Page 26 of Born in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #2)

Chapter 26

J uno

The world passes by in unfamiliar fragments—trees giving way to fields, fields to scattered buildings, buildings to warehouses. I watch it all from the elevated cab of Eddie’s semi-truck, my “borrowed” hospital scrubs stiff against my skin, my mind as empty as the stretches of highway before us.

“…and that’s when I told her, ‘Darlin’, I’ve been hauling freight from Seattle to Omaha for twenty-seven years, and I ain’t once seen a moose doing the mambo on Interstate 90!’” Eddie laughs at his own story, his salt-and-pepper beard bouncing with each chuckle.

I offer a small smile, grateful he doesn’t expect more. Since picking me up, Eddie has filled the silence with a steady stream of trucking stories, family anecdotes, and observations about the changing landscape. He asks occasional questions but seems content when I respond with nods or single-word answers.

His kindness requires no explanation, and I have none to give.

“Getting chillier out there,” he observes, adjusting the heater. His gaze drops to my feet, bare except for the thin hospital shoe covers, now muddy and torn. “Those can’t be comfortable. Hold up a sec.”

Eddie reaches behind his seat, rummaging through a storage compartment while keeping one hand on the wheel.

“Should have something in here… Aha!” He produces a pair of rubber flip-flops, bright blue with a faded trucking company logo. “Keep ‘em for shower stops. Never know what’s growing on those truck stop bathroom floors.” He shudders dramatically. “Probably too big, but better than nothing, right?”

I accept them with careful hands. “Thank you.”

“She speaks!” Eddie grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Was starting to wonder if you’d gone mute on me.”

I slip the oversized flip-flops onto my feet, the rubber cool and surprisingly comfortable after hours of inadequate protection. Another small mercy in a world where I understand nothing but recognize kindness when offered.

“So,” Eddie says after a comfortable silence, “where exactly are you headed in Seattle? Got family there? Friends?”

The question should be impossible to answer. I have no conscious knowledge of Seattle, no memory of anyone waiting for me. Yet my mouth forms words without my brain’s permission.

“The Towers.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Craven Towers? No kidding!” He whistles low. “Talk about timing. Place is the center of the biggest mystery in the Pacific Northwest right now.”

Something stirs in my chest at the name. Craven. The word resonates like a bell struck inside me, sending vibrations through my empty memory.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice stronger than before.

“You haven’t heard? I woulda thought that’s why you were going there. Been all over the news!” Eddie seems delighted to share information with a willing audience. “Some kind of explosion or attack a few days back. Tore up the top floors something fierce. But here’s the weird part,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “people swear they saw… dragons.”

“Dragons,” I repeat, the word feeling strangely familiar on my tongue.

“Yep! Flying right around the building! Videos all over YouTube, though they’re saying now it was some movie publicity stunt.” He shakes his head. “Pretty elaborate, if you ask me. Building damage looked real enough.”

His words trigger something—a flash of light, the sound of breaking glass, screams. The images come and go so quickly that I can’t hold them.

“You one of those urban explorers?” Eddie asks, misinterpreting my silence. “Folks who check out disaster sites? Or maybe one of those conspiracy investigators?” He glances at my hospital scrubs. “Though usually, they dress a bit more… conventional.”

I let him form his own conclusions, grateful for any explanation that doesn’t require me to invent a past I can’t remember.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, “I don’t judge. Met all types on the road. Once gave a ride to a guy convinced the government was putting mind-control chips in cereal. Nice fella otherwise.”

The highway curves, and suddenly, the Seattle skyline appears in the distance—a collection of glass and steel rising against a backdrop of mountains and water. Something inside me lurches toward it, a physical sensation like being pulled by an invisible thread.

I lean forward unconsciously, my breath quickening.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Eddie misinterprets my reaction. “That’s the Space Needle over there. And see that really tall one? Columbia Center. Craven Towers is the one with the weird wing-like things at the top, but you can’t quite see it from here.”

As we draw closer to the city, traffic thickens. Eddie navigates smoothly, still chatting about Seattle landmarks and the best places to get coffee. I barely hear him, my attention fixed on the approaching city, the pull growing stronger with each mile.

“Can’t take you all the way to the Towers, unfortunately,” Eddie says as we exit the main highway. “Downtown’s got restrictions on commercial vehicles, and I’ve got a delivery schedule to keep. But I can drop you at the edge of the business district. It’s maybe a fifteen-minute walk from there.”

He travels through increasingly urban streets until we reach an industrial area bordering downtown. Warehouses and loading docks surround us, with glimpses of skyscrapers visible between buildings.

“This is as far as I go,” Eddie says, pulling to a stop in a loading zone. “You sure you’ll be okay from here? Those flip-flops aren’t exactly hiking boots.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.

Eddie reaches into a cooler behind his seat. “Take these, at least.” He hands me a bottle of water and a bag of Doritos. “Brain fuel. And here,” he scribbles on a scrap of paper, “my cell number. If you get stuck or need another ride out of the city, give me a call. I’ll be in Seattle two more days.”

The kindness of this stranger brings an unexpected tightness to my throat. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waves away my thanks. “Just pay it forward someday. And maybe let me know if you find any real dragons, yeah?” He winks.

I step down from the truck cab, the industrial district stretching before me, the invisible pull guiding me forward. Eddie’s horn toots briefly as he pulls away, leaving me alone in a city I don’t remember, but that somehow feels significant. I orient myself toward the tallest buildings and begin walking.

The industrial zone gradually gives way to a more commercial district. People in business clothes hurry past, some casting curious glances at my strange outfit, oversized flip-flops slapping on the pavement. I must look as out of place as I feel, but the stares bounce off me, insignificant compared to the urgent tug drawing me along.

As I approach the business district, flashes of memory begin to intrude with increasing frequency—disconnected images without context. A coffee cup with intricate foam art. Hands adjusting an apron tie. A customer’s smile. None make sense, yet all feel oddly familiar.

I pass a coffee shop, and the aroma hitting my nostrils sends me reeling. I stop abruptly, pressing my hands to my temples as sensations flood through me: the hiss of steam, the grinding of beans, the weight of a pitcher in my hand. My fingers twitch with muscle memory of movements I don’t consciously recall.

A businessman swerves to avoid colliding with me, muttering about “tourists” as he passes. I force myself to continue walking, though each block brings more disorienting flashes. A bookstore triggers the memory of pages turning. A park bench brings the sensation of sitting in sunshine. Each fragment appears and dissolves, leaving me more confused than enlightened.

I turn a corner, and suddenly, between two buildings, I catch my first glimpse of a distinctive tower—modern glass and steel with a unique architectural feature at the top that indeed resembles wings.

Craven Towers.

My body reacts before my mind can process the sight. My heart pounds like it’s trying to escape from my ribcage. My skin prickles with goosebumps despite the mild temperature. My legs stop moving, frozen in place as something like recognition washes over me.

I know this building. I’ve been here before. The certainty settles into my bones even as the specific memories remain frustratingly out of reach.

When I can move again, my pace quickens, the pull now so strong it’s almost painful to resist. I navigate streets without consulting signs, my body remembering what my mind cannot. Left here. Right at the next corner. Straight past the bank with the revolving doors.

The tower grows larger as I approach, dominating the skyline. Now I can see evidence of recent damage—the upper floors show signs of construction, with scaffolding and protective coverings visible. Barricades surround the building’s perimeter, creating a controlled access point where security guards check identification.

People flow around the plaza, some stopping to take pictures of the damaged building, others hurrying past with the purposeful stride of those with destinations. I stand at the edge of the open space, suddenly uncertain. The pull urges me forward, but rationality suggests I can’t simply walk into a corporate headquarters in hospital scrubs with no identification or purpose.

Yet something inside insists that I belong here. That answers await within those walls.

I take a step forward, then another, crossing the plaza with my gaze fixed on the building’s entrance. The world around me seems to fade, sounds becoming muffled, peripheral vision narrowing until only the tower remains in focus. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, drowning out the city noise.

I’m halfway across the plaza when a hand grips my arm from behind, fingers digging into my flesh with unpleasant pressure. I freeze, my body recognizing the touch before my mind can process it.

“Well, well,” a voice says close to my ear, soft enough that only I can hear. “Look who’s back from the dead. I knew you’d turn up sooner or later, Ju-Ju.”

My vision swims as fragments of memory cascade through my mind—a funeral with white lilies, a man’s controlling arm around my shoulders, whispered threats disguised as concern.

I turn slowly, my body remembering fear that my mind can’t place, to face the owner of that voice.