Chapter 16 Lindsay
SIXTEEN
LINDSAY
I don't know where I am.
At first, I just needed air, space to breathe, to shake off the pressure building behind my ribs since Raiden walked into that hall with someone else and didn’t even acknowledge me.
I’d meant to stick to the main path, the one lit by flickering mage-lamps that wind between the dorms and the dining hall.
But the grounds are bigger than I thought. And emptier.
Now the lights are gone, the path unfamiliar, the fog low and curling over the grass like it’s reaching for my ankles almost reminds me of the shadows from my apartment.
The trees around me are dense, their shapes barely visible in the growing dark.
I probably passed a sign or marker at some point, but I wasn’t paying attention.
I was too busy thinking about how Raiden would barely even look at me.
My boots crunch over gravel—thin, uneven. The kind of sound that makes you feel exposed. I stop walking, heart thudding, and glance over my shoulder.
No one’s there.
But the silence is too complete.
No crickets. No wind. Just…nothing.
I take another step, slower this time. Every instinct in me is telling me to turn back. The problem is that I don’t know which way is back.
A whisper of motion moves behind me.
I whip around.
Nothing.
A trick of the wind. Probably. Maybe.
I rub my arms, suddenly freezing. The warmth of the dining hall feels like a lifetime ago.
I exhale slowly, trying to focus. I’m probably near the outer edge of campus. There were training fields somewhere near here, I think. Maybe I’ll circle around and find—
A branch snaps to my left.
This time I don’t pretend it’s nothing.
My body reacts before my mind does; magic bubbling up beneath my skin, unformed and unsteady. I take a step back, then another.
That’s when I see the figure.
Just a glimpse at first. A shadow. Moving between trees as if it belongs there.
I freeze.
“Hello?” My voice sounds small. Weak. Stupid.
No answer.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I try to call the magic again, but it stutters—like it’s trying to obey too many conflicting instincts. Or like I shouldn't be using it for twenty-four hours like that old lady instructed.
Fight. Flee. What can I do against someone wanting to do me harm?
Then the figure steps fully into view. Cloaked. Masked. Tall.
And moving fast.
They don’t speak. They don’t pause.
They just come for me.
I try to run.
It’s not graceful, and I trip on the uneven ground, nearly twisting my ankle, but instinct shoves me forward. Branches whip at my arms. The cold bites harder, and the fog becomes thicker and denser, making it hard to see a foot in front of me. My breath tears out of me in panicked gasps.
There’s no one out here. No one who knows where I am. Even if I scream, I'm too far away from everyone. The tether even feels faint, so I know Raiden isn’t close enough to help, if he even would.
Magic flares under my skin, but it doesn’t know what to do. It sparks wild and bright in my chest, then fizzles. I try again, dragging the power upward like I did in Combat Casting, but it slides sideways—wrong, untamed, useless.
The figure is faster. I hear them gaining.
I shove my hand out behind me, magic bursting blindly from my palm, but it hits nothing. Just explodes into light and vanishes into the fog. I don’t even hear them stumble.
A hard force slams into my back. I hit the ground with a cry, air knocked clean from my lungs. Pain slices up my ribs. My vision blurs. A black boot lands beside my face.
Then hands—rough and gloved—grab my arm, yanking me up. My feet scrape for traction. I can’t scream. My throat won’t cooperate.
They're going to kill me.
I see it in the mask—blank, cold, impersonal. A blade gleams in the dark.
And I can’t do anything.
I’m going to die here, in the dark, somewhere I don’t even recognize—as helpless as a normal human in a dark alley.
Something explodes out of the shadows. Not magic, but movement. Swift and silent and absolutely brutal.
My attacker is ripped away from me in a blur of black and silver. There’s a hiss of steel, the unmistakable crack of bone, and a grunt that doesn’t belong to me.
I hit the ground again, landing hard on my elbows, blinking against tears I hadn’t realized were there. The masked figure stumbles backward, only for a second, before a shadow splits away from the fog behind them and drives forward.
Kael.
His horns glint in the moonlight and black wings, reminiscent of a bat, unfurl behind him. No glamour this time. No lazy posture or detached smirk.
Just precision. Control. And rage, buried under it all like black ice.
He doesn’t speak or taunt my attacker. He’s silent and fast and lethal.
The attacker tries to counter, but Kael's already behind them. One strike to the back of the leg. A twist of the wrist. The masked figure crashes to the ground on their back, and Kael’s hand slams against their chest—magic flaring dark and smoky around his fingers. Pure shadow.
The figure convulses. Goes still.
Kael breathes once. Just once before he stands slowly. Then turns to me.
I can’t move. My limbs are locked, pulse erratic, breath coming in shallow bursts that barely register. My palms sting from where I hit the ground, but I barely feel it.
His boots crunch over the gravel as he crosses the space between us.
Slow. Unhurried. Like he already knows I’m not going anywhere.
His silhouette is inky and black against the fog. Horns curved like a crown. Wings half-spread behind him, the edges dragging through the fog as if the night itself makes room for him.
He stops in front of me, eyes glowing faintly in the dark—an unnatural reddish hue burning low behind his lashes.
“You’re always in danger,” he murmurs, “my little sunshine.”
The nickname curls around me like smoke. A tease. A warning. Its own sort of tether.
I hate how my chest responds, tightening like it’s remembering him. The dream. The way his hand felt in mine. The almost-kiss I haven’t stopped thinking about since I woke up.
“You were following me,” I whisper, throat raw.
“Obviously,” he says, not bothering to deny it. “And you wandered too far.”
I force myself upright, limbs trembling. “I didn’t know—where I was—”
“I know.” His voice softens, just slightly. “Which is why I was there.”
The wind shifts, and suddenly he’s kneeling in front of me. One knee down in the damp grass. One hand reaching toward my face.
I flinch without meaning to. His fingers pause midair.
Then—slowly, deliberately—his thumb brushes the edge of my cheek. Gentle. Out of place against the memory of violence still ringing in my bones.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmurs.
I hadn’t noticed. Not until now. My skin stings where a tree branch had caught me, just under the cheekbone. His thumb traces just beside it. Careful. Focused.
“You didn’t fight,” he says, more observation than accusation.
“I tried.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “My magic—it didn’t work. It never works when it’s supposed to.”
His eyes search mine, and for once, he doesn't look amused or superior.
“You’re not supposed to be ready yet,” he says quietly. “That’s the problem with letting them use you like a weapon before you’ve learned what kind of blade you are. It's dangerous.”
I stare at him, caught somewhere between fury and heat and something I don’t have a name for.
He leans in, not too close, but close enough for me to feel the cool whisper of his breath against my jaw. Close enough to know he could kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
Kael’s eyes flicker to my mouth—just once—before he pulls back. The shadows around him settle, curling at his shoulders like silk. Like they are welcoming him back.
“Next time,” he says, standing smoothly, “don’t make me chase you and your attacker.”
He steps back, just enough to lift one hand and point—two fingers, a flick of his wrist—to a clear break in the tree line behind me. When I turn to look, a narrow path, nearly hidden by fog, flickers with faint mage-lights just beyond.
“The school’s that way.”
Then he turns, his wings folding behind him as he fades into the fog.
Like he was never there at all.