Shadowbound

06

The days slipped by quietly, carrying an uneasy calm with them.

But the nights…

The nights grew darker. Crueler.

Sleep became a battlefield.

Every time my eyes closed, the nightmares dragged me back—back to blood, to screams, to shadows ripping my parents away from me. I woke up drenched in sweat so often that fear slowly replaced exhaustion. I began to dread the silence of the night, the moment the world went still and my mind came alive with horrors.

It was finally the weekend when the sky opened up and poured its heart out.

Rain battered the windows in rhythmic waves, loud enough to drown the heaviness in my chest. It felt like the world, for once, understood me—crying just as hard, just as helplessly.

For once, I didn’t rush. I let myself sleep in until my body couldn’t take it anymore.

When I got up, everything felt slow. Heavy.

I brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, but the weight didn’t lift. Not even a little.

Then I made the mistake of looking into the mirror.

The girl looking back at me was a stranger dressed in my skin.

Her eyes—my eyes—were ringed with fatigue, dark circles etched into them like bruises that no amount of rest could erase. Her cheeks looked hollow, her lips pressed together as if she’d forgotten how to soften, how to smile.

She looked older than sixteen.

She looked tired.

She looked… broken.

A quiet ache settled in my chest.

You had to grow up too fast.

You didn’t get a choice.

I placed a hand on the mirror, fingertips brushing the reflection as if I could comfort the version of me trapped on the other side.

But pity wasn’t going to fix anything.

So I tore myself away from the mirror’s grip and wandered into the kitchen.

The familiar hiss of the kettle, the warm scent of coffee filling the air—it grounded me more than anything else had in days. I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat soak into my palms.

And then I faced it. Something I had been avoiding for weeks.

The boxes.

They sat stacked in the corner like silent witnesses, each one holding pieces of my old life—pieces I wasn’t sure I was ready to remember.

But avoiding them hadn’t eased the pain.

So I pulled one forward and cut the tape.

It was from my parents’ office.

I expected receipts, documents… useless papers.

Instead, I found journals.

Not one.

Not ten.

Dozens—each filled with my father’s handwriting.

My heartbeat stumbled.

I picked one up, flipping through the pages. At first, it was messy scribbles, symbols I didn’t understand, notes that meant nothing.

But the deeper I read, the stranger it became.

Detailed sketches of creatures that shouldn’t exist.

Descriptions of rituals.

Warnings written in bold strokes.

Research that felt less like curiosity and more like preparation.

Supernatural lore—pages and pages of it.



Dad had always loved weird stories, ghost documentaries, strange myths. I used to tease him about it.

But this…

This wasn’t a hobby.

This was something he took seriously. Too seriously.

A quiet chill crawled up my spine.

I kept reading, hours slipping by unnoticed. With Uncle Tristan’s help, I had already installed shelves and cupboards when I moved into this house. Now I filled them one by one—journals, books, folders.

The room slowly transformed into something else, something sacred.

A library.

A vault of secrets.

A map to questions I wasn’t ready to ask.

When I stepped back and surveyed it, the shelves looked almost majestic, lined with history, fantasy, crime, supernatural research—

And then there was my tiny pile.

Romance novels.

Dozens of them, their pastel covers and soft titles completely out of place among the chaos of my parents’ world. I let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh.

Those books were where I hid.

Where I escaped.

Where love felt gentle, warm, patient—the kind of love that made sense, the kind that didn’t destroy.

I lived in those pages.

I built entire futures in my head.

I imagined what it would feel like to be seen.

To be held.

To be someone’s first choice.



And just as that thought settled in my chest, soft and bittersweet, a memory brushed over me—unexpected, warm.

Conrad.

His laugh.

His hazel eyes.

His voice saying D Bear as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. Warmer.

My chest tightened the way it always did when my heart tried to remember him and forget him at the same time.



Flashback memory

The late afternoon sun hung low over the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the park. The air smelled faintly of damp grass and warm earth, a quiet comfort after the chaos of the day. Conrad and I were sitting on a blanket spread over the grass, our legs stretched out and tangled just enough to feel intimate without realizing it.

We’d been talking for hours—about nothing and everything—and I felt the kind of ease around him that I hadn’t felt in forever. His laughter was a melody that always made my chest ache in a familiar, comforting way, and I found myself leaning just a little closer to catch the next word.

“You always get so serious when you read your books,” he teased, nudging my shoulder gently.

I rolled my eyes, hiding a smile behind my hand. “Someone has to balance your nonsense with some sense of… romance.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and low, and turned slightly to face me. His elbow brushed mine—not forcefully, just casual—but the contact sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. I blinked, heart racing, and for a second we just sat there, staring at each other, the world shrinking until it was just us.

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmured softly, his gaze lingering on my face. “Like you forget everything else, just… here.”

My breath hitched. I wanted to respond, wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck. Instead, I leaned forward slightly, drawn by something I couldn’t name. And then it happened—our lips brushed. Lightly, accidentally, a mere touch that made my entire body seize up.

I froze, eyes wide, chest pounding. Conrad’s eyes mirrored mine, wide with the same stunned disbelief, and yet he didn’t pull away. The air between us was charged, thick and impossible to ignore.

“Uh… I—” I started, voice barely a whisper.

“Wait…” he said, but his words faded as his face tilted closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine. There was a pause—a heartbeat, then another—where the world seemed to hold its breath.

And then he kissed me. Slow, careful, deliberate this time, as if testing the waters, as if afraid to break the fragile moment. My hands found his shoulders, trembling slightly, and his hands cradled my face, thumbs brushing against my cheeks.

The kiss deepened, warm and electric, a spark that ignited something inside me I hadn’t realized was waiting. My pulse thundered in my ears, my mind went blank, and all I could feel was him—his lips, his touch, the undeniable pull between us.

When we finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, my cheeks burned, and my lips tingled like they’d been set alight. Conrad’s grey-green eyes were softer now, filled with a warmth and something unspoken, his smirk replaced with a look that made my heart ache and flutter all at once.

“Guess… that was more than an accident,” he said, voice low, teasing but not quite joking.

I swallowed hard, still catching my breath, and managed a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah… I guess it was.”

For a moment, we just sat there, foreheads almost touching, hearts racing, the golden sunlight bathing us in quiet intimacy. And in that moment, I knew something had changed—something that neither of us could ignore.