Chapter 48 Lindsay
FORTY-EIGHT
LINDSAY
I shouldn’t feel this calm.
That’s the thought that keeps circling as we walk—side by side, unhurried—through corridors I’ve started to recognize by instinct instead of memory. The artifact rests warm and steady in my pocket, no longer humming, no longer demanding.
Just… present.
Like it’s content to wait.
Auron doesn’t crowd me or steer. He matches my pace without comment, hands clasped behind his back as though we’re discussing coursework instead of standing on the edge of something that feels bigger than either of us.
“This way’s quieter,” he says, gesturing ahead.
I nod, because quiet sounds good. Quiet sounds like breathing room. Like a moment where no one is watching me to see what I’ll do next.
We turn a corner.
Then another.
The stone beneath our feet changes subtly—smoother somehow, less worn. The sconces along the walls burn lower here, the light dimmer, casting longer shadows that don’t quite behave the way I expect them to, sort of like Kael’s shadows.
The air cools as we move, thinning just enough that I notice. The Veil presses closer here—not visibly or dramatically. Just a subtle awareness at the back of my skull, like standing too close to a high place.
I stop without meaning to.
Auron pauses, too, turning toward me. “You feel it.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” I admit. “It’s just—” I trail off, glancing around. Isn’t this hall the same one I was lost in when Kael found me? The one he warned me was dangerous? My heart kicks up behind my ribcage.
“I don’t remember this hallway,” I add carefully.
Auron’s expression doesn’t change. “There are a lot of passages in the academy most students never see.”
“That’s comforting,” I mutter.
Auron’s mouth twitches, like he almost smiles, but he doesn’t comment. He turns and keeps walking, clearly expecting me to follow.
I hesitate.
Just long enough to notice the details I didn’t want to connect before.
The stone here is too clean. Too intentional. Like it’s been maintained for a purpose that doesn’t involve foot traffic. The wards hum differently too—not weaker, but layered. Old over new. Reinforced in places that don’t make sense unless you know what you’re protecting… or containing.
The artifact shifts in my pocket. Not a pulse. A tug.
My fingers curl reflexively over it as I take another step forward, unease sliding into something else.
“This isn’t just a quiet hallway,” I say. “Is it?”
Auron slows, turning his head slightly, though he doesn’t fully face me. “No,” he says easily. “But it’s still inside the academy.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
He stops then, finally turning to look at me. His expression is calm, composed—almost patient. As though I’ve reached the part of the conversation he was expecting.
“You asked for space,” he says. “Somewhere you could think without everyone else interfering.”
“That isn’t what I asked for. I didn’t ask to be led somewhere Kael explicitly told me not to go,” I counter.
Auron’s gaze narrows. “Kael warned you because he doesn’t trust what he can’t control.”
That hits hard. Not because it’s true. But because it’s almost true.
“And you do?” I ask.
“I trust outcomes,” he replies. “Especially inevitable ones.”
Something in my chest goes tight.
Before I can respond, he steps aside and gestures toward a doorway I hadn’t noticed before—set into the stone as if it’s always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.
“After you,” he says.
Every instinct in me screams don’t.
But backing away now would mean admitting I let him lead me here without realizing it. So I lift my chin and step forward.
The room beyond is circular, its walls etched with sigils I start to recognize too late. They are the same ones that were used to contain me before. The air hums thick and charged, pressing against my skin. And standing at the center of the room—my stomach drops—Auron’s father.
He turns as I enter, eyes sharp and knowing, as if he’s been waiting for me specifically. There is zero surprise written on his face. He looks more expectant.
The door seals shut behind me with a quiet, final sound.
Oh. Oh no.
“You have certainly made this easier,” Auron’s father murmurs.
My hand flies to my pocket as panic spikes, fingers curling around the artifact as if it can help me. It hums in response—loud and urgent now—and the air ripples violently around us. The Veil shivers, thinning like stretched glass.
“You tricked me,” I whisper.
Auron doesn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
I try to catch my breath, but it’s hard when it feels like he’s just shoved a blade between my ribs. I really need to stop trusting boys.
“Son,” his father says, voice cold and absolute. “Do it.”
The artifact flares hot in my grip as fear finally takes over. Magic surges instinctively, uncontrolled, the Veil responding to my panic as though it’s been waiting for permission.
“This is the only way,” his father says when Auron doesn’t move.
“Wait, Auron,” I say, my voice breaking. “You said I could choose my future.”
He turns then. For the first time since I stepped into this room, his composure cracks—just barely. Guilt flashes across his face.
“You have chosen,” he says softly. “You just don’t see all the pieces yet.”
He steps closer.
I back away instinctively—but the Veil is already opening behind me, light tearing through the air, cold and endless and alive.
“You should be more careful of who you trust. I’m sorry,” he repeats, and this time I believe him.
Then his hands hit my shoulders, and he shoves me backward into the Veil. The world fractures. Cold tears through me as the floor disappears, light swallowing everything—sound, thought, breath.
The last thing I see before the Veil closes is Auron standing on the other side, watching.
While I fall into the abyss.
To be continued…