Books on Retailers

The observatory smells like cold glass, burnt dust… and the kind of old fear that clings to your skin long after you’ve outrun it. Fog still creeps along the tower windows, ghosting the glass in thin, skeletal patterns. It shouldn’t be able to reach this far—not inside Academy grounds—but after what we saw tonight? 

I’m not betting against anything.

The floor creaks under my boots as I sink into the shadowed corner, pulling my knees tight to my chest. My ribs still ache from our earlier ordeal—Shadowlands mud crusted in the stitches of my uniform, my lungs raw with leftover panic.

It wasn’t an exercise. It wasn’t some dumb tradition.

It was the Rift cracking open. Them watching.

Zain sprawls onto the battered couch like the whole thing wasn’t a horror show. His wild blond hair sticks up in every direction, and there’s a faint smear of dirt across his jaw. 

“Survived.” He waves a hand like he is a king dismissing a servant. “Guess we’re all officially not cowards.”

Edward collapses into the armchair by the telescope, hands twisting his sleeves, brown eyes still too wide to pass for casual. “I nearly threw up when that fog came through,” he mutters, shivering even though we’re indoors. “I swear… I saw something move. With—like—too many eyes.”

“You did throw up,” Zain corrects with a lazy grin, popping a grape into his mouth. 

It’s just another Friday night for him.

Edward groans, burying his face in his hands. “Why’d we have to volunteer to retrieve that artifact during the Dark Moon? That place is the worst. Give me the Dreamscape any day.”

Leaning against the window, Zara peels off her jacket, rolling up the sleeves of her black shirt. Her curls are a tangled halo, moonlight threading through them like silver wire. Her Scry-phone glows faint blue in her hand, pages flicking across the screen as her blue eyes scan the flying text.

“Because that’s when it’s closest to… them,” she says, voice low, like she’s reading it straight from a funeral dirge.

My stomach tightens. That word. Them.

I shift, trying to ignore the lingering ache under my ribs and the sting of old, buried instincts screaming run. “Them?”

Zara looks up, her gaze locking onto mine l. “The Breachers.” She taps the screen, turning it toward me.

Sketches glow faintly against the dark. Twisted shapes. Wolf-like… but all wrong. Limbs stretched too long, joints bent at the wrong angles. Faces half-shifted, half-human, with jaws that split too wide and way, way too many teeth.

A shudder crawls over my skin.

“The ones that roam when the Rift is thin,” Zara finishes, voice almost detached. But there’s something simmering beneath, the way her fingers grip the phone… daring it to be false.

Edward shudders, sinking deeper into the armchair, his hands pulling his hoodie tighter around his neck. “I don’t—why would the Academy make us go in there if… those… things are still around?”

Zain snorts, tossing another grape into his mouth. “Fear builds character.” He speaks around the fruit like this is all one big inside joke. “Or weeds out the weak.”

Zara shoots him a glare hard enough to slice marble, and for once, the smug drops from his face.

“It’s not just tradition,” she says, eyes flicking from Edward to me. Her gaze pins me in place, like she’s weighing how much I already know. How much I can take.

“You know the real story, right?” Zara presses. “About how the Shadowlands started?”

I shift, jaw tight. The old version? Sure. I’ve heard the bedtime special from those around campus. Don’t stray past the wards, don’t chase the fog, or the shadows eat you whole.

But after tonight? The usual version feels paper-thin and useless.

Still, my walls kick up by reflex. Sarcasm’s easier than admitting I’m rattled. “The usual version? Cursed land. Stay out or get dragged into the fog. Wolves disappear. Blah blah.”

Zara doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smirk. She just looks at me… waiting for the mask to crack. 

She already knows it will.

And I hate that she’s right.

Because yeah, my pulse is still jacked. My brain’s still replaying the way that thing moved in the fog. The glint of eyes—too many of them—staring as if I had its favorite clothes on.

Part of me wants to get up. Walk out. Pretend this is all campfire nonsense.

But I came here for the truth. And the ugly, twisted part of me? It likes the danger. Likes knowing more, even when it’s going to eat at my sleep later.

So, I lean back, folding my arms tight over my chest. “Fine,” I mutter. “Scare me.”

Zain groans. He is sprawled across the couch, watching a matinee he’s seen too many times. “Yeah… scare all of us,” he complains around another grape.

Zara ignores him, settling onto the windowsill, legs tucked beneath her. A smug little kitten  with secrets to spill. 

“Shadowlands weren’t always cursed,” she begins, her voice soft but steady. “Before the breach, it was sacred. Moon-blessed. Packs couldn’t claim it. No fights, no borders. It was neutral. Holy.”

I snort, bitterness slipping out before I can choke it back. “Nothing stays holy long with wolves involved.”

Zara quirks an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

She swipes her screen. Another image appears—this one of two wolves carved in silver, snarling in opposite directions. “Elias and Ciaran Corix. The Shield and the Shadow. You’ve heard that part.”

I nod, but my throat’s tight. The names still rattle in my head after all the Academy lectures. They were held up as an example of wolves gone wrong.

“Ciaran went into the wood,” Zara continues, her voice dipping lower. Edward tenses, pulling his hoodie tighter. His personal shell of protection. “He chased the shadows. Listened to the old whispers.”

She swipes the screen again, and my gut twists.

There they are.

The Breachers.

Wolf-shaped… but wrong. Broad-chested, too long in the limbs. Their hands end in claws that look more human than beast. Their jaws stretch unnaturally wide, exposing teeth made for tearing through flesh—and worse. Their eyes glow a faint silver , slit-pupiled, ancient.

“Former priests of the Moon Goddess,” Zara says, tapping the screen. “Chosen to guide the packs. Keep balance.”

Edward swallows hard. “What… happened?”

“They got greedy.” Zara’s lips thin. “Tried to bind Her power to themselves. Control it. Rewrite the rules.”

My chest tightens. Familiar, ugly. Power-hungry Alphas rewriting rules? 

That hits too close to home.

“The Goddess cursed them,” Zara continues. “Stripped their wolves from their souls. Left them… like this.” She gestures at the twisted creatures on the screen. “Half-wolf, half-man. No pack. No future. No salvation.”

I force my jaw to unclench. “And Ciaran let them back in.”

Zara nods. “Ripped the Rift  open. The Breachers poured through. They devour more than flesh.” Her eyes flick to me, lingering a little too long. “They eat the spirit. Your wolf. Your connection to the Moon.”

Edward’s face goes ashen.

Zain groans again, raking a hand through his blond hair. “And you wonder why people call you dramatic.”

Zara ignores him, her gaze steady on me. “It’s not drama. It’s fact. Every fight between packs? Every blood feud? Every broken bond?” She taps the window with one finger. Fog curls against the glass like it’s listening. “The Shadowlands grow. The Rift weakens.”

My throat feels tight. The memory of the fog clinging to me earlier—the whispering promises, the cold bite—I shove it down. 

But I’d be lying if I said the fear’s not there. Coiled tight around my insides.

Zain breaks the silence, biting into another grape. “Nice bedtime story, sis. Got any more nightmares to share?”

“Plenty,” Zara quips, but her eyes linger on the window, distant and wary.

Edward fidgets with his sleeves, voice small. “You… you think someone would try to reopen the Rift? On purpose?”

Zara doesn't answer.

Neither do I.

Because deep in my chest, I already know the truth.