Here is your rewritten Chapter 22 – Segment
The tower felt too quiet.
Not peaceful. Not cozy. Just quiet in a way that made my feathers itch.
I paced along the windowsill, peering out at the fading light over the Academy grounds. The parade had ended hours ago, but I could still see bits of it lingering. Glitter-streaked banners hung crooked over archways. A half-crushed streamer lay in the grass below, fluttering weakly in the evening breeze. Someone had abandoned a shoe near the courtyard fountain. No one came back for it.
I stared at that shoe for a while. It felt important somehow.
Behind me, Arwen stood at her desk, completely still. She was holding a letter. She had been holding it for some time now, just staring at it like it might do something if she waited long enough.
I turned away from the window.
"You're going to burn a hole through that thing," I said.
She didn't reply.
I hopped down to the desk and tilted my head at her.
"You're usually faster with these," I tried again.
Still nothing.
"You're worrying me," I added.
Her eyes flicked toward me. She didn't look angry. Just… distracted.
"I don't like this one," she murmured.
I crept closer to the letter, careful not to touch it. There was something odd about it. No seal. No crest. No fancy wax stamp. Just clean parchment, too smooth, with an ink that shimmered faintly under the light.
I read the first few lines aloud.
"To Lady Nightveil and her Familiar," I said slowly. "Your presence is requested at the Hall of Threads. Midnight. No guards. No servants. Bring the soulbeast."
I looked up at her.
"This feels like a trap."
Arwen nodded once. She wasn't surprised. She just looked tired.
I sat beside the letter and waited.
"Are we going?" I asked.
Her jaw clenched.
"They know we can't refuse without drawing attention," she said.
"I thought we liked attention."
"Not that kind."
I flicked one of my feathers into place. "You've faced worse."
"Maybe."
I leaned against her arm. "Definitely."
She didn't push me away.
---
As night fell, I couldn't stop pacing.
Something was wrong. I felt it in the air, in the walls, in the way our tower creaked too softly. Arwen had gone quiet again, watching the fire with a look I couldn't read.
I started checking corners. It felt silly at first, but the longer I looked, the more convinced I became that we weren't alone.
"Arwen," I said finally.
She glanced up.
"There's something in here with us."
She rose from the chair, alert now.
"Where?"
I didn't know how to explain it. I just felt it. Like a prickle along the bond, soft but sharp, familiar but wrong.
"Up there," I pointed with a wing. "Near the ceiling."
She followed my gaze. Then she whispered something under her breath, and the flames in the hearth flared high.
That was when I saw it.
A shimmer. A thread, stretched from the rafters to the desk. It pulsed faintly, almost invisible.
She moved quickly, grabbing a silver hairpin from the table and slicing through the thread. It snapped with a spark of light.
I winced.
"What was that?"
Arwen didn't answer right away. She examined the thread's remains, her face unreadable.
"Spywork," she said at last.
My feathers puffed up.
"They were listening?"
"Yes."
I marched over to the hearth and spat at the flames.
"Cowards," I muttered.
Arwen stepped away from the desk, pacing now.
"We're being watched," she said. "More closely than before."
"Because of the parade?"
"Because I didn't name you."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"They're scared of me."
"No," she said. "They're scared of us."
I looked at the letter again.
"You still want to go?"
Her eyes were cold now.
"We have to."
I sighed.
"Fine. But if someone tries to tie a ribbon on me again, I bite them."
"Deal," she said.
Midnight arrived far too quickly.
The halls of the Academy were empty, or at least they looked that way. The lanterns had been dimmed, the air felt colder than usual, and every shadow seemed a little too deep. I clung to Arwen's shoulder, feathers fluffed against the chill, eyes flicking to every corner.
"I don't like this," I whispered.
"You're not supposed to," she replied.
We passed under the east colonnade, where the statues of long-dead scholars stood watching in silence. I swore one of them had moved since we last walked this way. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I wasn't.
Arwen didn't hesitate. She walked like she owned the entire Academy, and maybe part of her did. Even in the dark, she moved with that slow, deliberate calm that said, go ahead, try me.
We reached the Hall of Threads.
It had been abandoned for years, at least officially. The double doors were old, carved with runes I didn't recognize, and the stone around the archway shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Arwen reached for the handle.
"Wait," I said.
She paused.
I hopped down and inspected the door.
No magic traps. No seals. Just… a presence. Something old. Watching.
"It knows we're here," I said quietly.
Arwen nodded.
"Let it watch."
She opened the door.
---
Inside, the hall was dark. Dust lay thick on the floor, but there were footprints. Not recent. Not fresh. Just enough to say someone had been coming and going long before we arrived.
Candles flickered to life along the walls as we stepped inside, their flames a soft blue instead of gold. I didn't like that. Blue flames never meant anything friendly.
Arwen walked slowly, her boots making no sound on the stone. I stayed close, claws silent, spark low but ready.
At the center of the hall stood a long table. It looked too clean, polished, untouched by the dust that coated everything else. Three chairs waited behind it, carved from some dark wood, almost black.
We were not alone.
Three figures stood behind the chairs, their faces hidden beneath hoods. I couldn't see their eyes, but I felt them. All three.
Arwen didn't flinch.
"You sent the letter," she said.
The one in the center nodded. "We did."
"Who are you?"
"Friends."
I laughed. "You need better branding."
They ignored me.
The figure on the left stepped forward.
"You are aware of your position, Lady Nightveil. You walk a narrow path."
Arwen's voice was calm.
"I know exactly where I walk."
The one on the right spoke this time.
"Your familiar is unregistered. Unnamed. That presents… complications."
"Good," Arwen said. "Complicate someone else."
The center figure raised a hand.
"We come with an offer."
I tensed. Offers were never safe.
"You name the familiar," the figure continued. "Place him under the registry. He will be granted protection, status, and recognition."
"And?" Arwen asked.
"And the scrutiny ends. The pressure stops. Your house gains favor."
I didn't breathe.
Arwen stood very still.
"And if I refuse?" she asked.
The room seemed to shift. The candles flickered again, this time green.
"If you refuse," the center said, "we begin proceedings to reassign the soulbeast."
I flared. My spark pulsed gold, filling the air with heat.
Arwen didn't move.
"You threaten me," she said softly.
"No," the figure replied. "We offer you a choice."
Arwen took a step forward.
"You will not touch him," she said. "You will not name him. You will not bind him."
The hall trembled.
"I would rather burn this place to ash than hand him over."
The figures didn't speak.
Arwen turned away.
"We're done here."
---
Back outside, the air felt colder. The stars looked sharper, like the sky itself was watching.
I hopped to her shoulder.
"You meant that, right?"
She looked at me.
"I don't make empty threats."
I leaned into her neck.
"Good."
We didn't speak again that night. We didn't need to.
They tried to scare us. They failed.
Let them come.