ShadowBound: The Need For Power

Chapter 793: Isolde Thorne (1)

Isolde Thorne had dark green hair that fell in loose, slightly uneven waves past her shoulders, rich enough in color that it seemed almost black where the corridor shadows touched it. Her eyes were hazel-green, calm and clear, carrying none of the sharp arrogance Liam had seen in many high-ranking students.

Her expression was easygoing, almost approachable, with a faint warmth at the edges of her mouth that made her seem less like someone who held the top rank among the third-years and more like someone who had simply wandered into the wrong hallway without concern.

Isolde blinked once, then smiled lightly, as if bumping into Liam Hunter in an emptying corridor near the third-year wing was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Ah," she said, voice calm. "Sorry about that. I wasn’t watching the corner."

Liam’s eyes remained on her for a moment longer than politeness required.

Then he said, "Neither was I."

Isolde’s smile did not widen, but something in her hazel-green eyes sharpened with quiet interest.

Liam held Isolde’s gaze for another second before lowering his head slightly, not enough to seem submissive, but enough to acknowledge the difference in seniority between them. Whatever else she was, she was still a third-year, the highest-ranked student in that year, and the student president besides. Academy hierarchy was not something Liam cared about emotionally, but ignoring it without reason created unnecessary complications.

"My apologies, Senior Thorne," he said evenly. "I should have been paying more attention. I have to be on my way."

He shifted the thin document case beneath his arm and stepped to the side, already intending to continue down the corridor. He had barely taken a full step when Isolde spoke behind him.

"That’s a little rude, don’t you think?" she asked.

Her tone was light, so familiar and casually accusing that it sounded less like a senior addressing a student a year below her and more like an old friend catching him trying to escape after doing something inconsiderate. There was no visible anger in her voice or formal authority. That somehow caught Liam more off guard than if she had ordered him to stop.

He paused and looked back at her.

Isolde stood where he had left her, one hand resting loosely against the opposite arm, her expression still calm. The faint smile on her face carried an ease that suggested she was enjoying something he had not yet been informed about.

Liam’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Had he not just apologized?

The thought passed through him immediately, followed by another that settled more firmly. She was trying to get somewhere. People rarely stretched harmless moments unless they wanted something from them, and Isolde did not look confused enough for this to be a misunderstanding.

"I did apologize," Liam said.

"You did," Isolde agreed without resistance, nodding once as though conceding a well-made point. "You were very respectful about it too."

Liam waited.

Her smile became faintly apologetic. "But the bump hurt my shoulder, so I’m afraid a simple apology probably isn’t going to fix that."

That cleared away whatever uncertainty remained.

Liam looked briefly at the shoulder she indicated. There was no stiffness in the way she held it, no protective tension, no slight change in posture, and no delay in her movements that suggested actual pain. The collision had barely been forceful enough to shift either of them. If anything, she had recovered from it just as quickly as he had.

She was lying.

Not convincingly, either. She was not trying to convince him.

Liam felt the quiet irritation that came with realizing he had entered an encounter he wanted nothing to do with. Isolde had chosen the excuse because it was harmless enough to be absurd, which meant the excuse itself was not the point. The point was that she wanted him to stay, and for whatever reason, she preferred to make him ask what she wanted rather than saying it directly.

He studied her for another moment, but the same relaxed expression remained on her face.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked.

Isolde appeared to consider the question, though Liam doubted she had needed even a second to decide. "I would appreciate it if you walked me to my dorm."

Liam disliked the request immediately.

There were several reasons for that, all of which arranged themselves in his mind with irritating clarity.

The first was the location. Unlike the dormitories for first-years and second-years, which stood as separate residential buildings away from the main academic structures, the third-year dormitories were directly connected to the third-year study wing. The arrangement made sense considering how demanding their schedules had become. It allowed them to move between advanced classes, private training facilities, study rooms, and their living quarters without crossing half the academy every time.

It also meant that walking Isolde to her dorm would take Liam deeper into an area where nearly every student around them would be a third-year.

The second problem was Isolde herself. She was not simply another student returning to her room. She was the third-year ranked one and the student president. Walking beside her would draw attention whether either of them wanted it or not. Third-years would notice her. They would notice him beside her. They would talk, stare, speculate, or decide they disliked whatever they imagined the sight meant.

Liam had accumulated enough unwanted murmurs throughout the academy without deliberately walking into a new source of them.

The third problem was the route back.

The dormitory wing’s nearest exterior exit opened onto the far western side of the academy grounds. Once he left Isolde there, Liam would have to take the longer path around the connected buildings to reach the second-year dormitories. That meant more time outside, more distance, and more exposure to the cold he had already decided was intolerable.

All of that passed through his mind in only a few seconds.

He still said, "Fine."

Isolde blinked once, and the warmth in her expression sharpened with what might have been amusement. "That was easier than I expected."

Liam turned back in the direction from which he had come. "You’re the student president."

It was not an explanation so much as an acknowledgment of the practical problem. Refusing her would probably lead to nothing. Isolde did not appear spiteful, offended, or particularly authoritarian. She had not spoken to him with disdain, nor had she shown the rigid caution most students used when they interacted with him.

That did not make her trustworthy.

Liam knew almost nothing about Isolde Thorne beyond what nearly every student in the academy knew. Her name. Her rank. Her affinity. Her position. A handful of public accomplishments and the polished reputation attached to them. That was not enough to judge a person, and the easygoing, approachable demeanor she carried did not reassure him.

It looked too comfortable, too well-fitted, like something worn so naturally that most people would never think to question it.

A mask did not have to look false to be one.

Sometimes the best masks were simply the parts of a person they had learned to show most convincingly.

They began walking side by side through the corridor, heading back toward the third-year wing. Isolde moved without hurry, her hands relaxed at her sides, while Liam maintained the same steady pace he had carried before the collision.

For several moments, Isolde said nothing. The silence was not uncomfortable for Liam, though he suspected she had not requested his company for the pleasure of walking quietly.

She eventually glanced toward him. "So, Liam Hunter."

Liam kept looking ahead. "That’s my name."

Isolde laughed softly. "I’m glad we’ve confirmed it."

He said nothing.

"I’ve heard you don’t talk much," she continued.

"You’ve heard correctly."

"And you always answer questions like that?"

"Usually."

Her eyes moved over him with open curiosity rather than caution. "Does it ever get tiring?"

"What?"

"Making every conversation feel like the other person is being charged by the word."

Liam looked at her briefly. "No."

That earned another laugh from her, more genuine than the first. "I see."

They passed through an arched entrance where the architecture changed subtly from the general academic corridors into the third-year section. The walls were darker here, lined with engraved brass markers identifying advanced classrooms, strategy halls, and specialized study chambers.

There were fewer decorative banners, fewer notice boards cluttered with announcements, and almost no students lingering without purpose. Even the air felt quieter, carrying the restrained atmosphere of a place occupied by people who had too much work to waste time standing around.

Isolde continued the conversation as if Liam’s short answers did not bother her. "How are your classes going?"

"Fine."

"All of them?"

"No."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Which one is the problem?"

"Tactical Espionage."

"Lady Seraphina?"

"And Professor Kaine."

Isolde made a thoughtful sound. "That explains it."

Liam glanced at her. "Explains what?"

"Why you looked like you were leaving a funeral when we bumped into each other."

"I always look like this."

"That’s what I’ve been told."

The answer came with such casual certainty that Liam understood she had asked other people about him, or at least listened when his name came up. That was not surprising. He had become difficult to avoid as a subject, especially after Nalim, but Isolde’s manner suggested her interest was not new enough to be accidental.

They moved deeper into the third-year wing. A pair of students approached from the opposite direction, both carrying thick folders beneath their arms. One of them greeted Isolde immediately.

"Evening, President Thorne."

"Good evening," Isolde replied with an easy smile.

The student’s attention then shifted to Liam. His expression cooled almost at once. He did not say anything, but his eyes remained on Liam long enough to make the dislike obvious before he continued walking. The other student barely looked at Liam at all, offering Isolde a polite nod and then treating Liam’s presence as though it were a stain best ignored.

Isolde did not comment.

Neither did Liam.

A little farther on, they passed three more third-years standing near an open study chamber. Their conversation quieted as Isolde approached, and all three greeted her with varying degrees of familiarity. One gave Liam a brief, unreadable look. Another stared at the dark traces in his hair and then at the document case under his arm, as if trying to determine why a second-year dark mage was walking beside the student president. The third made no effort to hide the disdain that crossed his face.

Liam continued without changing pace.

The reactions were familiar, just older.

First-years stared with curiosity. Second-years had learned to mix fear, hostility, and reluctant respect. Third-years often carried more control, which meant their dislike showed in smaller, cleaner ways.