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Glowing eyes bounce toward me, the light of dawn reflecting in its pupils. I fish into the satchel my mother gave me, hopeful for something to defend myself, and whip out a dagger.

“I will use this!” I declare.

The creature slows and drops the branch a few yards from me, locking eyes once more and waiting. I stare it down through narrowed eyes, hoping it’ll scurry off if I’m intimidating enough.

Instead, the creature carries the stick over to me, clearly unbothered by my dagger, and drops the branch inches from my toes. It backs up with a wiggle of its snake-like tail, eyes wide with what I assume is anticipation. The creature’s proximity affords me a chance to study it. Dazzling black scales armor its body, and nubbed horns line its small head. It’s about the size of a large lizard except…lizards don’t have wings.

A dragon.

My mind races…what if Willard turned me in? He couldn’t possibly, could he? We’re friends. Is that why my mother warned me not to trust anyone?

My mother…

Tears creep up on me as my new reality settles in. My life’s mission was to keep her alive—to take care of her—and I failed. It all swims back: the roof melting, the exploding window spraying glass shards, the smoke blotting out the stars.

A tremor snakes up my hand holding the dagger pointed at the dragon hatchling. Could this creature have been the one to start the fire? Maybe it was the reason my mother died. A sob consumes me at the thought of her, and the reminder of her absence. I’m nearly drowning in desperation for all the things I wanted to hear from her. From our very last moments together.

I love you.

I cling to the words. Replaying them over and over in my mind as if they were something I could audibly hear. Last night was the first time I heard them in so long. Perhaps the first time I heard them since my brother died.

Died. And now they were all dead. My eyes narrow at the little beast, and my fingers clench into the hilt as I hold the dagger steady. Aiming it straight between the two wide, white eyes. Since I was still sitting against a tree, the creature had a much better angle to attack me. Yet, if I tried to inch up to my feet it might become threatened. Dragons were unpredictable.

I should kill it first. Before it attacks.

The hatchling blinks slowly at me. Something about the soft movement freezes me. The fish I caught I could never look in the eyes as I gutted them. The idea of killing something while looking it in the eyes…it was too much. In a way, it felt barbaric.

The dagger falls from my hand and clatters to the ground. I sink my head into my hands. I can’t. I can’t do it. Despair’s daggered claws sink into me and pull me down. Down far enough where I don’t care what happens to me anymore. I should have died with my mother. I should have died a long time ago. It should have been me instead of my brother. A cry shakes my body, my palms growing wet with each shed tear.

Something nudges my boot, and I look up.

The creature sits, its eyes round as it chirps. It nuzzles against my leg, and I quickly shift away. My mother’s words an echoed whisper in my mind.

Take her to the Dragon Lands.

My mouth parts, and I wipe away rivers of tears.Her…who else would she have been referring to?The rest of what my mother said echoes in my mind.

Find Cole, and take her to the Dragon Lands. You aren’t safe here. Don’t come back. Trust no one.

The urgency in her voice, the clarity in her eyes. It was as clear as I have seen her in so long. But what I couldn’t wrap my head around was how she could have possibly been lucid.

“You’re a her? How did she know about you?” I croak, almost immediately bemused I’m speaking out loud. And to an animal, at that.

The hatchling scurries toward me again as I hold out an open hand to pause her, but the tip of her nose brushes my palm. A shock of energy sings in my hand and trembles up my arm, my body writhing in response. A burst of air flares out from around us, rustling the leaves of the trees and blades of grass.

Daeja.

I don’t know how or why. There’s no one around me to whisper it, nor is it spelled out in the sky. But somehow I know that’s her name. I pull my hand back and look at my open palm. A faint white ring wraps around the middle finger of my left hand.

The dragon hatchling—Daeja—takes my flat open hand as an invitation and climbs up to sit in my palm. Cautiously, I bring her closer to my face to look at her. Part of me is nervous this may be when she decides to strike me. But where I expect malice, danger, and ferality—there’s a softness, trust, and…something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

Before I can think better of it, I hold out a finger to inspect her wings. She takes the moment to lean into my hand and rubs her cheek alongside my finger.

Admittedly, for being a dragon, she’s actually kind of…cute.

“You’re an odd little thing,” I mutter. How would my mother know about dragons or the Dragon Lands? Why would she possibly spend her last breaths telling me such a thing? And could I trust she was telling me these things in a sane state of mind, after her years of manic episodes and hysteria?

…I can’t do this.