Nightworld Academy - L.J. Swallow Page 0,50

meet to discuss the lucky person before the boat docks. Their meeting removes one threat, but not all. Adrenaline floods through me as I make my way from the room towards the main entrance; to the place I stepped into and life was sucked from me months ago.

Ryker loiters close to the bottom of the steps and chats to the mid who’s posted there. Unsure whether to approach, I pass them, but Ryker catches my arm. “Wait.”

The mid on guard has a squashed face and no nose with patches of dark green scales on his cheeks, and he rarely speaks to us in more than monosyllables. He’s frightening-looking, but I don’t think there’s any brain to go with his brawn. When the mid notices us, he looks the other way before traipsing across the hall to the doors.

“Come on,” says Ryker.

I gawk at Ryker as he follows. We’re walking through the front door? The possibility this guy is unhinged creeps into my mind.

Following his lead, I pull myself tall and stride across the tiled area towards the exit. The mid from the hallway stands, arms folded across his chest as he talks to his colleagues, and Ryker sidesteps into the shadows.

Tensing, ready to be spotted, I slip in beside him. He’s flat against the wall with a huge smirk on his face. “They’re distracted because everybody discovered who’s arriving tonight.”

“Someone dangerous?” I whisper.

“Someone famous.” Ryker doesn’t elaborate as he pulls himself from the wall. The mid from inside repositions himself and the two burly half-humans stand with their backs to us.

“Good man,” says Ryker in triumph as he sidles towards the path leading to the beach.

Leaving the claustrophobic building and grounds and stepping onto the island should be freeing, but the rocky, barren landscape is as oppressive. To the left and right of the building, the rocks drop sharply towards the sea, and the one path towards the beach is steep and uneven. I hope we don’t need to run through the dark.

I’ve never figured out how large the island is or what lives in the woods I’ve seen through the chain fences.

I barely remember the surreal walk from the moored boat to the building on the night I arrived. One day, I was at the academy, the next I was on my way here. I shiver against the wind pushing through my dark jacket and pull up the hood.

Dark clouds cover the sky all the way to the horizon; we’ve no moonlight or stars to aid us, but that hides us too. I’m shrouded by darkness the way my life has been for months. Once the shadows lift from my mind, I’ll think clearly and plan my future.

We stand on a steep, rocky outcrop where weeds and sand cover the ground and I’m scared I’ll slip. Not because I’ll hurt myself, but because I’ll draw attention. Tall torches either side of the steep pebbled path light the way between the academy and beach. We stay far enough away to avoid the light as we gingerly make our way down the rocks instead. Once or twice my shoes slide beneath me—trainers aren’t the best outdoor footwear.

I want to ask Ryker how the hell we’ll manage this. If magic works until people set foot on the island, then whoever pilots the boat won’t be weak against the inmates.

The cold bites and I drag my hood further across my face and tuck my hands inside my sleeves.

“Shit.” Ryker grabs my arm and pulls me down, so I crouch beside him. We’re fifty metres from the path where two figures now walk towards the academy. One I recognise as Luca. Angus is the official head of Ravenhold, but I suspect this guy is behind decision making.

I’m unsure who the other person is. A new student in dark clothes, hood up the same as mine is, hiding from his new world.

Poor bastard.

Ryker watches with me. “Fun times ahead for that guy. Man, I’m glad I’m out of here.”

A nearby rustling sound in the undergrowth silences us both, and my already racing pulse hikes up further.

“Not loud enough to be a person. A rabbit, probably,” says Ryker. “Come on. The boat will leave in five; they never hang around long. I've watched.”

He sets off down the slope, stones and dirt sliding with him. Cursing the fact I can’t produce witchlight, I attempt to keep up without landing on my arse. The quiet crunch from the pebbles on the beach sound twice as loud in my

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