Chapter 6: Storm Warning

The two days after the incident at the lake were a masterclass in silent, excruciating tension. The apartment, once a shared sanctuary, now felt like a demilitarized zone. Grace and Angie moved through the kitchen in the mornings with the careful, distant politeness of strangers, their conversation limited to monosyllabic inquiries about coffee filters and milk. The vibrant, unspoken connection that had hummed between them, first as friendship and then as a dangerous, burgeoning desire, had been severed. In its place was a chasm of awkwardness so vast Grace feared she might fall into it and never be seen again.

Angie had retreated completely into her Guardian persona. The warm, teasing roommate was gone, replaced by a coolly efficient woman who discussed Grace’s training schedule with the detached air of a personal trainer. She was all business, her face an unreadable mask, but her frantic, constant twisting of her silver ring was a tell. It was the only sign of the turmoil Grace knew must be raging beneath the surface. For her own part, Grace was adrift in a sea of hurt and confusion. The near-kiss had uncorked something primal inside her, and Angie’s abrupt rejection felt like a physical blow, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.

Determined to find some semblance of normalcy, Grace threw herself into her studies. She sought refuge in the familiar, safe halls of the art history building. The campus, with its bustling students and Gothic architecture, was a welcome distraction, a reminder of the simple, magic-free life she used to have.

She settled into her seat for “Mythological Symbolism in Renaissance Art,” grateful for the anonymity of the lecture hall. Her regular professor, a kindly older woman, announced that they had a guest lecturer for the next few weeks—a visiting scholar from Cambridge, Dr. Alistair Finch.

When he walked to the front of the room, a low murmur of appreciation rippled through the female half of the class. He was undeniably handsome, with sharp cheekbones, a warm smile, and intelligent gray eyes that seemed to take in the entire room at once. He had dark, slightly curly hair that fell across his forehead with a kind of studied carelessness, and he was dressed in a tweed jacket that made him look both academic and effortlessly charming.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone with a faint British accent. “Today, we’ll be discussing depictions of water spirits—Naiads, Sirens, the occasional Rusalka. Beings of immense power and passion, often tragically misunderstood by the mortals who sought to possess them.”

Grace felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. She instinctively slouched lower in her seat, feeling as though he were speaking directly to her.

Professor Finch was a brilliant lecturer. He was engaging, witty, and his passion for the subject was infectious. But as the lecture wore on, Grace began to feel a prickling unease. His eyes seemed to scan the lecture hall, but they kept returning to her, lingering for a fraction of a second too long. She tried to tell herself she was being paranoid, that her new reality was making her see monsters in every shadow.

After the lecture, as students packed their bags, Grace remained behind to put the finishing touches on a sketch in her notebook—a swirling, abstract representation of the water serpents from the lake.

“That’s quite remarkable.”

The smooth voice was directly behind her. Grace jumped, startled, turning to see Professor Finch standing there, his gray eyes fixed on her sketchbook. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was an intensity there, a focused appraisal that felt less like admiration and more like… assessment.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Grace stammered, closing the notebook instinctively. “It’s just a doodle.”

“I disagree,” he said, leaning closer. He smelled of old books and expensive cologne. “You’ve captured the flow. The inherent energy. Most artists paint the surface of the water, but you… you’ve drawn its soul. Its current. It’s as if you’ve felt it personally.”

Every word was a perfectly aimed dart. He was probing, she realized, his compliments carefully crafted questions. The air around him felt strange, charged with a dry, static energy that made the hairs on her arms stand up.

“I just like the water,” she said, her voice small.

He stepped even closer, invading her personal space, and gestured to a large painting she had propped against her chair to take home. It was a seascape she’d been working on for weeks, a canvas of turbulent, stormy waves. He reached out, his long, elegant fingers brushing against the textured paint of a crashing wave without asking. The casual violation sent a jolt of alarm through her.

“This is your work, isn’t it?” he murmured, his gaze still on the canvas but his words meant for her. “Magnificent. There’s such raw power here. Untamed. It takes a very special kind of person to channel that sort of energy.” He finally looked at her, his charming smile firmly in place, but his eyes were cold, predatory. “I would be very interested in seeing more of your portfolio, Grace.”

He knew her name. Her professor hadn’t mentioned it.

Panic, cold and sharp, began to rise in her throat. This wasn’t a charming professor. This was a threat.

“Grace. Time to go.”

The voice was clipped, cold, and right beside them. Angie. Grace’s head whipped around to see her roommate standing there, her stance perfectly balanced, her body radiating a coiled tension that was utterly unlike her usual easy-going athleticism. The playful, awkward girl from the apartment was gone. This was the Guardian Grace had met in her living room, but amplified tenfold. Her hazel eyes were narrowed, fixed on Finch with an expression of pure, unadulterated loathing. Her hand was not on her ring; it was hanging loosely at her side, her fingers slightly curled, ready.

Finch straightened up, his charming facade not faltering but shifting, the warmth in his eyes vanishing completely to be replaced by a chilling, predatory amusement. He looked from Angie’s stony face to Grace’s frightened one.

“Ah,” he said, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He looked directly at Angie. “The babysitter. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

The silent communication that passed between them was terrifying. It was a clash of unseen forces, a nonverbal declaration of war fought in the empty lecture hall.

“We’re leaving,” Angie said again, her voice low and dangerous. Her gaze didn’t leave Finch, but her hand shot out and gripped Grace’s arm. Her hold was like iron.

“Of course,” Finch said smoothly, taking a deliberate step back. He gave Grace a final, lingering look, a look that promised this was far from over. “Do be careful, Grace. It’s a dangerous world for someone with such… rare gifts.”

Angie didn’t wait for a reply. She pulled Grace away, her pace fast and urgent, practically dragging her out of the lecture hall and into the crowded campus quad. Grace stumbled along, her mind reeling.

“Angie, what’s happening? Who is he?”

“Not here,” Angie bit out, her eyes scanning the crowds, her head on a swivel. She led Grace away from the main thoroughfare, down a secluded path behind the library that was usually deserted. As soon as they were hidden from view by a thicket of hedges, Angie spun her around, her hands gripping Grace’s shoulders. The fierce protector was still there, but now her eyes were filled with a raw, terrifying urgency.

“Listen to me, Grace. That man, Alistair Finch. He’s not a professor.”

“I know,” Grace whispered, her heart hammering. “I could feel it. What is he?”

Angie took a deep breath, her gaze burning into Grace’s. The playful facade, the guarded wall, the hurt and longing—it was all burned away by the immediate, life-or-death reality of the situation.

“He’s a Collector,” she said, and the name landed with the weight of a death sentence. “He’s a mage who hunts non-humans. He finds elementals like you, and he binds them. He traps their essence, their soul, and uses them as a source of power. He turns them into living batteries, Grace. And he’s here for you.”