-Soren-
The moment Alexia gave the order—Go—the world simplified. All the anxious tension and strategic clutter of the past hour dissolved, leaving only the focused, comforting weight of necessity. Her chaos was for the coming confrontation; my shadow was for the cold, silent mechanics of the covert action.
"Let's move," I said, my voice barely a friction of sound, accepting the mantle of leadership for this mission. I didn't wait for Finn—his dragon power was a furnace, too loud, too hot for silent extraction. Tonight required silence, the meticulous application of less rather than more power.
I nodded to Asher. He understood. His wolf instincts, honed by hunting and now sharpened by a need for redemption, overrode his usual guardedness. We left the courtyard, the recent energy of the mate bond still clinging warmly to my skin, a stark contrast to the task ahead. We melted into the deepest shadows of the North Wing, my senses already stretching out, tasting the atmosphere for unwelcome presences.
"The dorm is the third floor of the West Tower, fourth window from the left," Asher whispered, his scent a sharp, clean mix of tension and absolute focus. "She's a deep sleeper, but the shadows in that tower are thin. Too many magical signatures."
"They won't be thin for long," I promised.
We reached the base of the tower. It was an older building, mostly used for first and second-year witches. It hummed with weak, disorganized magical residue—a constant, low static of youthful experimentation, easily slipped through, but still risky.
I activated my shadow magic. It wasn't a cloak designed to physically obscure us; it was a field of negative perception. I projected a subtle, continuous wave of mental distraction. It didn't hide us; it made every mind glancing our way instantly discard us as unimportant—a trick of the light, an old statue, a shadow cast by the wrong moon. The spell was psychologically demanding, requiring utter concentration, but it was far more effective than brute invisibility. Asher flinched slightly as the shadow wrapped around him—he was still more accustomed to brute, physical camouflage—but he adapted quickly, his muscles relaxing, becoming a silent, effective hunter operating within my sphere of influence.
"Go," I ordered.
Asher scaled the sheer stone wall with the silent grace of his wolf form, using tiny handholds only he could perceive. He was a perfect instrument of motion: fast, efficient, and deeply concentrated on the task. This was where he excelled: using his raw physical prowess for an undeniably good cause. I followed, letting my shadows support his weight, easing his ascent, creating momentary pockets of frictionlessness where he needed purchase. My mind ran constant calculations, mapping the light, the ambient temperature, the trajectory of any moving air currents—all variables my shadow had to control.
Halfway up, a light flickered in a window two floors below us. I froze, pressing myself flat against the stone, pulling my perception field tighter. Control. The shadow screamed around us, demanding all my focus. A second later, the light dimmed. A student simply turning over in bed, I determined, forcing the paranoid thought away. But the danger was real. A single mistake would not just compromise the mission; it would compromise Alexia's strategy entirely.
Asher reached the target window first. It was slightly ajar, letting out the faint, sweet scent of vanilla and chalk dust—the undeniable signature of our pawn.
Asher carefully slid the window open, his movements slower than my own but driven by a careful precision born of his desire not to fail. He glanced back at me, his eyes dark in the ambient light. Your lead is correct, my silence affirmed. The gratitude in his expression was brief but genuine—a raw, emotional payment for the trust I was extending.
We slipped into the room. It was small, messy, and dominated by the low, even breathing of the student—a girl with dark hair, curled under a thick blanket. She was just a child, and the sight solidified the cold fury in my chest toward the Council.
I moved to her side, wrapping my shadow tightly around her and the room. No sound escapes. The deep, black energy of the shadow absorbed all kinetic energy, all potential for sound. I placed a hand over her mouth, not to silence her, but to ensure she inhaled the light, soporific mist I released from my palm. It wasn't painful or harmful, just deep, instantaneous sleep magic, designed to prevent trauma.
The girl stirred once, a soft whimper escaping the shadow's dampening field, then she was out, her breathing deepening into the slow rhythm of untroubled slumber.
"Quickly," I whispered to Asher, who was already wrapping the girl securely in her thick blanket.
"We take her to Shade's office," Asher confirmed, hoisting the bundled student over his shoulder. He looked at the girl's face—young, vulnerable, terrified even in sleep—and his gaze tightened, guilt warring with duty. "She's just a child, Soren."
"A weapon," I corrected, my tone gentle but firm. "And Alexia will turn her into a shield. Move."
The descent was easier, faster. Asher carried the bulk, moving with his hunter's focus, while I maintained the shadow cloak and constantly scanned the lower halls for any sign of Rowan or other staff activity. The halls were silent, but the silence felt manufactured, heavy with the possibility of being watched. Every shadow felt like an eye.
We reached the Headmistress's floor without incident. Shade was already waiting in her private office, her gaze sharp, her office warded with heavy layers of protective magic that sealed out all external noise and influence.
We deposited the sleeping witch gently onto the large couch.
"Well done," Shade murmured, her voice deep and steady, looking at the small, bundled form. "She looks like any other student. A perfect, disposable tool for the Council."
Asher stepped back, physically separating himself from the student, his work done. He looked utterly drained but, for the first time since his return, a touch lighter. He had executed his task perfectly.
I stepped up to the Headmistress's desk. "Alexia will be here momentarily to lead the confrontation. She wants to use this student to send a false report to the Council—a 'silver trap.' We need to ensure the girl believes us entirely."
Shade nodded, resting her hands on her desk. "A dangerous play, Soren. The Council is not stupid. If they believe the report, they'll move. If they suspect betrayal, they'll eliminate the pawn and target Alexia directly. Her chaos makes her a target already."
"Alexia knows the risk," I countered, my conviction absolute. "She trusts the strategic value of this opportunity more than the danger. Asher's information was vital. Now, we wait for the chaos."
I sent a quick, final mental pulse through the mate bond—a deep, grounding assurance that the target was secured and the perimeter was clean. Alexia was on her way. The silent preparation was over. The next, and most dangerous, move was hers.