Chapter 3 – Mission of Shadows

 The book felt like it pulsed against Angel’s ribs, hidden beneath the folds of her borrowed cloak. Every step down the stone corridor echoed with the weight of the forbidden knowledge she now carried. She walked briskly, eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway lined with flickering sconces. The whispers of unseen enchantments brushed against her skin like cold breath.

 I’m on my own now, she thought, gripping the book tighter. But pretending to be a witch means I can at least gather ingredients without too many questions. One wrong move, and it’s over.

 She slipped into the student apothecary before anyone could stop her. The room was a kaleidoscope of smells and sounds—dried herbs hanging from wooden beams, bubbling cauldrons emitting plumes of color, and the faint hum of stored magic in every jar. Behind the counter, a werecat student lounged, half-asleep, his striped tail swaying lazily.

 “Shadowroot ink?” Angel asked in her best impression of a practiced witch’s drawl. “I need it for a veil charm—Advanced Mistcraft.”

 The werecat cracked open an eye, muttered, “Bottom shelf, second from the left. Don’t spill it. That stuff stains souls,” and promptly went back to sleep.

 Angel paid with trembling fingers, slipping silver marks across the counter. She tucked the vial into her satchel and exhaled quietly. One ingredient down.

 The second would be far more dangerous.

 ---

 Twilight painted the sky in ash and violet as Angel slipped past the academy gates, hood pulled low. She moved silently across the grounds, heading toward the battlefield cemetery just beyond the wards. The air grew colder with every step, and the silence deepened into something reverent. Rows of blackened stones marked the resting places of fallen magic-wielders—witches, beasts, and beings from beyond the veil.

 She found the remnants of a recent pyre. The earth was scorched, the circle of runes faint but still clinging to the soil like echoes. Kneeling, she cupped a handful of the grave’s ash, her fingers brushing heat still clinging to the embers. Her voice was barely a whisper.

 “Thank you... I hope this helps me survive.”

 The air behind her shifted. She froze.

 A tall figure emerged from the tree line, pale as frost and robed in ceremonial silks the color of dried blood. His eyes glowed faintly red, like embers in the dark.

 “Grave ash,” he said, voice like velvet and ice. “Not a common component for illusions. What spell are you casting, witch?”

 Angel turned, steadying her voice despite the thunder in her chest. “Something to make enemies see their own fear. Professor Zephyros approved it.”

 The vampire prince—because she knew by instinct this was no ordinary student—watched her a moment longer. Then, with a faint smirk and a blur of supernatural speed, he was gone.

 Angel let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

 ---

 Moonlight spilled through the dormitory window, casting silver light over the floor. The candle flames flickered nervously, as if they too sensed the weight of what was to come. Angel sat cross-legged in the center of a circle drawn in chalk and ash, the ingredients laid before her like an offering.

 She uncorked the ink and traced the glyph onto the floor, each line echoing a rhythm deeper than memory. She whispered the ancient words, her voice trembling:

 “False flame, cloak of dusk,

 Let the truth within be swallowed.

 Veil me in the lie I must wear,

 Until I can protect the truth I carry.”

 The pendant at her neck flared hot, then dulled to ice. The chalk glowed briefly and vanished, leaving the room in a breathless stillness.

 Then she felt it.

 Not just a charm or glamour, but a weightless veil of power—foreign, yet familiar—wrapping itself around her soul. A mimicry of a true witch’s aura, stitched together with stolen ash and old ink. It wasn’t perfect. But it would hold.

 She looked at her reflection in the glass. The girl looking back had the eyes of someone who could lie to monsters.

 “No one can know what I really am,” she whispered to her reflection. “Not until I’m strong enough to fight back.”

 And for the first time, the fear in her heart felt like something she could mold—into fire, into strength, into magic.

 The dorm room door closed behind her with a soft creak and a final-sounding click. Angel paused, waiting—expecting a voice, a shadow, a pair of eyes glowing in the dark. But nothing came. Only silence. Stillness.

 She let her shoulders fall.

 For once, no one was watching. No probing glances. No whispered threats disguised as compliments. Just quiet.

 Her small room, tucked into the west tower of Lunaria Academy, had grown familiar in its oddness. The bed adjusted its temperature to match her body, enchanted by some forgotten house spell. The desk was covered in half-finished assignments she’d copied from other students, and the enchanted mirror refused to reflect unless spoken to—some overly polite magical quirk.

 Angel dropped the satchel on the floor, its secret cargo of ash-stained chalk and forbidden ink tucked safely away, and sank into the bed with a deep exhale. The mattress cradled her like a sigh.

 “I did it,” she whispered to the air. “At least… for now.”

 The warmth of the veil spell still clung to her skin, like she’d bathed in starlight. It shimmered faintly beneath her clothes, unseen by eyes but felt in the bones. A second skin. A shield. A lie.

 She curled beneath the thick blanket, fingers finding the silver pendant at her throat. The one Elira had given her. The one that had started all of this. Its magic felt cold now, quiet—overshadowed by the ancient spell pulsing softly within her veins.

 Her mind drifted as the tension slowly ebbed. To the silver-eyed fae boy who’d nearly seen through her in class. To the vampire prince in crimson robes who had watched her steal ash from sacred ground. To the hooded figure in the forbidden library who’d warned her of unseen watchers.

 They know something’s off, she thought, staring at the ceiling. But they don’t know what. Not yet.

 Above her, the enchanted skylight shimmered, offering a slice of Lunaria’s night sky. The stars glowed faintly, moving too slow to be real. Magic tampered even with the heavens here. Still, one star pulsed slightly brighter than the others, like it was watching back.

 She stared at it.

 Beneath the warmth of blankets and spelllight, Angel let her eyes close.

 And before sleep claimed her, a single thought wrapped around her like a vow:

 I don’t care if I’m human in a world of monsters. I’ll become something they never saw coming.

 —To be Continued—