Chapter 8

• The graphite of my pencil danced across the pages of my textbook in a ritual as familiar and tedious as the waxing and waning of the moon. I was scribbling the last sentences when the weight of my eyelids betrayed me, and I surrendered to the whispers of sleep.
• There's no telling how long the darkness cradled me, but the moon had climbed significantly by the time my senses stirred again. The room was veiled in shadows, cast from the silver light that streamed through the window, painting my walls with the touch of the supernatural world that lingered just beyond.
• I blinked, disoriented, as I registered a figure standing at the window. My heart thrummed—a primal drumbeat. Xavier. His silhouette was an unyielding statue against the fluid backdrop of the gardens where shadows played beneath the caress of the breeze. A shiver cascaded down my spine, not from cold, but from the electric charge in the air between us.