Chapter 32 Lindsay
THIRTY-TWO
LINDSAY
The first round of patrols begins after sundown, and the academy grounds feel different once darkness settles in. Lanterns glow pale and steady along the paths, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Students move in pairs, all of them hushed and on edge.
Raiden walks beside me toward the eastern wardline, where Dorian said he would meet me. His steps are steady but tighter than usual, his hands flexing at his sides. He hasn’t said much since dinner. He doesn’t have to. The tension rolls off him in waves.
He keeps glancing at me, then away, then back again.
“You don’t have to walk me there,” I say gently.
“Yes,” Raiden replies, and his tone is quiet but firm. “I do. We walk in pairs outside the gates.”
I don’t argue. Something about tonight makes the world feel thin around the edges, as if something on the other side of the Veil is listening.
We reach the archway just as Dorian steps forward from the shadows beneath it. He stands with that effortless stillness of his, hands clasped behind his back, silver hair catching every scrap of moonlight. He gives me a warm, slow smile that feels far too practiced.
“You’re early,” Dorian says. His gaze drifts briefly to Raiden, taking measure of him without a hint of subtlety. “And escorted.”
Raiden stiffens. “Just making sure she gets where she’s supposed to be.”
“Admirable,” Dorian replies, voice smooth but amused. “Protective instinct suits you.”
Raiden’s jaw tightens. “It’s not instinct.”
“Of course,” Dorian says in a tone that implies he doesn’t believe a single word. “It must be… something else.”
He studies Raiden for a long, deliberate second. The air between them fills with tension. Raiden shifts closer to me, barely an inch, but Dorian notices. I’m positive he notices everything.
I clear my throat. “So… patrol.”
“Patrol,” Dorian echoes, turning his attention back to me. “Are you ready?”
I shrug. “As ready as anyone can be for walking the perimeter of a school after dark.”
His smile widens. “Excellent. That means you’re not ready at all.”
Raiden steps forward before I can respond. “If anything happens—”
Dorian lifts a hand, silencing him with an almost gentle gesture. “Nothing she doesn’t want to happen to her will happen while I’m with her.”
“That’s not comforting,” Raiden mutters.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Dorian replies lightly. Then he tilts his head. “You’re welcome to keep pace with us until you’re satisfied she’s safe in my company. Though I warn you, that may take all night.”
Raiden’s glare could ignite a building, but I place a hand on his forearm. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He looks down at my hand, then at me, worry softening the hard line of his features. “If anything feels off, come straight back.”
“I will.”
Reluctantly, Raiden steps back, though he keeps his eyes on Dorian until the last possible second. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, he turns and heads back toward the courtyard.
Once he’s out of earshot, Dorian watches him disappear, then gives a low whistle.
“He is… devoted,” Dorian says. “Fascinating.”
“He’s protective,” I correct.
“That too.”
Dorian offers his arm—not expecting me to take it, but amused at the idea.
“Shall we begin?”
I nod, heart thudding as we step into the darkness beyond the wardline together.
Dorian leads us along the outer edge of the wardline, boots silent against the frost-crusted stone. The lanterns hum faintly overhead, steady in their glow, but the Veil feels too close here. My skin tingles with it.
We walk for a few minutes in silence before Dorian glances at me sidelong, mischief already brewing.
“So,” he says casually, “shall we begin?”
I snort at his repeated words. “I thought we already did.”
“Oh no.” His smile curves, slowly. “We haven’t even started the interesting part yet.”
Before I can ask what that means, he flicks his fingers and a ribbon of blue-white fae magic unfurls between us—thin as silk, weightless as air. It drifts toward me with purpose.
I freeze. “What are you doing?”
“Testing a theory.” He gestures lightly. “Touch it.”
“That seems like a terrible idea.”
“Most worthwhile things are.”
I shoot him a look, but he only waits, patient and annoyingly confident. After a beat, I reach out. The moment my fingertip brushes the glowing strand, my Veil mark flares under my sleeve. The magic reacts—not against me, but around me, curling like it’s greeting something familiar.
Dorian’s eyes widen a fraction. “Well. That is… unexpected.”
My pulse jumps. “Unexpected how?”
He circles me slowly, watching the strand of magic coil and twist. “Fae magic usually resists accepting anything tied to the Veil. But my magic…” His gaze lifts to mine. “It welcomed you.”
I swallow. “Is that bad?”
“I didn’t say that.” He steps closer, close enough that I feel the faint hum of his power brushing my skin. “It means you are not merely connected to the Veil. You are possibly part fae, too.”
“That sounds worse,” I mutter.
He laughs quietly. “Not necessarily. But it does make you very…” His gaze dips to my wrist, then back to my eyes. “…interesting.”
Raiden had warned me Dorian flirts with everyone, but I can’t tell if this is flirting or analysis or both.
“So the test was… what? See if I feel pain?” I ask.
“Only a little.”
I choke on a breath. “That’s not funny.”
“It is very funny,” he insists, smiling like he’s enjoying every second of my irritation. “Besides, I wouldn’t let you actually feel it. I’d shield you before that happened.”
“Oh. That’s comforting.”
“Isn’t it?”
We walk on, his magic hovering near us like a curious creature. It flickers every time my mark pulses. Dorian watches each interaction too closely, studying me with interest far too sharp to be casual.
“You’re doing that staring thing again,” I say.
“I am observing,” he corrects.
“That’s just a fancy word for staring.”
“Then yes,” he says simply. “I’m staring.”
My breath snags—I can’t even pretend it doesn’t. He’s impossible to read, equally charming and dangerous, and the closer he walks, the more the air between us tightens.
Dorian leans in just slightly. “Tell me something, Lindsay.” Hearing my name in his voice sends a strange shock through my chest. “Does the Veil respond to you like this every time… or only when you want something?”
“I don’t want anything,” I shoot back. But my gaze dips to his lips, and I can feel myself blush. I do not want to kiss him. I wasn’t even thinking about that until he asked his question.
“No?” His smile is all teeth. “Not even answers?”
My heart stutters. Because that is exactly what I do want, and I realize I just walked straight into that one with my reaction.
He seems to realize he’s struck a nerve, because his expression softens—barely. “You don’t have to be afraid of your magic.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He tilts his head. “Then why are you holding your breath?”
My mouth opens—and absolutely nothing comes out. Because he’s right. And I hate that he’s right.
I look away, trying to collect myself, trying not to give him the satisfaction of—
A scream splits the night.
Sharp. Piercing. Full of terror. Both of us whip toward the sound.
Dorian’s magic snaps out instantly, severing the floating strand as he steps forward.
“North path,” he says, voice suddenly cold. “Move.”
All the banter evaporates in the same heartbeat. My pulse slams into overdrive as we break into a run, boots hitting the frost-covered ground.
The scream comes again.
Closer.
Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.
Branches whip against my arms as we sprint down the north path. Frost cracks under our boots. The wards overhead flicker—just once—but enough to make my stomach drop.
Another scream tears through the air.
“Faster,” Dorian snaps, though he’s already pulling ahead, silver hair catching stray moonlight as he moves like he’s gliding, not running.
We round a corner—and stop dead.
A girl is on the ground, scrambling backward through the dirt, palms torn and bleeding as she tries to get away from the thing towering over her.
It isn’t a wraith hound. It isn’t a shade. It’s something far worse.
The creature’s body shimmers like broken glass, fragmented and half-phased, jerking in movements that don’t make sense. Its limbs split and rejoin as it crawls forward, dragging itself through a tear in the Veil behind it—one pulsing with jagged silver cracks.
My breath freezes.
“Stay back,” Dorian orders.
The creature lunges for the girl.
Dorian moves first.
Fae magic blossoms from his hands in a burst of blue-white light, slamming into the creature with enough force to send it reeling. The air shudders from the impact. The girl cries out, curling in on herself.
The creature shrieks as it hits the ground—an awful, layered sound, like it’s made of too many voices all screaming at once.
It rights itself unnaturally fast.
“Behind me,” Dorian barks at the girl without looking away from the monster. His stance is low, controlled, a predator facing a predator. “Do not move.”
The girl whimpers and crawls behind him, shaking violently.
The creature lunges again, this time aiming for both of them. And another appears on the other side of the Veil.
“No—” The word tears out of me as my magic surges toward the tear behind it, instinctive and hot, like a hand grabbing mine and pulling.
The Veil pulses.
My mark sears awake, threads of silver-blue spiraling outward toward the tear. I don’t think about what I’m doing, it’s all instinct.
The tear reacts instantly—snapping, pulling, resisting. The creature thrashes, half its body still tangled in the Veil, half in our world.
“Lindsay!” Dorian shouts, but I can’t stop. I’m locked in place, held by something ancient and enormous.
Magic rushes through me, wrapping the tear in bright, burning light as I imagine stitching it shut. It fights. I push back.
The tear begins to close.
The creature lets out one last distorted shriek before it’s yanked backward—slammed fully into the Veil as the crack seals with a snap similar to thunder.
Silence crashes down around us.
I stagger, breathing hard, my knees nearly giving out. The world spins for a second before I catch myself.
The Veil is whole again. The magic settles around us, and it feels like a normal winter night.
When I lift my head, Dorian has the girl tucked against him, one hand braced on her shoulder, murmuring something low and soothing in a language I don’t understand.
But he isn’t watching her.
He’s watching me.
His expression is unreadable—equal parts impressed, unsettled, and ravenously curious.
Slowly, he rises to his full height, still shielding the trembling girl with one arm as his eyes lock onto mine.
“You,” he says quietly, voice a low ripple, “should not be able to do that.”
I swallow, my chest still heaving. “Surprise?”
The girl sobs once, clinging to his sleeve. Dorian steadies her gently, but his gaze never leaves me—not for a heartbeat.
There is something new in it now. Recognition. Awe. And the kind of interest that makes my skin prickle.
“Well,” he murmurs, “this changes everything.”