“You shouldn’t have been out there alone.”
I fold my arms, not backing down. “I’m not a child. I can take a walk without a security detail.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “There are dangers here you don’t even know exist.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, “I’m starting to figure that out.”
His expression doesn’t soften, but his voice does. A little. “Just…don’t make a habit of it.”
I don’t promise anything. Just nod.
“You did good today,” he adds after a pause, reluctant but honest.
I snort. “Maybe that’s because I had an actual instructor for once.”
He flinches—barely—but I see it. And I’m not prepared for how guilty it makes me feel. He isn’t a terrible trainer; he was shoved into this the same as I was. Neither one of us asked for this.
“Sorry. I’m just…tired,” I add, quieter now.
He doesn’t say anything to that. Just nods once and walks away, his footsteps echoing behind him. And I stand there, still burning from everything thatwasn’tsaid.
EIGHTEEN
NOLAN
I seeher 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. AVeilburn. 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—ittouchedyou. 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?—”
