Page 116 of Shackled By Shadows

I can’t move.

The warmth that surged through me a moment ago, the breathless relief of him, is twisted into something sharp and cold.

My hands curl into fists at my sides as I will myself not to run to him.

It’s like my body hasn’t caught up with the reality before me. My heart still screams that he is safe, that he is mine, that if I reach for him, he will be there.

Oberon’s face is unreadable, a mask of carefully constructed indifference. I wonder if there is any chance he just hasn’t had time to change.

Maybe he is here for me, for us. I need to hold on to hope that he didn’t completely lose himself.

The space between us has never felt so vast.

The silence stretches, taut and unbearable.

Say something, I want to beg.

He is too far. Even if I scream, he won’t hear me. Between the clatter of the soldiers behind me and the vast distance that still lies between us, my voice will be lost in the chaos.

I am frozen, torn between wanting to run to him and the overwhelming confusion eating at my insides.

The stillness, his stillness, is torturous.

Every second stretches into eternity, suffocating me.

I shoot a glance at Zander and Ash, desperate for some hint of what is going on, but their faces mirror my own shock and confusion. They are just as lost, just as unsettled.

I turn back to Oberon, my expression pleading for him to give me something, anything. But there is nothing.

Then . . . another figure emerges from the trees, stepping into place at Oberon’s side. . . . Keagan.

His gaze flicks to me, and I see it, the delight, the amusement that dances in his sadistic face, drinking in my shock like it is the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. My stomach twists. He isn’t just standing with Oberon. He is reveling in this. In my unraveling.

This can’t be happening.

I want to scream, to shout at him, to demand answers. But my throat is tight, my mind spinning too fast for words to form. I can barely breathe, and all the while, I am watching him, watching him as more figures emerge from the trees, as if they have been waiting for this moment to finally make their move.

Soldiers, one by one, file into place behind Oberon, their steps perfectly synchronized, their movements like a machine, cold, methodical, and terrifying. Their armor is the same as his: steel black, polished to an almost unnatural sheen in the early light. Their blue capes flutter behind them like eerie banners, caught in a wind that doesn’t seem to exist. They are soldiers, and they are here for us.

What strikes me most is their silence.

They aren’t shouting orders. There is no clamor of a battle-ready force. No tension in the air, just an unsettling, unnatural stillness. Their presence is oppressive.

My legs feel weak beneath me as the weight of that truth settles heavily into my chest. There is no longer any denying it. My mind races, desperately clinging to any shred of hope, any explanation that will make sense of what I am seeing. Bile rises in my throat, as my limbs begin to tremble, the chill creeping over my skin, all pointing to the same thing: Oberon, the male I trusted, the one I fought beside, is now standing in the very heart of the king’s army, leading them to our doorstep.

The thought slams into me, as brutal as a stone to the chest. I want to deny it, but the truth is staring me in the face.

I look around, scanning the horizon as more figures continue to pour from the forest, surrounding us.

There are so many.

My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything else. My heart beats faster, harder, as panic creeps its way into my chest.

We are completely surrounded.

The wards are down, and with them, half of our defenses.

I can feel the cold press of fear squeezing my ribs as I shudder involuntarily.