Shadows Unveiled, page 10
It felt like the start of something worse.
All around us, cadets stared—not just at Liv, but at me. Like they were seeing me for the first time. Like they were measuring me up. Like they were wondering if they should be afraid. Or if they should be next.
Then came the hands—strong, unyielding.
A captain on each side pulled us apart. One yanked Liv away, still muttering curses through clenched teeth. The other kept a firm grip on my arm, not rough, but not gentle either. A reminder.
I was still a cadet.
And I’d just broken the rules in front of half the damn academy.
My eyes flicked up—and landed on him.
Okami stood near the entrance, his slate eyes locked onto mine, his jaw clenched so tight I swore I could feel the tension all the way across the room.
I’d seen him angry before. But this?
This was something else.
He looked like a storm barely contained by flesh and bone. Fury warred with something else in his gaze—something deeper, something… worse. Disappointment.
My heart dropped somewhere into my stomach.
Before I could say anything—do anything—Commander Landeskog’s voice thundered over the mess hall.
“Cadet MacKenzie.”
Every conversation died. Heads turned. All eyes shifted back to me.
He pushed through the crowd like a blade through silk, tall and terrifying, and when his eyes found mine, I forgot how to breathe.
“My office,” he said, voice cold steel. “Now.”
And just like that, whatever adrenaline had carried me through that fight dissolved into a lead weight in my gut.
Twelve
I followed Captain Landeskog out of the mess hall with what felt like the weight of a hundred stares pressing into my back. Whispers trailed behind me like smoke, curling into my ears and settling in my lungs. Every step felt like it echoed too loudly, like I was dragging the entire room’s judgment with me. The urge to look back, to snap at someone—anyone—burned in my chest, but I didn’t. I kept moving. Fast, steady, like if I slowed down, I might shatter.
Landeskog didn’t speak as we cut through the academy’s winding corridors. His silence was its own kind of reprimand—sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. We broke off the main path and started climbing a narrow staircase carved right into the cliffside. Each step echoed beneath our boots, the stone cold and unforgiving. Higher and higher we went until the sounds of the academy below dissolved into wind and distant gull cries.
By the time we reached the top, the burn in my legs was nothing compared to the twist in my stomach.
His office was pristine.
Everything inside had a place. Books arranged like soldiers on a shelf, pens aligned with military precision, not a paper out of place. It felt clinical—sterile, almost—but not unwelcoming. More like… intentionally controlled. The kind of control that said: I see everything. I allow what I choose.
He gestured for me to sit, and I did, the chair beneath me stiff but polished. I felt oddly exposed. The wall behind his desk was mostly glass, looking out over the canyon and the storm-tossed sea below. The view was wild. Untamed. But in here? In here, it was silence and order. A room outside of the world.
Landeskog sat across from me, spine straight, expression unreadable. His blond hair was immaculately swept back, not a strand out of place. And those sharp blue eyes? They cut like steel. Not cruel. Just… exacting. Like he was measuring not just what I did, but why I did it.
“You have quite the reputation,” he said finally, his voice calm. Too calm.
There was no judgment in his tone—but something in his stare made it clear this wasn’t a casual observation. This was a scalpel being drawn across the skin to see what I’d do next.
I could only shrug, trying to look indifferent even though my pulse was thundering in my ears. I knew what they said about me. I’d lived in the shadow of their whispers, felt the sting of their accusations. But hearing it acknowledged so directly—so calmly—was still disarming.
Captain Landeskog leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk, his eyes fixed on mine. “Explain to me why you’re such a target,” he said, not harshly, but with an insistence that made it impossible to dodge.
I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected.
He didn’t know?
Somehow, that rattled me more than if he had launched into a list of all the things I’d been accused of. It seemed impossible that someone like Landeskog, with his reach and his reputation, wouldn’t already have the full report. But the way he looked at me—serious, curious, not yet condemning—made something stir in my chest.
Hope. It was ridiculous, but there it was.
“Besides the fact that you’re the Sunflower Widow,” he added, his voice cutting through the fragile quiet between us. The nickname hit like a slap. My throat tightened.
Of course, he knew that much.
I looked down at my hands. “I don’t know,” I said quietly, because it was true. I didn’t know the full reason. Maybe it was the rumors. Maybe it was the fact that I wouldn’t die easily like I was supposed to. Maybe it was because I was still breathing.
He didn’t let up. “Then explain why Okami is so… territorial.”
My head snapped up.
“I was his student,” I answered too quickly. Too flat. “Maybe he’s just looking out for me.”
Even I didn’t believe it.
Landeskog narrowed his eyes, not unkindly, but sharply. “Okami hates you. Everyone knows that,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out what makes you worth that level of protection. You’re pretty—striking, even. But a pretty face means nothing here. What can you do?”
I wanted to give him a real answer. I wanted to list my skills, my training, the things I’d fought through just to be standing here. But instead, what came out was smaller. Weaker.
“Nothing,” I breathed. “I’m a healer.”
The word felt like both a confession and a curse.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t mock me. Instead, he nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair. “I know. I read your file.” His voice softened. “Jeremy Sannin says nothing but good things about you.”
It was meant to be comforting. But all it did was twist something deeper inside me. Because if Jeremy believed in me, and Landeskog was willing to listen… then I couldn’t afford to keep failing.
And I couldn’t afford to keep hiding.
I clenched my teeth and turned toward the window, letting my gaze fix on the cliffs beyond, the way the waves crashed violently against them, relentless and unforgiving. It felt like the only place in the room I could look without feeling pinned down. The conversation was too close, too sharp, and the sea offered at least the illusion of distance—something to focus on while I tried to piece myself back together.
I felt his eyes on me, and when he spoke again, his voice had shifted. Calmer. Still edged with authority, but tinged with something else I couldn’t quite name.
“What happened there?” Landeskog asked, nodding slightly toward my shoulder. I didn’t need to look to know what he meant. The stitches were obvious if you were paying attention.
“I got attacked,” I said, short and sharp. The words landed between us like a dropped blade. Heavy. Dangerous. True.
“When?” he asked.
His voice was clipped, professional. I could tell he was already filing away the details, drawing lines between dots I hadn’t offered. He wanted a timeline.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t trust him—not yet. And I didn’t know if protecting myself meant staying quiet or telling the truth. In this place, silence and honesty both had consequences.
“Cadet,” he pressed, and this time the calm veneer in his tone gave way to a firmer edge. A warning.
Still, I said nothing. I kept my eyes on a spot just past his shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze. Refusing to give him what he wanted. I didn’t owe him anything.
A slow, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. It didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re as stubborn as he is,” he said, and I didn’t need him to clarify who he meant.
Okami.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as he studied me. “Let me guess. The showers?”
I didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. But inside, my stomach twisted.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low, too perceptive for comfort. “That’s what I thought. You weren’t bleeding in training. Your hair was still damp when you walked into the mess hall. You got hit somewhere you weren’t supposed to be attacked. Again.”
I swallowed hard, still refusing to speak, but the way he laid it out—so plainly, so effortlessly—unsettled me. I wasn’t used to being seen that clearly. Not unless it was by someone trying to kill me.
He tilted his head, a quiet sort of challenge in the movement. “Two attacks. Both in unsanctioned areas. That means someone’s not following protocol.” He paused, then asked, like it was just casual conversation, “You think you’ll survive the week?”
“Probably not,” I said flatly. The words came out before I could filter them, soaked in a kind of quiet resignation I hadn’t meant to show. “And then they’ll have no one left to hate.”
Landeskog raised an eyebrow, just slightly. There was a flicker of amusement in his otherwise unreadable expression, like he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or concerned.
“They hate me because Gabriel killed Bastian,” I continued, the words spilling out now, fueled by a bitter kind of momentum. “No—scratch that. They’re angry that Laressa, one of the Four Families, killed the Harbinger. None of us are people to them. We’re just icons. Symbols. And since I was naïve enough to believe in teenage love, I get to wear the crown of it forever. Delusional. Punishable.”
Landeskog leaned back, his posture relaxed but his focus razor-sharp. “Tell me how you really feel,” he said dryly.
I looked away, jaw tight. His office was too clean. Too neat. I didn’t belong here any more than I belonged in the mess hall with a tray to the back of my head.
“Is that why I’m here?” I asked. “Because I upset the optics?”
He didn’t hesitate. “You’re here to get you out of a heated situation. Though… maybe it’s not you I should be worried about. I don’t doubt anyone who attacks you will be dealt with by Okami.” He paused, studying me like I was a riddle that didn’t quite make sense. “Sink your poison in him too?”
“It’d be so much easier if I had,” I muttered, half to myself. That would at least give people something clean to blame.
The thought that I might be manipulating Okami was almost laughable. Except it wasn’t funny. It was terrifying. Because if I wasn’t controlling this—and I wasn’t—then it meant everything between us was real, and that came with its own kind of danger.
“I need to know what you are,” Landeskog said suddenly. His voice was quieter now, but somehow sharper. Like he thought the answer could explain everything.
“I’m no one,” I said. I kept my tone steady, but my hands were clenched in my lap, nails digging into the fabric of my uniform.
“If that were true,” he said, “Kiri’s most lethal weapon wouldn’t be out avenging you.” There was a beat of silence. “What do you have over him? Are you that good in bed?”
The question hit like a slap. Invasive. Ugly. And worse—calculated.
I straightened in my seat, fury threading through my spine. “You think that’s all it takes to earn his loyalty?” I snapped. “That a man like him is ruled by—by sex?”
Landeskog didn’t flinch. “He’s still a man,” he said simply. Like that excused everything.
Like that explained Okami. As if he was just another soldier with a weakness for soft skin and a warm bed. But I knew better. And so did Okami.
He wasn’t mine because of the way I looked.
He was mine because we were the same kind of broken.
“Just because that’s what drives you doesn’t mean he’s the same,” I snapped, the words leaving my mouth like a blade thrown with purpose.
There was a flicker in Landeskog’s eyes. Not surprise—he was too controlled for that—but something sharper. Annoyance, maybe. Or the first crack in a carefully composed mask.
“He’s not the same,” he said after a moment, quieter now. Regret laced his voice like a splinter hidden beneath polished words. “He’s the goddamn Arcane Reaper. His job is to protect Kiri. And we’re on the brink of war.” His gaze flicked to the side, jaw tightening. “If he’s more consumed by you—”
“He’s not.” I cut him off before he could finish the thought. “Okami would never choose me over Kiri. You know that. He’s loyal to the city.”
“I thought so too,” Landeskog muttered, almost to himself. His eyes drifted toward the window, as if the cliffs beyond could offer him answers I couldn’t.
The silence between us stretched, heavy and brittle. I didn’t know if I wanted to fill it or let it crush us both.
“Then why ask me?” I demanded finally. “Why not ask him?”
He turned back to me, his expression unreadable again. “I have you here so he knows I’m not afraid to go near you.”
I blinked. “So this is a power play?”
“This is to show him—and you—that you’re still under academy rule,” Landeskog said, voice level, gaze sharp as a blade unsheathed.
“The rules?” I laughed, and the sound rang hollow in the echo of that pristine office. “You mean the same rules that let someone attack me in the showers? The ones that do jack shit when I’m getting jumped in the mess hall?”
His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding with the effort not to react. “If you have influence over him—”
“That’s what you don’t get.” My voice rose, raw and unfiltered now. “I don’t. If I did, he wouldn’t be losing control like this. He wouldn’t be stepping out of line. You think I want to be the reason he’s on edge? You think I want a bigger target on my back than I already have?”
Landeskog didn’t respond immediately. Just stared. Measured. Calculated.
“You can’t remove the target,” he said eventually. Cold. Final. “You might as well accept it.”
I leaned forward, bitter and unflinching. “Be the Sunflower Widow, right?” I said, voice low. “Let them paint me in blood and tragedy, and smile pretty while they do it.”
“Be what they make you,” Landeskog said, his voice low, darkly amused, “and watch the world burn. Watch the crowds part like an ocean.”
My eyes narrowed, the words slithering into me like cold iron. “So, I’m a weapon now?” I asked, the words flat, brittle, laced with the defiance I hadn’t quite let go of yet.
“Not a weapon,” he corrected smoothly. “You leash the weapon.” He paused, gaze steady. “But you’re the target.”
The air stilled around us. My stomach dropped.
“You’ll be deployed on missions soon enough,” he added, like it was nothing. Like that hadn’t just cracked open the floor beneath me.
I blinked. “I’m a cadet.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Let’s not pretend. You’re not just any cadet. You’re his. And he’ll burn the world down to keep you breathing.”
My hands curled into fists in my lap. I leaned forward slowly, my voice ice-edged. “I won’t let you use me to control him.”
“You don’t get to tell me how to do my job,” Landeskog snapped back, cold and sharp. “If putting you on the field makes him play by the rules, then congratulations—you’re going in the field.”
My breath caught, a mix of fury and fear tightening around my lungs. “He’s not going to like this.”
“He doesn’t get a say,” Landeskog said. His eyes locked on mine. “Not if he wants to protect you. Not if he wants to keep you.”
And just like that, I realized what I was.
A line drawn in the sand.
A threat dressed up like a girl.
A loaded gun—aimed, not fired. Not yet.
But soon.
Thirteen
The halls were mostly empty as I made my way through them, damp and cold and echoing. I climbed the narrow staircase to the rooftop—the same one Okami had dragged me up before—and pushed through the heavy door. Rain greeted me like a slap, steady and cold, soaking through my clothes within seconds. The canyon beyond was half-swallowed in mist, jagged cliffs blurred by veils of silver.
He was already there.
Okami moved through the downpour like the storm answered to him. Alone. Focused. Relentless. Every strike, every pivot, was pure control. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Just precision and fury contained in a body too dangerous to ignore.
His soaked shirt clung to him like second skin, outlining every muscle, every breath. His hair hung in his eyes, rain dripping from his chin—but he didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. He didn’t seem to feel the cold. He didn’t seem to feel anything.
I did.
Something in me ached watching him. Not just from attraction—though, yes, that too—but because he looked like a storm barely restrained, a weapon honed to cut clean and deep. It was the first time in days I felt anything close to safe, even as I stood in the middle of a rooftop with no cover and every inch of my body soaked.
For just a second, it wasn’t about enemies or missions or whispers in the mess hall. It was just him. Just this. The kind of power that wasn’t taught. The kind that was carved.
And then he stopped.
Okami turned toward me like he’d known I was there the whole time. His gaze cut through the rain, straight into me.
“You almost died,” he said flatly. “Again.”
The word hit like the wind—sharp, slicing. I swallowed hard.
“Yes,” I said. Just that. No defense. No excuse. Just truth.
His chest rose and fell once before he added, voice low, “She’s dead. Both of them.”
I blinked. The breath I hadn’t realized I was holding twisted in my chest.
I turned my face away from him, looking out over the cliff’s edge instead. The wind tugged at my hair. The rain tasted like salt.
