The library's silence had been broken, replaced by a nervous, buzzing tension. A few patrons had already started gathering their belongings, casting quick, fearful glances at the scorch mark on the wall. Light, still on the floor amid the wreckage of his research, didn't notice. He was focused entirely on the person who had just emerged from the s-hadows.
There was something about Shade's presence that was both unnerving and impossible to look away from. It wasn't just his blood-red eyes, though they were certainly a major factor. It was the way he carried himself, a stillness that was not calm, but a dangerous kind of patience. Light's usual retort of witty, rude comebacks faltered for a moment, replaced by a strange, almost magnetic curiosity.
Who is this guy? Light thought, his mind racing. He's not scared. Not even a little.
Light had seen that look before, but only in the mirror. It was the look of a predator, of a creature that knew how to move in the shadows and how to strike without warning. For a fleeting second, the thought crossed his mind that this person might be a hunter, but the idea vanished as quickly as it came. Hunters were loud, brash, and always on the move. This person was like a ghost, a specter of the night.
Shade, for his part, was analyzing the situation with the precision of a master strategist. His gaze flickered from Light's wide, sea-blue eyes to the burn mark on the wall and back. No one else had seen the plasma blast. They just saw a clumsy kid and a strange burn. They were too human, too oblivious to the signs.
But Shade saw. He saw the way Light's fingers, trembling ever so slightly, were curled inward, just like his own when he had to suppress an energy flare. He saw the wild, untamed energy humming just beneath the surface, a direct contrast to his own tightly controlled power.
And that was a problem.
A big problem.
Because a plasma blast meant one of two things: a hunter had found him, or…
The words that had been on the tip of his tongue—a sharp dismissal, a command for Light to leave him alone—died in his throat.
Shade: "Get up."
It wasn't a request. It was an order, delivered with the chilling finality of a graveyard wind. Light, surprised by the change in tone, scrambled to his feet, still muttering curses under his breath as he gathered his books. Shade's gaze remained fixed on him, a silent question hanging in the air.
Light: "What? Are you going to help me pick these up or just stare?" he shot back, his bravado returning as he stacked a biography of Queen Victoria on top of a fantasy novel.
Shade said nothing, his eyes still burning with a mix of suspicion and a dawning, terrifying realization. He was not alone. The fact hung in the air between them, a silent secret that no one else in the room could possibly comprehend.
Shade: "You should leave," he finally said, his voice low and dangerous, as if he were trying to talk himself out of a terrible idea.
Light: "And let you have the last word? No thanks," Light said, hugging his precarious stack of books. "Besides, you're the one in my spot."
Shade's mind reeled.
The audacity.
The sheer, unadulterated chaos.
Light wasn't just a threat; he was a catastrophe waiting to happen. And for the first time in his life, Shade didn't know whether to fight or to simply… run.