The night was deceptively quiet. Ravenshade's wards glimmered softly, a rhythmic pulse that usually warned its inhabitants of intrusions. Tonight, they did nothing.
Aerin stood on the balcony of her room, feeling restless. Caelan had approached her hours earlier with a simple request:
"I need your help. There's something outside the academy… a place I need you to see."
She should have said no. Every instinct screamed to stay. But there was something in his voice—a tremor, almost pleading—that made her heart clench.
She followed him anyway.
The path beyond the eastern ravine was moonlit but silent, the mist curling around trees like fingers. Shadows that should have protected them now felt heavy, almost indifferent. Aerin's magic flared faintly, but the wards felt… muted, weakened.
She glanced at Caelan. He kept a careful distance, eyes downcast, expression almost guilty.
"You said this was safe," she whispered.
"It is," he said softly. "I wouldn't—"
Before he could finish, a net of shadow and steel erupted from the trees, ensnaring her. Aerin's light and shadow flared instinctively, but the magic was dampened by wards—ancient, alien, precise.
"Caelan!" she shouted, struggling, her voice breaking.
He froze, eyes wide. A flash of understanding—and horror—crossed his face.
"You lied to me," Aerin spat, panic clawing her chest. "This—this is a trap!"
From the darkness, figures emerged. Cloaked, silent, and disciplined. Lucien's men. Shadows clinging to them like armor, eyes glowing faint violet.
Aerin lashed out with a pulse of energy. The wards contained her. Every strike met resistance. Every burst of magic bent against her.
And then the first hand touched her shoulder.
She fell into their arms.
The world tilted.
She tried to scream, tried to summon her power—but the shadows were suffocating, trained to counter her every move. Every spell she knew fizzled.
Caelan stumbled back, horror etched into his face. "No—this isn't what I… I didn't—"
One of the cloaked figures caught his arm. "Step aside," a voice commanded. "Your time will come."
He struggled, tried to intervene, but the men's training was merciless. He could do nothing but watch as Aerin was lifted, bound by magic and shadow, toward the waiting carriage beyond the ravine.
Her eyes met his.
"Caelan!" she screamed, fury and betrayal burning in her gaze.
He dropped to his knees, powerless. "I—I didn't—"
Lucien's laughter echoed faintly across the hills—soft, cruel, victorious. The sound twisted into the mist, a promise of what was coming.
Aerin's hands glowed as she tried one last desperate burst of magic. But it was useless. Every attempt was met with counterforce. Every escape route sealed.
The carriage disappeared into the darkness.
Caelan stayed kneeling, trembling, the weight of his failure crushing him.
"You…" he whispered, voice breaking. "You'll kill me for this."
And he knew she would. Not now. Not yet. But when she woke. When the fury and fear settled.
Lucien had taken the first step.
And Caelan had walked right into it.