Chapter 32: A Hollow Feeling

  Cassian’s steps felt uneven, as if the ground beneath him was shifting.

  Sky was still holding his hand—small fingers curled tightly around his own.

  It shouldn’t have affected him.

  But it did.

  A deep, crawling discomfort slithered beneath his skin, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. His breath felt unsteady, his throat constricting with something raw and unseen.

  His free hand hovered near his mouth, fingers trembling slightly.

  Sky noticed.

  The toddler slowed, turning his head up to look at Cassian with innocent curiosity. “Brother?”

  Cassian inhaled sharply, forcing his expression into something neutral. “Nothing,” he said, voice steady despite the churning inside him. “Let’s eat breakfast. Miss Vera should have already prepared it.”

  Sky didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly. “You look a little pale.”

  Cassian let out a soft chuckle. “Is that so? It’s probably just the cold.”

  Sky hummed but didn’t press further.

  Breakfast was a quiet affair.

  Miss Vera had indeed prepared a full spread—warm bread, eggs, fresh fruit, and porridge. Sky dug in immediately, humming in delight as he stuffed his cheeks full.

  Cassian, on the other hand, could barely stomach a single bite.

  His body was tense, fingers curled too tightly around his utensils. Every sensation felt heightened—the clinking of silverware, the warmth of the food, the distant sounds of birds outside the manor.

  And worst of all—

  The ghost of Sky’s touch still lingered.

  It burned against his palm, as if seared into his skin.

  Unbidden, his stomach twisted violently.

  His throat tightened.

  Cassian abruptly set his spoon down. “I’ll be back.”

  Sky blinked up at him, mid-bite. “Huh?”

  But Cassian was already on his feet, walking briskly out of the dining hall.

  His hands were cold. His head was spinning.

  Too much.

  The moment he reached the washroom, he barely managed to shut the door before he collapsed to his knees.

  Then—

  His body convulsed.

  A harsh, painful retch tore through him.

  His stomach heaved, emptying its contents into the porcelain basin. He gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles white, as another wave of nausea crashed over him.

  Again.

  And again.

  By the time it finally stopped, he was trembling.

  His body felt hollow.

  His vision swam, dark spots creeping at the edges.

  Cassian slowly lifted his head, catching his reflection in the mirror.

  Pale.

  Too pale.

  Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, and his lips were bloodless. He looked like a ghost.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.

  How fitting.

  He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face. The icy sensation grounded him—anchored him.

  He gritted his teeth.

  Get it together.

  He couldn't afford to fall apart now.

  Especially not today.

  Cassian leaned against the hallway wall for a moment, his head still spinning slightly. The bitter taste of bile lingered at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to steady his breathing.

  He couldn’t let Sky see him like this.

  Not when the kid had already started to pry at the cracks in his armor.

  Straightening, he called out to a passing maid. “Go get my breakfast and bring it to my room,” he ordered. His voice was as sharp as ever, leaving no room for questions. “And tell Sky to leave first—I just remembered something I need to do. I’ll be a little late today.”

  The maid hesitated for only a second before bowing. “Understood, young master.”

  Cassian turned on his heel before she could get a better look at him, making his way toward his room.

  Once inside, he locked the door behind him, leaning his back against the wooden surface with a quiet exhale.

  He hated this.

  Hated how weak his body still was.

  Hated how something as simple as a touch—even from a kid—still had the power to make him unravel.

  With slow, deliberate movements, he crossed the room and sat at his desk. His fingers tapped against the polished wood, restless. He needed to focus.

  The book.

  That damned book from last night.

  It was still lying on his bedside table, its blank pages untouched.

  Cassian reached for it, flipping it open. Just as he suspected, the pages were still empty—just smooth, cream-colored parchment with nothing written.

  “What kind of sick joke is this?” he muttered under his breath, flipping through the pages.

  But then—

  A flicker of ink.

  Cassian’s fingers stilled.

  A single sentence bled onto the once-empty page, as if an invisible hand had just written it before his very eyes.

  “Your first lesson begins now.”

  Cassian’s breath hitched.

  More words began to form beneath the first line, scrawling themselves out in elegant, curling script.

  “The world moves on deception. Master it, and you survive. Fail, and you are swallowed whole.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Great. Cryptic bullSh*t.”

  But the words didn’t stop.

  “Your body betrays you. The mind is strong, but the flesh is weak.”

  “You must learn to command it.”

  Cassian scowled, gripping the book tighter.

  “Command my body?” he muttered. “What the hell is that supposed to—”

  Suddenly—

  Pain.

  A searing, white-hot agony lashed through his fingers, forcing him to drop the book with a hiss.

  His hand throbbed, the sensation sharp and undeniable. It wasn’t just in his fingers—it pulsed through his entire arm, traveling up his veins like something was burning inside him.

  Cassian clutched his wrist, gritting his teeth.

  Then—just as quickly as it came—the pain was gone.

  A strange silence filled the room.

  Cassian’s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as he eyed the book on the floor.

  Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for it again.

  But this time, as his fingers brushed the cover—

  Nothing happened.

  His body didn’t react. No tension. No shuddering discomfort.

  And then—realization struck him like a blow to the gut.

  He raised his hand, staring at it. The trembling from before—it was gone.

  The crawling sensation under his skin—the nausea—the violent reaction to touch—

  All of it.

  Gone.

  Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest.

  “…What the fuck?”

  He flipped the book open again.

  A new sentence had appeared.

  “You are learning.”

  A knock at the door startled him.

  “Young master?” It was the maid from earlier. “Your breakfast is here.”

  Cassian swallowed down his lingering shock, schooling his features before answering.

  “Leave it outside.”

  He waited for her retreating footsteps before closing the book with a slow, steady breath.

  Whatever this thing was—whatever the presence that had gifted it to him was trying to do—

  It wasn’t just some useless, empty journal.

  It was a tool. A weapon.

  And Cassian was beginning to understand—

  It wanted to teach him how to use it.