Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
RAIDEN
If I hadn’t been patrolling the opposite damn side of campus—I would have been there.
I should have been there.
The guilt sits like a stone in my chest as I watch Lindsay pick at her breakfast across from me, trying her best to pretend everything is normal. It isn’t. Not for me.
“You keep staring at me,” she says finally, nudging my foot under the table. “You’re going to make me self-conscious.”
“I’m not staring,” I lie. “I’m… supervising.”
She raises a brow. “While I eat scrambled eggs?”
“Yes,” I say without shame. “Danger is everywhere, Little Flame.”
Her lips twitch, because she sees right through me. She always does.
“Raiden,” she whispers. “I’m okay.”
“What if you reached the Veil? What if Nolan hadn’t stopped you or Dorian or Auron hadn’t shown up? You could have died.”
“But I didn’t,” she counters gently. “I wasn’t even in real danger.”
“I’m sure if you’d reached the Veil, something would have happened.”
She reaches across the table and curls her fingers around mine, warm and grounding. “Hey,” she murmurs, a smile pulling at her mouth, “I promise if I ever decide to go on a romantic stroll into certain death, you’ll be the first person I invite.”
I huff a laugh—barely—because she’s trying to lighten it, and it’s adorable, and it kills me.
“That’s not funny,” I say, but my voice is softer.
“It was a little funny.”
“Absolutely not,” I insist, and I don’t let my fingers tighten around hers even though I want to, because if I do, I might not let go.
The humor fades from her eyes, replaced by quiet understanding.
She sighs gently. “You were on the other side of campus, Raiden. There is no way you could have heard whatever that thing was.”
“I should’ve known,” I say, the guilt spilling out anyway. “I should’ve sensed something. Felt something. Anything.” My throat tightens. “Our bond didn’t tell me anything.”
Lindsay’s expression shifts—as though she’s piecing something together.
She squeezes my hand. “Raiden,” she murmurs, “look at me.”
I met her pretty blue eyes. How did she become the center of my universe?
The noise of the dining hall fades. Her fingers slide from mine and lift between us instead, brushing lightly over the air.
“Do you feel that?” she whispers.
At first, I feel nothing, then I do. A faint warmth—the same feeling as sunlight warming your face, followed by a pull in my chest.
Her breath catches softly. As the thread between us glimmers. It’s not bright. But unmistakably gold. A small, steady heartbeat of light connecting her to me.
My lungs forget how to work.
“It’s still there,” she says, voice barely above a breath. “Nothing broke. Nothing disappeared. You didn’t lose anything.”
She says it simply, almost casually, but something inside me unravels at the edges. Relief crashes through me so suddenly it makes me dizzy. After losing my link to my clan, an irrational fear follows me around at the idea that our bond could just disappear. And I will be left alone.
“You don’t have to worry,” she adds gently. “You’re still connected to me.”
For a moment, I can’t speak.
Then—a book slams onto the table.
Both of us jump.
Nolan drops onto the bench beside Lindsay, hair sticking up in five directions, dark circles under his eyes, and the oldest-looking tome I’ve ever seen in his hands.
“I found nothing,” he announces, voice hoarse with sleep-deprivation and frustration.
Lindsay blinks. “Good morning to you too.”
He pushes up his glasses. “Is it? Because I spent the night researching creatures that whisper through the Veil, and now I’m convinced we’re either dealing with something undocumented, something extinct, or something that never should’ve existed.”
I raise a brow. “You okay there, buddy?”
“No,” he says flatly. “But thank you for asking.”
Lindsay shakes her head, amusement softening the worry still lingering in her eyes. “You two aren't getting enough sleep.”
“We’re fine,” Nolan and I say at the exact same time.
She snorts. “My guys are disasters.”
My heart stops. Nolan freezes like someone hit him with a stun spell. And then—slowly—we both look at her.
My guys.
She said it casually, as though it’s a throwaway comment. But it sinks into my chest like something holy. I try to play it cool and fail.
“Your guys, huh?” I manage, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as wrecked as I feel.
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pink slightly. “You know what I meant.”
I absolutely do not breathe for three full seconds. Beside her, Nolan looks like he’s either about to pass out or propose marriage. I’m right there with you.
“The bond’s fine,” Lindsay adds, nudging my foot. “You’re fine. And nobody is losing anything.”
My chest loosens—the knot of fear finally, finally untying.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Okay.”
A soft, icy-sweet voice floats over my shoulder. “Raiden?”
I tense before I turn, because that voice hasn’t been anywhere near me for weeks. Adeline glides between the tables like she owns every inch of the space. Pale-blonde hair braided with frost-glimmer strands, perfect posture, eyes bright and intelligent.
She doesn’t hesitate—just slides into the empty seat beside me as if she never stopped doing it.
“You’ve been impossible to find,” she says, studying me with that familiar worry she always hid behind coolness. “Loki and I thought you died.”
She’s completely exaggerating, we both know it. I’ve just been with Lindsay most of the time, and she’s probably felt too self-conscious to come over. She might act cool and collected at all times, but I know her.
“I didn’t,” I say dryly.
“You could have at least told us you were ditching us.”
Her tone is light, but only barely. She cares. She always has.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lindsay go still. She schools her expression fast, tries to smooth her features into something neutral, but I know her too well now. She’s jealous, even if she won’t say anything.
And damn it, I wish she wasn’t.
Adeline notices the pause. Of course she does—she misses nothing. Her attention flicks to Lindsay, assessing, curious. There’s no hostility in her gaze…just calculation and interest. She taps her spelled fingernails on the table and one eyebrow lifts.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Lindsay replies, but her fingers curl around her cup a little too tight.
Tamsin arrives three seconds later, takes one look, and blurts, “Oh. Frostbite Barbie’s here.”
Silence.
Tamsin blinks. Then her face goes pale. “I—” she sputters, hands flailing in front of her like she can shove the words back into her mouth. “I did not mean to say that out loud.”
Adeline turns her head slowly toward her, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “Frostbite. Barbie,” she repeats.
Lindsay makes a choking sound across from me, trying—and failing—to hide her laugh behind her mug.
I press my fingers to my forehead. “Here we go.”
Tamsin is still panicking. “No, no, no, see—It’s not an insult! I mean—it is an insult, but it’s not… personal? It’s more of an aesthetic critique!”
Adeline just blinks at her.
“Oh stars,” Tamsin whispers, defeated. “I’m going to be murdered by a beautiful ice sculpture.”
Lindsay snorts. Adeline’s lips twitch—just barely.
Tamsin is still flapping her hands like she’s trying to physically erase her words from the air. Adeline watches her with the same calm interest someone might give an unusually loud squirrel.
“I won’t murder you,” Adeline says at last. “I don’t kill people for poor taste.”
Tamsin freezes. Her eyes narrow. “Oh. So now I have poor taste?”
Adeline tilts her head delicately. “You did call me a…Barbie.”
“I said Frostbite Barbie. Which is different,” Tamsin fires back.
“How so?” Adeline asks, genuinely curious.
Tamsin gestures up and down Adeline’s figure. “You’re all—” she wiggles her fingers, “icy elegance and perfect hair and cheekbones that look like they were sculpted specifically to ruin people.”
Adeline blinks slowly. “…Thank you?”
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Tamsin protests.
“It sounded like one,” Adeline replies.
Lindsay bites her lip to hide her laugh. Nolan is pretending to read a book, but I can see his shoulders shaking.
Tamsin crosses her arms, trying to glare. “I wasn’t complimenting you. I was describing the… vibe. Which is impressive but also vaguely threatening.”
Adeline folds her hands neatly in her lap. “Most impressive things are.”
Tamsin sputters. “Are you flirting with me?”
“I don’t think so,” Adeline says thoughtfully. “But if you’re flustered, I’ll take the point.”
Tamsin practically squeaks. Lindsay snorts so loudly she startles a first-year at the next table.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This is going well.”
Nolan peeks over the top of his book. “Shockingly, Raiden, this is the best version of events. You haven’t seen Tamsin stress-eat lemon pastries.”
“I have,” Lindsay says. “She hit me with a fork once.”
“That fork had an agenda,” Tamsin mutters. “It wasn’t me.”
Adeline’s mouth curves. “You’re very entertaining.”
“Is that—are you calling me a jester?” Tamsin gasps. “Linds, she called me a court jester. I can’t believe this.”
Adeline’s voice dips into something wry. “I never said you were funny.”
Tamsin slams her hands on the table. “Oh, that’s it, Frostbite. We’re enemies now.”
Adeline blinks. “I thought we already were?”
Tamsin stares at her for a beat…then grins. A slow, delighted, chaotic grin. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” she declares, wagging a finger at Adeline. “You and me? We’re doing this.”
Adeline lifts one elegant shoulder. “If you insist.”
The bickering between Tamsin and Adeline has just reached the point where I’m certain the table might actually combust from personality friction when the air changes.
A presence approaches—controlled, confident, annoyingly self-assured.
Auron Draven.
He moves through the dining hall like he expects the walls to part for him. White-blond hair, immaculate. Posture perfect. Expression bored in the way only someone raised on too much privilege can manage.
He stops at our table, eyes sliding past Nolan like he’s furniture and skipping right over Tamsin as if she doesn’t exist.
“Lindsay,” he says, voice smooth as polished steel, “are you prepared for our patrol tonight?”
Nolan stiffens. Tamsin bristles. Lindsay blinks, taken aback. And Auron doesn’t even pretend to notice either of their reactions.
He finally acknowledges me with a curt nod. “Raiden.”
I nod back, jaw tight. “Auron.”
Then his attention shifts to Adeline—because even Auron isn’t stupid enough to ignore a fae noble and her glacial lineage. He dips his chin in polite greeting.
“Lady Torren.”
Adeline returns the nod, eyes narrowing just slightly, like she’s assessing a threat level. “Draven.”
Auron doesn’t linger on her either. He’s already turned back to Lindsay, because that’s where his focus has been the entire time.
“I’ll meet you at the west perimeter gate,” he continues, ignoring the way Nolan’s grip tightens around his book. “Be ready by dusk.”
Lindsay hesitates, glancing between the rest of us. “I… yes. I’ll be there.”
Auron’s lips tilt. “Good.”
He gives one final sweeping look over the group—pausing a fraction of a second longer on me, as if checking whether I’m about to challenge him—then turns on his heel and walks away with the entitled grace of someone who’s never once been told no.
The second he’s gone, Tamsin hisses, “I don’t like him.”
Nolan mutters, “He didn’t even breathe in my direction.”
Adeline sips her tea. “He’s predictable. Predictable can be useful, if you want to use him, that is.”
Lindsay sighs, leaning back in her chair. “He’s…complicated.”
I watch Auron’s retreating figure, my gut twisting with something I don’t have a name for yet. Complicated isn’t the word I’d use.
Not even close.