Chapter 18 Nolan
EIGHTEEN
NOLAN
I see her the moment she walks into Runic Arts.
She’s not limping or anything, but there’s something in the way she moves—shoulders tense, steps a little slower—that tells me whatever happened in Combat Casting didn’t go easy. And she has a bruise on her cheek with a cut that is already scabbed over.
And still, my heart does this ridiculous thing in my chest. Like just seeing her resets everything. Like the room doesn’t feel as cold, and the ink in my pen doesn’t scratch as hard against the page.
She catches my eye and gives me a tired half-smile as she slides into the seat next to mine. I pretend I’m not watching her every move. And pretend my pulse doesn’t trip over itself when her shoulder brushes mine. That I’m not ultra aware of her nearness.
“Rough session?” I ask quietly.
She hums. “Something like that.”
I want to ask more, want to know what happened, who pushed her too hard, if she’s okay—but I don’t. Not yet. Instead, I pull out the book I’ve been carrying around like it holds the answers to life itself.
“I found something,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm even though I’m practically vibrating. “Last night. I stayed up—way too late—but it was worth it.”
She turns toward me a little more. “Yeah?”
I nod, flipping to the bookmarked page. “It’s old, like pre-Academy founding era, but it talks about the Veil like it’s more than just a boundary between the realms like we are taught.
It’s a stabilizer for all of them too. Without it, the realms don’t just bleed into each other, they crumble.
The magic we use? Most of it flows from the Veil itself.
And there are rituals…really structured ones… to keep it sealed.”
She frowns. “Sealed?”
“Not locked exactly. Just…held. Reinforced. They are built into life here. I thought they were just fun activities we did, but they are for holding the Veil in place.” I glance at her, then down at her arm.
“And when I saw your mark and heard about the way it flared during Combat Casting—I started cross-referencing magical fractures and overload incidents.”
I push the book toward her, showing her the faded illustration. A silhouette with a glowing mark, nearly identical to hers.
“That’s not a random mark,” I say, a little breathless. “It’s a burn. A Veilburn. From a magical overload during a small rupture of the Veil. And it causes you to tether to nearby, compatible stabilizers. Like Raiden.”
She’s silent, staring at the page.
“I think,” I say slowly, “when you overloaded in the dueling pit and took out all of those wraith hounds…the Veil didn’t just respond—it touched you. Branded you. Because something fractured.”
And then I add, softer, “That’s not supposed to happen, Lindsay. That kind of contact…it’s rare. Like, barely-documented rare. And in most of the cases they document, the person doesn’t survive. But you did, that makes you really strong—”
Lindsay doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Her fingers hover above the illustration, not quite touching the page. Her brows are furrowed, lips parted slightly like she’s still trying to process everything I just said.
“I…” She exhales. “Nolan, this is…you found this?”
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. “I mean, yeah. I wasn’t trying to interfere or anything. I just—after what happened, I needed to understand it. And I thought maybe it’d help you, too.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and there’s something soft in it. Something that makes my pulse stutter.
“Help me?” she echoes. “Nolan, you might’ve just saved me.”
I blink. “I don’t know if I’d go that far—”
“No,” she interrupts, voice firm but warm.
“You’ve been so sweet since I’ve gotten here.
You didn’t treat me as less than because I’m human.
And after the magic overload…you didn’t look at me like I was dangerous.
And now you’re researching ancient Veil rituals and finding answers no one else even bothered to look for. That matters. You matter. To me.”
She says it like it’s the easiest truth in the world. Like she doesn’t realize it’s the kind of thing no one’s ever said to me before.
And then, before I can even process that, she leans forward across the table and presses her lips to mine. It’s not long or dramatic. Not some explosive, cinematic moment. It’s quiet. Gentle. Like a thank you. Like trust.
But to me?
It’s everything.
I freeze for half a second, eyes wide, heart absolutely losing its mind inside my chest—then I kiss her back. Careful. A little stunned. Completely, hopelessly gone. When she finally pulls away, she doesn’t look embarrassed. Or as if she pities me for being so awkward.
“I meant what I said,” she tells me.
I try to speak. Fail. Clear my throat and try again. “I… uh. Thanks. I mean. You’re welcome. Always.”
She smiles, her eyes sparkling with happiness. And I think I might actually die right here in Runic Arts class, notebook half-filled and soul completely wrecked—in the best possible way.
Before I can find anything else to say, before I can even begin to figure out what I’m supposed to do with a moment like that—a sharp knock echoes against the edge of the blackboard.
“Eyes up, everyone,” Professor Marris calls, her voice crisp and clipped as she stands in front of the room. “Let’s see how many of you actually did your translations last night—and how many of you think winging it counts as preparation.”
Lindsay straightens, blinking as if surfacing from a dream. Her smile lingers for just a beat longer before she reaches for her quill and flips her notebook open.
I do the same, though my hand is still shaking slightly as I scribble down the assignment on the board. My heart hasn’t caught up with the rest of me. I’m half convinced I imagined the whole thing.
But then her foot bumps mine beneath the table. Just once. Just enough to say I’m still here.
And I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen.