Chapter 47 Lindsay
FORTY-SEVEN
LINDSAY
“Hey, are you okay?”
I lift my eyes to Auron’s in the mirror. He stands behind me, concern written plain across his face. Gods, I must look like hell if he’s dropped the I’m better than you act.
“No,” I say honestly. “I’m ready to go home.”
His brow creases, confusion flickering there. “Home?”
The word hasn’t even finished echoing before the object in my pocket pulses.
Once. Then again.
The air ripples, subtle but unmistakable, like the room itself heard me and is considering the request. My breath catches, not from fear exactly—more from the sudden, awful realization that I might have just said something important.
I shift my weight, pressing my hand discreetly against my pocket.
I’m not even sure what home means anymore.
Is it that crappy town I couldn’t wait to escape? The one with too-small rooms and too-loud silences? Or is it something else entirely—some place I’ve never seen but somehow know?
My gran used to say home is where your heart is.
If that’s true, I’m pretty screwed.
Because my heart is here. In this place I suddenly don’t trust. Wrapped up in people who keep deciding things for me. In a demon prince who made me feel chosen and safe and wanted—and then kept secrets he thought I wasn’t ready to hear.
Auron’s gaze sharpens, flicking to my reflection, then down—just briefly—to where my hand rests over my pocket.
“What was that?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “Nothing.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. But Auron doesn’t call me on it. Instead, he steps closer—just enough that I can feel his heat without feeling crowded. He keeps his voice low and calm. “Whatever that magic was…” he says, “it was calling to you.”
My fingers curl reflexively.
“That happens sometimes with magic,” he continues, as if this is a normal conversation. “Magic recognizes what belongs to it. But you don’t have to answer it if you are afraid.”
Belongs. That’s what I want, to belong.
“You don’t look like someone who feels safe right now,” he adds. “And if you want, you don’t have to figure this out alone.”
I meet his eyes in the mirror. There’s no calculation there for once. Is it crazy that I want to trust him?
“I just want things to stop trying to control me,” I admit.
Auron nods as if that makes perfect sense. “I know something about control.” It sounds like he’s sharing a confidence with me.
My shoulders loosen despite myself. That alone should probably worry me.
“I don’t want to be pulled in ten different directions anymore,” I say. “I just want one thing to be…steady.”
He nods again. “Then stop letting everyone else decide what you should be afraid of.”
He shifts slightly, angling his body so the mirror catches us both—me tense and tired, him solid and unflinching.
“I can help you,” he says.
He doesn’t reach for me or crowd my space. He just holds my gaze in the mirror, as if he’s already decided something and is waiting to see if I’ll catch up.
“Not by telling you what to do,” he adds. “And not by pretending the danger isn’t real.” His mouth tilts, just barely. “I hate when people do that.”
That earns him something dangerously close to a smile from me.
“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Everyone keeps acting like if they say things nicely enough, I’ll stop noticing when things are not right.”
“Or stop asking questions,” he says cooly.
“Yes.” Relief threads through my voice before I can stop it. “Exactly that.”
Auron studies me for a long moment. It doesn’t feel like he’s assessing my strength, but more as if he’s weighing my will.
“You don’t need another person to protect you,” he says. “You need someone who understands that it’s not all roses and sunshine and what it’s like to have expectations wrapped around your throat and still be told it’s for your own good.”
“You sound like you know what that’s like,” I say.
“I do,” he replies simply.
And somehow, that’s what throws me.
Because this isn’t the Auron I met when I first arrived—the one wrapped in confidence and quiet disdain, like the world existed a half-step beneath him. That version of him always felt sharp-edged. Untouchable.
This one feels… stripped down.
It makes me tilt my head, reassessing. Not because he’s suddenly warm or kind—he isn’t—but because the arrogance that usually clings to him like a second skin is missing. There’s no performance in his posture. No need for an audience in his eyes.
Maybe he isn’t a bad guy.
Which is a genuinely unhinged thought to have about Auron.
It’s not like he’s ever actually been cruel to me. Aloof, sure. Snobby, absolutely. But that’s not the same thing as dangerous.
Still.
I let out a quiet breath and lean back against the opposite wall, studying my reflection. The girl staring back at me looks tired. Wary. Like she’s been bracing herself since the moment she set foot here.
What kind of topsy-turvy reality am I living in where I’m considering trusting Auron…while pulling away from Kael—the one person who’s protected me more times than I can count since I arrived?
The thought twists uncomfortably in my chest. But maybe this moment right here is about letting me choose my own path. It’s not about good or bad.
The object in my pocket warms through the fabric, a humming coming from it that is audible now. Not loud, exactly, but insistent, as though it’s no longer content with being ignored.
Auron stills. His gaze snaps straight to my pocket. The air seems to thin and tighten all at once, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of the warmth pressed against my hip. The object pulses once, a burst of magic, hard enough that I flinch.
“Okay,” I mutter half to myself. “That’s new.”
Auron doesn’t speak right away. His expression is carefully neutral, but his attention doesn’t waver. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was measuring the distance between us.
I hesitate and then make a decision. Slowly, deliberately, I reach into my pocket and pull the object free. The moment it’s exposed, the sound swells around us. The markings along its surface shimmer faintly, shifting just enough to make my eyes ache if I stare too long.
For half a second—just half—Auron’s lips twitch.
That wasn’t surprise, it was recognition.
The beginnings of a smile try to pull free.
He smooths it away almost instantly, schooling his features into mild curiosity, but the damage is already done.
My stomach dips. Maybe showing him was a bad idea.
It wouldn’t surprise me, I’m full of them.
“What is that?” he asks, his tone even and casual.
Too casual.
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” I say, watching him carefully. “It reacted when I touched it.”
He steps closer, peering at it like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Looks like some kind of artifact,” he says after a beat. “Old magic. Dangerous sort, usually.”
“Do you know what those symbols mean?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
That…doesn’t feel right.
“You don’t know what it is?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder in a faint shrug. “Bloodborn aren’t encyclopedias, Lindsay. We don’t come out of the womb knowing every artifact ever made.”
Fair. Reasonable even.
And yet…something prickles at the back of my mind, quiet but persistent. A sense I’ve learned not to ignore lately. Because if anyone would recognize an ancient artifact on sight—one humming with Veil magic—it would be a Bloodborn.
I nod slowly, letting it pass for now, and slip the artifact back into my pocket. Auron’s gaze lingers a second too long before returning to my face.
“Well,” he says lightly, as if nothing just happened, “whatever it is, it’s clearly responding to you.”
Is it? I mean… yeah. I guess it is. It hadn’t done anything but hum quietly until I picked it up off Kael’s floor.
I give him a small smile that definitely doesn’t reach my eyes.
“I should—go,” I say, already moving away.
I don’t make it more than a few steps before he falls into stride beside me, unhurried, like this was always the plan.
“I’ll walk with you.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His attention is fixed forward, posture relaxed, hands clasped behind his back like we’re just two people taking a perfectly normal stroll.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask.
His head swivels toward me, brows lifting. “I’m not nice.”
I snort. “Yeah, I know. So why are you being nice to me lately?”
The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close enough to be intentional.
“Maybe,” he says, tone dry, “I got tired of watching everyone else treat you like a problem to be managed.”
That…wasn’t what I expected.
“And maybe,” he continues smoothly, “I think you may have had a very bad morning, and I’m not interested in making it worse.”
We walk in silence for a few steps, the sound of our boots echoing softly down the corridor.
I side-eye him. “You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
He lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “Absolutely not.”
“Then why?”
Auron finally looks at me fully, his expression unreadable in that maddening, aristocratic way he has.
“Because,” he says, measured and calm, “you’re standing at the edge of something, whether you realize it or not. And I’d rather be nearby when you decide which way to step.”
My fingers curl inside my jacket pockets. “That sounds ominous,” I tell him.
“Honest,” he corrects lightly.
We reach the end of the corridor, and I pause…he’s at least made me feel a little better, even if he isn’t full of warm, fuzzy emotions. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
I shrug, not really having words for what I’m thanking him for.
“You’re welcome. Also, you can relax around me,” he adds, almost amused. “If I were going to betray you, I wouldn’t warn you first.”
I shoot him a look. “That’s really not reassuring.”
He smirks—properly this time, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
And somehow, that makes me trust him just a little more than I should.