Chapter 13 Nolan
THIRTEEN
NOLAN
The dining hall is already half-full by the time I slide onto the bench at our usual table, tray balanced with the kind of precision that makes Tamsin roll her eyes every morning.
Eggs. Toast. One orange sliced into perfect wedges.
A single cup of black coffee. Routine is comforting when everything else feels as though it’s tilting off its axis.
Raiden is already here—sprawled in the chair beside Lindsay’s empty spot, one arm slung over the back of her seat.
He looks…settled. Not calm—Raiden is never calm—but grounded in a way he hasn’t been since she vanished.
The bond between them is so bright now it almost hurts to look at, golden and blazing and whole.
Tamsin is demolishing a stack of pancakes drowned in syrup and what looks like edible glitter, gesturing wildly with her fork as she recounts some exaggerated version of yesterday’s Council showdown to a couple of wide-eyed first-years who wandered too close.
“—and then her shadows just snapped around Headmaster Veyne’s chair like they were gonna squeeze him into a juice box. I swear I heard him squeak.”
The first-years laugh nervously and scurry away.
Tamsin grins, satisfied, then spots me.
“You weren’t even with her, Tams,” I say.
“Morning to you, too, sunshine,” she says around a mouthful of pancake, completely unbothered by my words. “You look like you’ve been up all night reorganizing the potion cabinet alphabetically and by color code.”
I push my glasses up. “I was…researching.”
“Shocker.”
Raiden snorts without looking up from his coffee. I set my tray down and glance toward the doors. She’s not here yet.
“Where’s Lindsay?”
Tamsin swallows and waves her fork. “She’s fine, you nerdy cinnamon roll. She and Shadow Daddy were out late doing… whatever shadowy book-hunting things they were doing. She’ll be here. Probably still glowing from whatever cosmic power-up she got from the creepy book.”
Raiden nods.
I sit. My knee starts bouncing under the table again. I force it to still.
“She’s okay,” he says quietly, not looking at me.
I nod too quickly. “I know.”
And technically, I do know, I can feel that she’s okay through the threads that connect me to her.
I really need to tell her about what Dorian said.
There just hasn’t been an opportunity to let her know that he thinks he is also connected to her.
And maybe she already knows. She is way more powerful now.
Tamsin leans forward on her elbows, fork dangling syrup. “She’s also probably still mad at Kael for the whole ‘I lied about the book’ thing. I mean, I get it—he’s trying—but dude needs to stop treating her like she’s made of glass. She’s made of Void now. Void with a temper.”
I swallow. “She’s angry. But she’s also…letting him sit with us. That’s something.”
Tamsin raises her eyebrows. “Baby steps. Very sexy baby steps.”
Before I can respond, the doors at the far end open wider.
Lindsay steps through—alone.
She’s changed clothes since last night. Now she wears a deep indigo tunic that falls to mid-thigh, cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt, over black leggings and ankle boots.
The fabric catches the morning light and seems to drink it in, shadows clinging to the folds as if they belong there.
Her hair is pulled into a loose braid that still manages to look wild, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
Her eyes are bright and almost feverish—but she’s smiling.
A real one—small, fierce, cheerful in a way that makes my chest loosen.
She crosses the hall straight to our table, sliding onto the bench beside Raiden. Her thigh brushes his; he leans into the contact immediately, shoulder touching hers, grounding himself with her proximity.
“Hey,” she says as she settles. “Are you sleeping, Nolan?”
She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine and sending a shock down my arm.
I push my glasses up my nose and try to smile. “I was researching.”
“Sleep is important, too.”
I hum my agreement, but honestly, until I know she’s safe—until I know the darkness clinging to her isn’t going to swallow up the woman I love—sleep is the last thing on my mind.
Her attention shifts toward the doors a heartbeat before they open. The air changes pressure, like the moment before a storm rolls in. Then Auron steps into the dining hall.
He looks as regal as ever—dark uniform immaculate, posture effortless, platinum blond hair catching the morning light as if it belongs in some ancient portrait of conquest and entitlement. One of his bloodborn shadows him, close enough to suggest loyalty, far enough to imply deference.
Conversation dips with his arrival. His gaze sweeps the room with bored indifference—until it lands on Lindsay. She tilts her chin up. It’s subtle, anyone else would miss it, but I don’t.
Something passes between them, a sort of silent conversation. She smiles slowly, and I’m positive it’s not her looking back at him from the depths of her eyes. Across the hall, Auron goes pale.
That’s new.
Auron doesn’t waver. He doesn’t back down or look surprised. He certainly doesn’t look afraid.
And yet—
If I didn’t know better, I would swear he’s afraid of her. The thought unsettles me more than it should. Raiden shifts beside her, tension coiling through him. And I know he senses it, too.
She doesn’t look away from Auron. He doesn’t look away from her. The space between them feels very much like a fault line. I swallow and glance at her profile, searching for some sign of strain—some crack in the composure she’s wearing like armor. Instead, I find calm and power.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Lindsay…”
She finally breaks eye contact and turns back to us, expression smoothing into something almost playful.
“Yes, Nolan?”
“You don’t have to prove anything,” I say quietly. “Not to him. Not to anyone.”
Her eyes soften for half a second.
“I’m not proving anything,” she replies. “I’m just…reminding him.”
“Of what?” Tamsin asks, fork full of pancakes forgotten half way to her mouth.
Lindsay’s gaze flicks back toward Auron, who is still standing unnaturally still near the entrance.
“Of what he started,” she says.
The words land like a dropped stone in still water. Ripples spread outward—Raiden’s hand tightens on her knee, Tamsin’s grin fades into something more focused, and I feel the bond between us pulse with sudden clarity.
She isn’t threatening him. She’s promising him something. And the promise is quiet, patient, and terrifying in its certainty.
Raiden leans in, voice a low rumble against her ear. “You want to handle him now?”
Lindsay shakes her head once. “Not yet.”
She turns back to me, squeezing my hand again, her thumb stroking once over my knuckles in that gentle, grounding way she has.
“Eat your orange, Nolan,” she says, voice softening. “You always forget to eat when you’re worrying.”
I manage a small laugh despite myself.
“I’m not worrying,” I lie.
“You’re always worrying,” she counters fondly. “It’s part of your charm.”
Tamsin snorts. “It’s part of his whole personality. Worry is Nolan’s love language.”
Raiden’s mouth curves.
Lindsay’s smile stays on me a moment longer, warm and steady, before she finally releases my hand and turns back to her food.
Across the hall, Auron finally moves—slow, deliberate—toward the Bloodborn table. But he doesn’t sit. He stands there, back to us, shoulders rigid, as though he can still feel her gaze on him, even though she’s no longer looking.
I pick up one of my orange wedges and take a bite, chewing slowly as Lindsay’s shadows settle. And I realize—perhaps too late—that whatever just cracked open between her and Auron…it’s not going to stay quiet for long.
And when it finally splits wide open, I’ll be standing right here. Holding her hand. Ready to help her burn whatever needs burning.