Page 18 of Lured By Shadows

“Oh, hey,” I replied, offering a small wave as I shifted my things and settled properly into my seat.

She had a presence that was hard to ignore. Her black hair fell in soft waves down her back, except for a braid along the right side threaded with tiny charms, beads, and strands of gold, as though a crow had gathered its favorite treasures and woven them into her hair. Her skin carried a warm glow, and her pale blue eyes were sharp in a way that made it difficult to look away.

She wore earrings that moved with even the slightest shift, stars and moons and bones catching the light. Layered necklaces draped across her chest, bracelets chiming softly with each motion of her arms. Crystals, chains, bangles. All of it clashed and somehow worked together. She didn’t look as though she belonged to any one time or place, just somewhere… other. She looked as though she sold handmade candles that could either heal your trauma or summon something insane.

I realized I’d been staring.

“Well,” she said, uncertainty threading lightly through her voice, “how do you know Scarbrough?”

I leaned on my elbow, my guard rising at the shift in tone. “I just met him today. Why?”

“But do you know of him?” she corrected gently, her gaze dropping to the desk. “I will pray for you.”

That was probably one of the top five least comforting sentences I’d ever heard.

“Wait, what?” I turned toward her fully, confusion tightening in my chest. “What d’ya mean by that?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice beside my ear. “The Scarbroughs are… complicated. On the surface, their business deals in fashion, luxury clothing, and custom tailoring, but that is only a mask.”

I blinked, taken aback. “A mask how?”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “There is a whisper going around. They have been here longer than anyone can count. Some say they have not aged a day since arriving in England.”

Rich people really did get away with everything.

“Is that why people talk about Culver?” I asked quietly. “Why they won’t say his first name?”

“It is not only that,” she said, her posture tightening. “There have been disappearances. One student in particular, when the family first arrived. It was a boy in his year. Scarbrough watched him. His eyes followed the poor boy like a shadow. Weeks later, he vanished without a trace.”

A cold sensation slid beneath my ribs as I thought of Culver’s gaze, how sharp and impossible to escape it felt whenever it settled on me.

“And no one did anything?” I whispered.

“Because it kept happening,” she said simply. “More people… more silence.”

“But you don’t know he did it,” I said, reaching for something solid. “It’s not confirmed.”

“That is the thing,” she replied calmly. “People know. They simply do not dare speak it aloud.”

Unease coiled tighter in my chest. “So you think I should stay away from him?”

She leaned back, studying me with an unexpected softness. “If I were in your place, I would tread carefully. Still, I shall pray for you, one way or another.”

The professor’s voice started up, but none of it registered. Her words looped through my mind, tightening and circling until class ended and I snapped back to awareness, realizing I hadn’t absorbed a single thing.

As I gathered my belongings, my thoughts felt unsteady, caught somewhere between disbelief and a lack of fear that unsettled me more than panic ever could. I shoved my notebook into my bag, my movements slower than usual, as though my body was lagging behind my thoughts.

A hand touched my shoulder.

“Also,” someone said softly.

I turned, startled. “Oh—hey, sorry. I spaced out.”

“My name is Kiera,” she said, holding out her hand.

“I’m Ira,” I replied, taking it, the soft clink of crystals and metal echoing between us. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier.”

“You were not the only one,” she said with a small smile, though a thread of tension still lingered beneath it.