Chapter 23 Lindsay
TWENTY-THREE
LINDSAY
I find Tamsin exactly where I expect that evening—back table, third row from the enchanted windows, picking through her dinner like it offends her.
She glances up as I slide into the seat across from her, eyes narrowing.
“Okay, that face says you either found a prophecy or murdered someone and need help hiding the body.”
I lean in and whisper, “We’re going back tonight.”
“To the Forbidden Wing?” she asks, deadpan.
I nod once.
A slow, gleeful smile spreads across her face. “You know, I was mostly joking when I suggested that. But I adore that you’re taking me seriously.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” I admit. “That book. The way the magic reacted. If there are answers, they’re in there. And no one else is offering me answers.”
“Midnight?” she asks, like we do this all the time.
“Midnight.”
Someone sets a tray down beside me with a clatter of nervous energy and zero stealth.
“Please tell me you’re joking. That place is dangerous,” Nolan says, voice cracking just slightly on the you’re.
I glance over at him. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He slides into the seat beside me, then winces. “Sorry, I wasn’t spying or anything—I just, um, heard you. You kind of have this...gravitational pull. Not in a weird way. Okay, maybe a little weird. I’ll stop talking now.”
Tamsin snorts into her drink, entirely unhelpful.
I raise an eyebrow at him, pretending I don’t find his flustered rambling ridiculously endearing. “You always panic this much when someone says the word forbidden?”
His ears turn pink. “Only when it’s followed by wing and tonight.”
I tilt my head. “We are big girls, we know what we are doing.”
He shrugs, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “Yeah. But I am your friend. And you’re not doing this without backup. Especially not after…everything.”
I think we are a little more than friends, but I don’t correct him.
Tamsin lifts her cup in a mock toast. “I vote yes to backup. Preferably magical and squishy-hearted.”
Nolan's eyes narrow. “I am not squishy-hearted.”
“You literally knitted your grandma a familiar-sized scarf for Winter Solstice last year,” she deadpans.
His mouth opens. Shuts. “It was cute, and she has a hairless cat,” he mutters.
I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Fine. You’re in.”
His shoulders drop like he’s been holding his breath. “Good. Because I was going to follow you anyway.”
There’s a beat of silence. I smile—soft, a little undone.
“You’re kind of brave, you know?”
He blushes so hard I’m surprised the butter doesn’t melt off his roll. “I’m really not.”
Tamsin sighs, flopping dramatically into her chair. “Ugh. You two are the slowest burn I’ve ever watched. It’s like watching tree sap flirt.”
I snort and roll my eyes, while Nolan proves he wasn’t as red as he could get.
Tamsin leans forward, jabbing a finger in my direction. “Okay, ground rule time.”
I blink. “Ground rule?”
“Yes. You.” She points again, like I’m a toddler reaching for a hot stove. “No touching the book this time. I don’t care if it whispers sweet nothings or promises you immortality. Let me or Nolan touch it. You just…supervise.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Nolan immediately nods. “Honestly, I second that. Maybe even third it. If the book starts glowing or hissing, I’ll be the sacrificial nerd.”
I roll my eyes but grin. “Fine, I won't touch it. But if it tries to flirt with you, I’m stepping in,” I joke.
Tamsin laughs. “Great. Now we’re all doomed.”
She excuses herself not long after, muttering something about grabbing extra chalk for distraction runes—though, at this academy, I’ve learned it’s more likely to be shimmer dust or moon-bloom ink.
That leaves me and Nolan alone at the table, the quiet settling around us like snowfall.
He shifts in his seat, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “So…you really think there’s something in that book?”
“I don’t know.” I trace a finger along the rim of my cup. “But everything that’s happened? The mark, the tether, the Veil breach yesterday, and Kael showing up every time I’m in danger. It feels connected.”
Nolan's brows pinch, concern knitting into the corners of his eyes. “That’s not exactly a comforting pattern.”
“No,” I admit. “It’s not.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “What if the book has answers you don’t want?”
I glance at him. “What if they’re answers I need?”
He doesn’t argue. Just exhales through his nose and leans back a little, the tension still in his shoulders. “Okay. But Tamsin’s right—you don’t touch it. We don’t know what kind of magic it’s laced with. And I know you’re powerful, but Lindsay…if it reacts to you. That’s not nothing.”
I give a small nod. “No touching. Promise.”
He nods too, then offers a soft smile. “Good. Because I’m not above tackling you away from a haunted book.”
I laugh, and some of the heaviness lifts. “You’d tackle me?”
“If it means keeping you breathing?” He shrugs, cheeks pink. “Every time.”
Something shifts between us then. A warm undercurrent that wraps around the conversation like a secret. His hand rests on the table, close to mine but not touching. And for a second, I swear the mark on my arm pulses, not in warning, but in recognition.
I look up at him, at the quiet bravery behind the nerves. “You know, for a bookish guy who panics when I say ‘forbidden,’ you’re kind of reckless.”
He grins. “Don’t tell my grandma. She still thinks I faint at the sight of blood.”
“She’s probably not wrong,” I tease.
“Okay, one nosebleed and suddenly I’m a legend.”
I’m still laughing when Tamsin returns, arms full of magical supplies and an expression that promises trouble. But even as we make our plan, even as the thrill of what comes next skates beneath my skin—I keep glancing back at Nolan.
And every time, he’s already looking at me.
The door creaks open with a reluctant groan, exactly as we left it.
Cool air slides out across our ankles, not ancient or undisturbed, but changed. Like the room remembers us, and it's been waiting.
Inside, the book still sits on its pedestal, glowing faintly in the center of the chamber. The same warm, golden light pulses beneath the surface of its cover, soft but steady.
Tamsin exhales and crosses her arms. “Okay. Reminder of the ground rule. No one touches the book.”
I glance at her. “You mean I don’t touch the book.”
She lifts a brow. “Correct. You’ve already had your dramatic magical meltdown moment, thanks. Let someone else be reckless tonight.”
Nolan's footsteps echo softly as he follows us in. He slows near the pedestal, his gaze sweeping across the runes carved into the floor and the strange shimmer hanging in the air.
“Whoa,” he breathes. “Okay, this is…more than I was expecting.”
“You didn’t see it the first time,” I say quietly. “It seemed to do everything to get our attention last time.”
Nolan's eyes cut to me. “And it reacted to you?”
I nod. “Like it recognized me or was calling out to me.”
Tamsin mutters something under her breath in Fae, likely a very creative curse, and points again. “Still. No touching.”
The book pulses. Brighter this time. As if to say, I disagree, touch me. My mark stirs beneath my cloak, responding to it—tugging at me.
Nolan edges forward. “You really think it’s sentient?”
“I think it knows something,” I say. “And it wants me to know it, too.”
Tamsin throws her hands up. “Then let him touch it. He volunteered.”
Nolan freezes. “Wait—me?”
“You’re the only one who hasn’t triggered any magical fireworks so far,” she says. “Statistically, you're the least cursed of the three of us.”
“That’s...not comforting,” he mutters.
But he moves toward the pedestal anyway.
And this time, the book flares with recognition, not exactly danger, just awareness.
Like it’s curious about him. The mark on my skin pulses brighter, shining through the cloak Tamsin gave me for stealth.
And I’m suddenly not sure if letting him touch it is brilliant… or the biggest mistake we’ve made yet.
Nolan takes a cautious breath, then lifts his hand. His fingers hesitate just above the cover, like even he knows there’s no going back once he makes contact.
Then he touches it.
The glow flares, not wild or blinding, but reverent. Golden light spills out beneath his palm and flows into the etched lines of the pedestal. The room shifts, like the floor breathes once and settles.
Tamsin swears again. “Okay. That’s not creepy at all.”
Nolan doesn't pull away. Instead, his fingers move, tracing the edge until the cover lifts with a quiet click. The book opens. Pages ripple on their own, flipping past symbols and diagrams I don’t recognize until they settle on one page.
Not a diagram. Not runes. A poem. Nolan leans closer, reading aloud:
“When veil-born power cracks the gate,
Four shall stand with woven fate.
As hearts align in silent claim,
The Veil shall thin, and truth reclaim.
One by tether, sworn in flame—
One by bond, through heart and name.
One not meant, yet ever near,
Marked by shadow, bound by fear.
The fracture wakes, the roots unspool—
And death shall dance through every school.”
He stares at it, brow furrowed. “That’s… not vague and horrifying at all.”
I step beside him, my mark already burning brighter with every line. It’s the same kind of ache that started before the Veil breach, like something inside me is listening. Recognizing. That is more than a simple poem. And I’m pretty sure it’s talking about me.
“It looks like part of it has been torn out,” I say.
Tamsin blows out a breath, her usual snark nowhere to be found. “I take it back. That’s creepy. That’s prophecy creepy.”
“Yeah, and someone already knows about it.” Nolan doesn’t look away from the page. “We need to figure this out. It mentioned four at the start. But then only three descriptions. Maybe the three are linked with the fourth.”
He looks up from the book, and I’m held in place by the knowledge swirling in his eyes.
My heart thuds. “You think I’m the fourth?”
He glances back at the book and then back to me, eyes wide and earnest. “Linds, you’re the Veil-born power it mentioned. That’s not even a question.”
My throat goes dry. Hearing it out loud, like it’s fact and I’m really somehow connected to this, makes something inside me flinch. Like a truth I’ve been dodging just stepped into the light.
Tamsin shifts, arms crossed tight over her chest. “Okay, so we’ve got ‘one by tether, sworn in flame’—that’s Raiden, right? The magical tether fits.”
I nod slowly. “And ‘one by bond, through heart and name’…” My eyes flick to Nolan before I can stop them. His cheeks go pink, but he doesn’t deny it.
Tamsin hums. “Which leaves Mr. Gloom and Horns as ‘not meant, yet ever near.’ Marked by shadow? Yeah, that tracks. He’s always close by.”
A chill prickles down my spine. She doesn’t have to say his name for me to know who she’s talking about.
Nolan finally tears his gaze from the book, his voice quiet. “So then the line about four with woven fate…That’s all of us. You’re the tether. The spark everything revolves around. Not a piece of the prophecy—its center.”
The mark on my arm flares, as if in answer.
Tamsin’s brows knit. “So the prophecy is about you. What if it’s about you and how the threads between you four can change everything?”
“Change me,” I whisper.
“It’s not just poetry. It’s warning us. About what’s coming…and who you are becoming. Maybe we can find something in the Library that will tell us more about what being Veil-born even means.”
I stare down at the glowing pages, the words burned into memory now.
Veil-born power. Woven fate. Tethered spark. Three threads. And me—caught in the center of them all.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tamsin says, softer this time. “It found you anyway.”
I stare at the book, at the now-still pages glowing faintly beneath Nolan’s hand. It’s all too much. I don’t think I can handle this.
A breath stutters out of me. “What if I resist it?”
Nolan's brows furrow. “Resist what?”
“The connections. You, Raiden, Kael.” My voice is quiet, and I can’t look him in the eyes. “If the prophecy is built on those threads—if I untangle them…maybe I can stop it. Stop whatever this is before it becomes death and ruin.”
Tamsin makes a noise halfway between a groan and a growl. “Linds, no. That’s not how this works. Prophecies are slippery bastards. They don’t unravel just because you pretend the threads don’t exist. Believe me, I know.”
“But what if this one does?” I say, turning toward them. “What if I can choose not to let it happen? If the connections are the spark, then maybe without them—without me—there’s no fire to start.”
Nolan looks like I just punched him in the chest. “You think cutting us out would stop it?” His voice is too soft, like it’s trying not to break.
“No,” I whisper. “I think it would break me. But if it meant saving people—stopping death from dancing through every school like it’s already written—how can I not consider it?”
He doesn’t answer. But I see his pain plain as day—the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides. Not anger. Not disappointment. Only a deep pain.
Tamsin shakes her head. “Prophecies twist themselves into shape no matter what you do. You avoid it one way, it shows up another. So maybe instead of running from the threads—you learn how to wield them.”
I look at her. Then at Nolan. Then down at the book. The mark on my arm pulses again, soft but insistent, like it knows.
Like something has already begun. Something that I can’t run from.