Chapter 22 Lindsay
TWENTY-TWO
LINDSAY
The dining hall is buzzing, full of clinking cutlery and too-loud laughter that feels miles away from the storm in my head. My oatmeal has gone cold. I haven’t touched it.
Across from me, Tamsin waves her spoon in my face. "Earth to Lindsay!"
I blink, snapping out of the spiral I’ve been free-falling through. My spoon clatters against the edge of the bowl.
“You can’t just say the Council wants to bind you and then leave it at that.”
I let out a breath, slumping back in my chair, staring up at the floating lights swaying slightly overhead.
The enchanted lanterns bob gently with the movement of the air, casting golden halos over rows of long tables lined with mismatched students, half-eaten breakfasts, and clashing House colors.
The smell of cinnamon bread and charred bacon hangs thick in the air.
“It’s not like I asked for any of this,” I mutter. “I didn’t even know magic was real a few days ago, and now they want to clamp a seal on my power like I’m some walking bomb. Hell, maybe they’re right.”
Tamsin makes a sound that’s somewhere between a growl and a scoff as she drops her fork into her half-finished eggs, which are glowing faintly violet. “Okay, first of all—rude. Second, maybe we should go back.”
I blink, distracted momentarily by a plate flying past behind her—levitating trays are common at Blackthorn, but this one looks tipsy. “Back where?”
She lifts a brow. “The Forbidden Wing. That book reacted to you—lit up, practically. It has to mean something. You want answers? That’s where they’ll be.”
Around us, students chatter and trade gossip, some animatedly reenacting yesterday’s magical surge with wild hand gestures and spoons waving like wands. A few eyes flick toward our table, but none linger. My fingers tighten around my chipped ceramic cup, the bitter herbal tea inside gone cold.
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s already leaning in, grinning like she knows she’s about to win. Again.
“And besides,” she adds casually, twirling a silver ring around her finger, “we’ve got the mandatory Harvest Moon Revel coming up. Might as well get our rule-breaking done before we have to dress up and dance under a glowing sky for the Veil’s amusement.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, what?”
“It’s a ritual,” she says, waving a hand and accidentally knocking over a tiny pot of jam. She rights it without looking. “Some sort of Veil stabilization tradition. Happens every year under the full moon—dancing, bonding, and awkward formalwear. Total chaos, but important chaos.”
I stare at her while the fae at the next table mutters something about rehearsal spells and throws flower petals into their porridge.
Tamsin shrugs. “Think of it as magical prom, but with higher chances of being cursed.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” I mutter, dragging my fingers down my face.
Tamsin practically cackles, full fae mischief lighting up her expression. “Oh, it’s not. It’s an absolute disaster every year. Last time, someone turned their date into a badger mid-slow dance. Still not sure if it was intentional.”
I groan, letting my forehead thunk lightly against the table. The polished wood smells faintly of citrus and other cleaner. “Why are you so excited about this?”
“Because it’s tradition,” she says sweetly. “And because watching you stumble your way through ancient magical customs is honestly the highlight of my year.”
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. She grins wider, unbothered. But before I can fire back, a shadow falls over the table.
“Interrupting something?” Raiden asks, all smooth and casual sounding. As though he’s been standing there for more than a few seconds.
Tamsin looks up, lips twitching. “Only the scheming kind.”
I sit up straighter as Raiden’s eyes land on me. His gaze flicks between us, lingering for a beat too long on me. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
There’s something about the way he says it that sets my nerves buzzing.
“Yeah. Sure.” I push back from the table, trying to ignore the way Tamsin wiggles her eyebrows at me as I stand.
We slip away from the table, the noise of the dining hall fading behind us as we walk toward the greenhouse. Raiden walks a little too close, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to look like he’s checking on me. And like we might do this all the time.
Spoiler: he is. And we don’t.
I glance sideways. “You’re really committing to this brooding trainer aesthetic.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just shrugs. “You look like someone who’s had a hell of a first week.”
I snort. “Is that what we’re calling nearly getting magically bound by a bunch of paranoid council members now?”
That earns me the flicker of a grin. “Magically bound, huh?”
“Yeah. Like a cursed scroll they’re afraid might go off if someone breathes too hard near it.” I cross my arms. “There was a very ‘contain the dangerous object’ vibe in there yesterday.”
His eyes spark with amusement, and his mouth twitches into an almost smile. “And how are you feeling now…cursed scroll?” he asks, and it’s not completely a joke. He sounds like he actually wants to know.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hesitating. “I don’t know. Like my life has turned into a series of magical games and no one remembered to hand me a rulebook?”
His smile fades slightly, replaced by something softer. “If they did, they sure as hell didn’t give you the right one.”
I look at him as we come to a stop next to the greenhouse. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“I’m always nice,” he says dryly.
“You’re usually less available, let’s say.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans back against the stone wall beside me, eyes scanning the sky like it might offer answers.
“I came to check on you,” he says at last. “And it’s not because of the bond between us.”
I blink. “Okay…”
“I just wanted to see how you were. After everything.”
There’s a beat of silence between us. Not that uncomfortable silence that makes you want to fill it, but a soft silence filled with things that we both aren’t saying.
Something tightens in my chest. “I’m fine,” I say, even though I’m not sure it’s true.
But I think maybe he knows that. Because he doesn’t push. Doesn’t question. Just stands there beside me like someone who won’t flinch if I fall apart.
“Are you?” he asks quietly.
The question isn’t a challenge. It’s not even skeptical. It’s as though he already knows the answer and is just giving me the space to admit it. He takes a step closer.
My mark pulses beneath my cloak, a flicker of heat against my skin as it reacts to him. I curl my fingers into my palm, as if I can hold the feeling in. I don’t look at him right away. If I do, I might say something I can’t take back. Or worse—do something I’ll never forget.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I whisper. “Everything’s changing so fast. The magic, the mark, the way people look at me now…”
His gaze is steady, grounded. “Not everyone.”
I glance up. “No?”
“I don’t look at you like that.”
I huff out a breath. “How do you look at me then?”
He doesn’t answer with words. But the way he steps closer, slow and deliberate, speaks volumes.
My back brushes the stone wall, and I don’t remember moving.
We’re too close now. Breath-close. I can feel the warmth of him, the quiet power just beneath his skin.
The way the tether between us tries to pull taut. It craves the connection between us.
And still, he doesn’t touch me.
But God, I want him to.
“You scare the shit out of me,” I admit. “Not because I think you’ll hurt me. But because when you look at me like that…” My throat tightens. “I start to feel like you see through all of it. Like you already know the parts of me I haven’t figured out yet.”
His eyes darken, but not with anger. Something deeper. Warmer.
“I hate that I can’t protect you from what’s coming,” he murmurs. “But I’d still fight every damn thing that tries.”
I sway forward, just slightly. Like my body’s no longer listening to my brain.
His hand lifts—tentative, careful—until his fingers hover just near my cheek. One more breath and—
“Well, this looks like a bad idea in progress,” Kael drawls from somewhere beside us.
We spring apart like we’ve been caught doing something illicit. I don’t even have to look to know he’s smirking, shadows coiling lazily at his feet like they’re just as amused as he is.
I flinch, my shoulder hitting the wall. Raiden exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, like he’s pulling every feeling back into place. Kael stands a few paces away, his expression unreadable, arms crossed, wings barely tucked behind him. His eyes glow as they flick between us.
Raiden straightens, jaw tight. “You following us now?”
Kael shrugs, sauntering closer with all the casual menace of a wolf who’s already tasted blood. “Didn’t have to. Your pheromones were practically drawing a map, shifter.”
My cheeks flare, but I hold his stare. “What do you want, Kael?”
“I could ask you the same,” he says, gaze flicking toward Raiden. “Didn’t realize we were having secret confessionals about our feelings now. Should’ve brought popcorn. Could’ve been entertaining.”
Raiden shifts his weight, not rising to the bait, but not backing down either. “We’re not your entertainment.”
Kael tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. “A shame. You’d make a compelling tragedy.”
I step forward before Raiden can react, planting myself between them. “Seriously, Kael. Why are you here?”
His gaze drops to me. Lingers. “Because the last time you brushed up against Veil magic, the fabric of reality started to fray the next day. So I’ll stay close.”
“I didn’t ask you to watch me.”
“No,” he says softly. “You didn’t.”
There’s something in his voice that scrapes against my ribs. It’s real and way too honest. It throws me for half a second. I don’t know what to say to that, so I default to anger.
“Well, I’m fine. You can go now.”
Kael’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be out here alone with him looking like you’re one whispered secret away from unraveling.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but Raiden cuts in, stepping closer. “Enough.”
Kael’s eyes snap to him, amused again. “Touchy.”
“You’re just pissed you didn’t get here first,” Raiden says.
It’s meant to be a dig, but Kael only laughs. A quiet, dangerous sound. “Trust me, first was never the goal.”
That does something weird to my stomach. Another beat of silence stretches between us, thick with things none of us are saying.
Then Kael steps back into the shadows of the building, his horns disappearing into the darkness. “Keep your secrets, little tether. But don’t pretend you can outrun what’s waking up inside you. The Veil doesn’t sleep. And neither do the things it’s holding back.”
Then he’s gone. The air feels colder without him here. Like the shadows themselves took a breath and exhaled frost.
Raiden breathes out slowly beside me. “He’s wrong, you know.”
I glance up at him. “About what?”
“You’re not a tragedy.”
I don’t answer. Because I’m not so sure.
Not anymore.