Chapter 14 Auron
FOURTEEN
AURON
The dining hall is the same predictable circus it always is at this hour: Half-bloods clustered like stray cats, Bloodborn’s holding court at the long tables, Fangs a half a second from causing a food fight, Bones most likely talking about the best way to curse someone, and Faculty pretending not to notice the undercurrents of power that shift beneath every polite exchange.
I stand just inside the entrance, letting the room settle around me the way it always does when I appear—conversation dipping, eyes sliding away, the air thickening with that particular blend of awe and resentment I’ve learned to ignore.
My gaze sweeps the space once—habit, assessment—and lands exactly where I knew it would.
Lindsay.
She sits at the far table near the windows, flanked by the shifter on one side and the half-blood girl on the other.
Nolan is opposite her, glasses reflecting the morning light, looking as though he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult equation with her smile as the answer.
The scene is almost domestic. Almost normal.
It isn’t. Factions knew their place before she arrived. Now she holds court as though she’s an actual queen. Shifter, fae, warlock, demon…she has them all circling, even if some are half-bloods.
She’s wearing indigo today—deep, rich, the color bleeding into shadow at the edges, like the tunic itself is drinking the light.
Her hair is braided but already coming undone, strands curling against her neck where the bruise I left still lingers, darker now, threaded with faint purple veins that weren’t there before she went through the Veil.
She looks…different, not broken or diminished.
And she’s smiling.
The sight hits like a slap.
I feel the muscle in my jaw jump. My father’s voice echoes in my head—forty-eight hours of unrelenting pressure, the same orders repeated in the same clipped, aristocratic tone: Get close.
Find the weakness. Guide the collapse. He hasn’t relented.
He won’t. Not until the Veil fractures wide enough for our bloodline to step through and claim what’s left.
I don’t move immediately.
I watch.
She laughs at something the half-blood says—low and real—and Raiden leans in, shoulder brushing hers, possessive without effort. Nolan’s fingers brush hers across the table; she squeezes back, easy and affectionate. The gesture is small, intimate, and it twists something low in my gut.
I force my expression to smooth.
I’ve spent years perfecting this mask—cool detachment, faint disdain, the casual arrogance that keeps people at arm’s length and makes them desperate to close the distance. It’s never failed me.
Until her.
I cross the hall to my normal table, but I don’t sit. Every muscle in my body wants to go to her. And not because my father is ordering me to get close. No, this is something else entirely.
I’ve never been one to fight instinct, so I turn on my heel and face her again, crossing the hall easily. Of course heads turn and whispers follow my steps. I ignore them.
I stop at the edge of their table.
Raiden’s eyes snap to me first—gold flaring in their depths, a low growl already building in his throat. The fang: protective, possessive, and predictable.
I ignore him completely; my gaze locks onto Lindsay. She meets it without flinching, and her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens, making something in my gut pull tight.
“Shifter,” I say to Raiden, tone clipped, bored, “move.”
Raiden doesn’t budge, his lip curling up. “Make me, Warlock.”
I roll my eyes, but keep my attention on her.
“Lindsay,” I say, softer now, almost polite really. “You look…well.”
Her head tilts, and she raises her eyebrows. The shadows at her feet ripple—once, lazy, like a cat stretching in sunlight. They don’t scare me. I like her new darkness, it’s appealing in a way I’m sure says a lot about my mental state.
“Do I?” she asks. Her voice is light. “Funny. I feel like someone tried to kill me recently.”
I don’t react. I let the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable. Then I smile—a slow tilt of my lips, the same smile I’ve used to disarm professors, rivals, and enemies since I was twelve.
“They said it was an unfortunate accident,” I say smoothly. “The fractures have been…unpredictable, as you are aware.”
Her eyes narrow. “Accident,” she repeats. The words are dripped in mockery. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I shrug one shoulder, casual, as though we’re discussing the weather and not me shoving her into the Veil, where she actually could have died. And I’m positive her friends have no clue I did it. If they did, her shifter would have torn me to pieces already.
“You survived. You’re stronger now. Surely that’s what matters.”
She leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, chin resting on laced fingers. The movement is deliberate, both graceful and predatory. The shadows around her seem to lean in too, listening with apt attention.
“What matters,” she says softly, “is that I remember.”
The air between us tightens. Raiden’s chair scrapes back an inch, but I don’t take my eyes from hers.
“And what exactly do you remember?”
“Everything.”
The single word lands between us. I keep my expression cool.
“Careful,” I say quietly. “Some memories are better left buried.”
She laughs, completely without humor. “Funny. But I’ll keep these ones alive and well.”
I take a moment to look at her friends, before I drag my gaze back to her.
They really don’t know anything. Which is odd with the bonds between them.
If they didn’t sense it, she should have told them, and the fact that she didn’t, says a lot.
Like maybe she doesn’t trust the people she’s surrounding herself with.
I allow a sneer to pull up my lips and poke at what I am pretty sure is a sore spot. “Just make sure you trust the right people this time.”
“Entering the Veil taught me that lesson well, Auron. I know who to trust and protect. I don’t need your advice.”
I tsk and straighten to my full height, appearing for the whole room as if her words don’t slice me wide open. “You have darkness clinging to you. If it gets to be too much, I can help you with that.”
She stands slowly, pushing away from the table and coming into my space. “You want to help me?” she asks sweetly, before her eyes grow cold. “Then stay out of my way.”
Her friends watch the exchange with wide eyes, and even Tamsin is silent, which is rare. She gives me her back, as though she doesn’t fear me one bit, and sinks back into her seat. I watch as she picks up a slice of toast from Raiden’s plate and takes a bite.
I don’t know why my legs keep me standing there, as though my feet are glued to the floor. But I’m still watching her when she glances up at me.
“When I decide what to do with you,” she says softly, “you’ll know.”