CHAPTER 21:The Wrong Kind of Silence
Zayn barely touched his food. May noticed immediately. He sat across from her in the dining hall, shoulders tense, eyes distant. The plate in front of him remained almost untouched, steam curling into the air as if mocking him. “You’re not eating,” May said softly. “I will,” Zayn replied, a little too quickly. “Just… not hungry.” That was the first lie. By nightfall, the second sign came. Zayn stood on the balcony overlooking the capital when the world tilted. Not sharply—just enough to make him grip the railing. His breath came uneven, chest tight, like something unseen had wrapped fingers around his ribs. Focus. He summoned his shadows instinctively. Nothing answered. The darkness beneath his feet flickered—and vanished. Zayn stiffened. That had never happened before. Behin
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