Chapter 19 Lindsay
NINETEEN
LINDSAY
Nolan walks beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his book bag slung over one shoulder, arms full of scribbled notes, and barely-contained excitement. His smile keeps doing that soft, crooked thing that makes it hard not to grin back.
I should feel conflicted after what happened in Runic Arts. After kissing Nolan—again. After all the chaos swirling around me. But I don’t. It felt right. Easy. Like maybe, in the middle of all this madness, something’s actually good.
And that feels... dangerous.
The hallway leading toward the dining hall is already busy, students flowing in groups and clusters—half of them glowing with magic residue, the other half glowing from good gossip. It’s loud for Blackthorn, and I’m grateful for Nolan’s steady presence at my side.
Until the students in the hallway part and he appears.
Auron.
He steps out from a shadowed alcove like he’s stepping onto a stage—tall, composed, the kind of graceful that only comes from centuries of breeding or way too much mirror time. His pale eyes find me in an instant, and once again, they linger.
Nolan tenses beside me. Says nothing, but the way his jaw ticks makes it obvious he’d like to say a lot.
“Blake,” Auron says smoothly, nodding in greeting like we’re casual acquaintances. “I heard about last night.”
I blink. “Didn’t realize it made the rounds already.”
He shrugs one shoulder, almost lazily. “Everything does here. You’re lucky it was only one attacker.”
Something in his tone suggests it wasn’t luck at all, but I don’t take the bait.
“I can handle myself,” I say.
His lips twitch like he finds that amusing. “Clearly.”
Then, without waiting for a response, he steps past us and continues down the corridor like the conversation never even happened.
I exhale once he’s gone. “Was that…weird?”
Nolan's still stiff at my side. “That was Auron pretending he’s not Bloodborn royalty with a superiority complex the size of the Western Tower. So yeah, weird.”
I shake it off the best I can, but something about Auron’s smile still itches under my skin.
We head into the dining hall, where Tamsin is already seated at a table, surrounded by her usual chaos, gesturing mid-rant with a mouthful of food and three cups of juice in front of her like she’s daring someone to comment.
She brightens when she sees us. “There she is! Look at that. Not dead. I owe myself five gold.”
I slide into the seat beside her. “Glad to know you had such confidence in me.”
Nolan drops into the seat across from us, still watching me like he half-expects Auron to reappear.
Tamsin leans in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “So. Want to sneak into the Forbidden Wing tonight?”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
She grins. “You heard me. Hidden archives, off-limit artifacts, mysterious spells no one wants us to learn? You know there’s something good in there.”
“I also know I was nearly murdered yesterday. Forgive me if I’m not eager to test Fate again.”
“Or,” she says, raising her brows, “Fate is giving you the perfect excuse to stop being a rule-follower and start being interesting.”
“I’m not a rule-follower,” I mutter.
Nolan makes a noise that’s suspiciously like a snort, but I ignore him.
“Tam…” I shake my head. “The forbidden part doesn’t exactly scream safe. And I’m not looking to tempt whatever’s lurking in those shadows.”
“Come on,” she says, nudging my arm. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Hiding somewhere with my self-preservation instinct,” I say, but even as I say it—I’m not entirely sure I mean it.
“I’m serious, Tam. I need like…one day without breaking any major academy rules or trying to get myself killed.” I tear into the bread on my plate and hope the conversation will drop.
But of course, it’s Tamsin.
She leans in again, voice low and sing-song. “You’re not even a little curious what they’re hiding in there? Because I am. And if there’s even the slightest chance it connects to your magic or that mark on your arm…”
Nolan perks up immediately. “Wait—why would the Forbidden Wing have anything related to her mark?”
Tamsin shrugs. “I didn’t say it would. I said what if. It’s literally where they keep the things no one’s supposed to see. Doesn’t that scream answers?”
I glance at Nolan. He’s already mulling it over in his head, I can tell. And I hate how much I want to say yes.
But I shake my head. “It’s not smart. I just survived one attack—I don’t need to walk into another.”
Tamsin slumps dramatically, like I just ruined her birthday. “Ugh, fine. Be responsible. I’ll go alone. Get eaten by a book. Then you’ll feel bad.”
“I already feel bad,” I mutter. “I just don’t want to feel dead.”
But even as the conversation shifts and Nolan starts talking about his theory of Veil line ruptures again, I feel the tug in my gut. The itch that says she’s right. There might be something in there. Something I need.
I try to sleep. I really do. But every time I close my eyes, my mind pulls me back to the same thought: What if Tamsin’s right? What if there’s something behind those sealed doors that explains why the Veil touched me? Why I can’t control it? Why I’m even here?
The mark on my skin pulses faintly, never painful but never gone. A quiet reminder. A question with no answer. And the Forbidden Wing might hold one.
I sit up in bed, the room quiet except for the soft rustle of curtains, a few snoring students, and the occasional creak of the old dorm walls. My boots are still by the foot of the bed, like they’ve been waiting for me to make up my mind.
By the time I step into the corridor, the halls are mostly empty, night settling over the school like a spell. Tamsin is already waiting by the statue of the veiled mage, her arms crossed and a smug smile on her face.
“You lasted longer than I thought,” she whispers. “I had money on ten minutes after lights-out.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “Don’t say ‘I told you so’ yet. This could still be the worst idea I’ve ever agreed to.”
“Oh, it absolutely is,” she says cheerfully. “But aren’t you just dying to find out why?”
She hands me a borrowed cloak; one with a faint shimmer of magic stitched into the lining, and we move, shadows stitched to our heels, toward the one place in the academy we’re not supposed to go.
The corridor leading to the Forbidden Wing is colder than the rest of the school.
The kind of cold that doesn’t come from drafty stone walls.
It’s the kind that creeps under your skin, whispering that you’re not supposed to be here.
Like whatever magic they used is warning us off like an electric fence. But we push forward.
Tamsin’s steps are quieter than I thought they’d be. She’s unusually serious now, her usual humor muted by the possibilities of whatever we’re about to find. The shadows stretch long across the hall as we stop in front of the door.
It’s ancient.
The kind of ancient that makes your bones ache just looking at it—covered in layered wards and carvings in languages I don’t recognize. Not locked. But sealed. With magic so old it hums under the surface.
“Well, this is where I bail,” Tamsin says lightly. “I’m reckless, not cursed.”
I roll my eyes and snort at her attempt at a joke. Before stepping closer despite every logical part of me screaming not to. But the mark on my arm has other plans. It pulses—once, hard—and I suck in a deep breath.
The second I place my hand on the doorknob, the door responds. Not to a key. Not to a spell. To me. Like I’m the key.
Lines of runes light up across the surface like a circuit being completed, and a low rumble echoes beneath the stones as the seals begin to unravel. Tamsin lets out a low, terrified laugh.
“Oh good,” she mutters. “Definitely not ominous at all.”
I don’t move. Can’t move. Because my mark—my Veilburn—is burning. Not painfully. Not like before. This time, it feels like it’s trying to speak. Like it’s trying to tell me something.
Magic lashes out from the door in a sudden flare of light, and for a heartbeat, I’m not in the hallway anymore. I’m nowhere.
I see the Veil. Not just feel it. Endless. Vast. Splintering at the edges. And something else, something watching me through the cracks.
I collapse to my knees, gasping, and the vision snaps away like a string being cut. My mark is still glowing, the edges of it too bright to look at.
Tamsin is crouched beside me, pale and wide-eyed. “Linds… what the hell was that?”
I look up at the now-open doorway, magic swirling faintly beyond it.
“I think,” I breathe, “we just opened something we’re not supposed to.”
She exhales beside me. “This feels like the start of a ghost story.”
She’s not wrong.
The air beyond the ancient door is dry. The kind of dry that clings to your throat and makes every breath taste like old parchment and forgotten things. It’s heavy with the weight of magic, the kind that’s been sealed for too long and doesn’t like being disturbed.
Stone walls curve around us in a perfect circle, etched with faded runes that glow faintly as I pass.
Shelves lean at odd angles, overtaken by ivy that crackles faintly with dormant enchantments.
Ancient books lie scattered like fallen soldiers, their pages curled and whispering as if they might speak if only we got close enough to listen.
In the center of the room, a pedestal—simple, carved from obsidian or something like it—rests in a shaft of soft blue light.
And on it…a book.
Not bound in anything I recognize. The cover shimmers like moonlight over rippling water, always changing—leather, then metal, then something that feels like pure Veil magic pulled into form.
Tamsin exhales beside me, her voice sharp with awe. “By the blasted vines of Varlarian…”
I glance at her, brows raised. She just stares ahead, eyes wide.
The moment I cross the threshold, the room inhales; a low, resonant sound that seems to come from the walls themselves. The light dims, then flares, as if the chamber is blinking…awake.