“She’s a catalyst, Raiden. The kind that burns everything just by existing. And we’re already standing too close.”
He walks away without another word, shadows draping over his shoulders like they’ve followed him his whole life and have no intention of stopping now.
I stay behind. Still. The silence stretches, but his words don’t leave.
They grow claws. Sink in deep.
What does he know? And why does his words make me want to protect her more?
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-finishedeggs, 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.”
