaden and me, clearly torn. “If something goes wrong—”
“Then you’ll go back to your rooms and act like it didn’t.” I hold her gaze so she knows I’m serious. “No matter what. Stick to the plan.”
Her shoulders drop and she nods, shooting me one last look of frustration before joining the others behind the massive door.
“Walk softly,” Jesinia reminds us, and my heart pounds as we file into the Archives. “We have to be quick. The Archives close in exactly an hour, and if we’re in here when that door seals shut…”
I swallow the nausea that’s threatening. “I know. We’ll die.” The Archives are warded with the ultimate pest protection.
“Just show us the way. We’ll do the rest,” Xaden says. He disappears the moment we cross the threshold, sticking to the shadows along the dimly lit walls. I can just see the vague outline of his shape if I look closely, but it’s almost shocking how well he blends into the darkness.
Or maybe it’s that the rest of the space is so bright, mage lights illuminating the rows and rows of bookshelves and empty study tables that stretch to the back of the cavernous dome. Empty is good—and expected for a Saturday night—but there’s no telling who might be within the stacks or in the workrooms deeper within the Archives.
I force myself past the pinch of hesitation when I walk by the oak study table, following Jesinia. The marble under my boots is familiar and yet completely foreign. As many years as I’ve spent here, this is the farthest I’ve ever walked into the Archives.
Aaric glances down each row as we pass, but I don’t take my eyes off Jesinia, forcing my mannerisms, my posture, my pace to mirror hers. The quiet I usually find such peace in is unnerving under these circumstances.
Gods, so much can go wrong. What little dinner I ate threatens to reappear.
The three of us follow Jesinia as she turns left and cuts through the second-to-last row of tables, guiding us in the direction of the workrooms. The scent of bonding glue grows stronger, and my heart stutters at the sight of a scribe headed our way, coming from the same hallway we’re headed for.
The single golden rectangle on his shoulder marks him as a first-year, and though the Scribe Quadrant educates twice as many cadets as the Riders Quadrant, it’s still small enough that he should recognize us if we were what we’re pretending to be.
“Cadet Neilwart?” he signs while speaking, glancing at us in confusion. I lower my head and see Aaric doing the same, shielding our features as much as possible.
“Cadet Samuelson,” Jesinia answers, turning slightly so I can see her hands.
Fuck, we’re going to be caught before we even get near the wards.
“I’ve got this.” Xaden’s voice soothes the sharpest of the anxiety but not all of it.
But he’s here. He’s exactly why we waited for this particular night.
Shadows creep from beneath the tables, racing for Samuelson’s feet, and Aaric tenses beside me.
“I thought only you and Cadet Nasya were on duty tonight?” Samuelson asks.
“And yet you’re here,” she replies.
Tendrils of black rise up behind the first-year.
“Wait.” The last thing we need is a dead scribe cadet.
“This is me being patient,” Xaden answers.
“I forgot my binding assignment in Culley’s room.” Samuelson glances meaningfully at the cream satchel strapped over his shoulder.
“Forgetfulness doesn’t become a scribe,” Jesinia signs, and my eyebrows rise as I fight back a smile. “If you don’t mind, first-year, we second-years have things to accomplish. Not everyone requires weekends off to study.”
