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“ G ood,” Dayn replies, though his tone suggests he doesn’t believe me. “It’s time to move.”

He crosses to where Mazrov lies and checks the runes surrounding him. With a flick of his wrist, the golden light dims, then vanishes completely. He hoists the sack onto his shoulder with disturbing ease.

“We’re heading back to Heathborne?” I ask, gathering my pack.

“Yes. The preparations are complete.” He gestures toward the door. “After you.”

I step outside, the cool night air a welcome relief after the musty confines of the stone building. The forest seems different somehow, the shadows deeper, the moonlight sharper. Or maybe it’s just my nerves, stretched taut as bowstrings.

We begin our trek back through the woods, Dayn a few paces behind me. I can feel his eyes on my back like physical pressure. The weight of my grandmother’s warning sits heavy in my chest.

Drink his blood . Right. Should I just ask for a free sample? Maybe suggest a blood donation drive? Hey, Dayn, feeling charitable today? The Blood Bank of Esme is running dangerously low.

The forest path narrows, forcing us to walk single file.

Branches reach out like grasping fingers, occasionally snagging my jacket.

In the distance, I can just make out the silhouette of Heathborne’s towers against the night sky, a dark mountain of stone and secrets.

I reluctantly pop a suppression pill and begin to glamour myself back into the appearance of Clara Winters, blue eyes included. We’re getting close.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Dayn observes from behind me. “Second thoughts?”

“Just strategizing,” I reply, stepping over a fallen log. “Trying to predict how many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

“A worthwhile exercise,” he says, and I swear I can hear amusement in his voice. “Though futile. The variables are too numerous.”

“That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

We lapse back into silence. The runes on my wrist pulse in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of the connection between us. A connection I apparently need to deepen by ingesting his blood. Fantastic.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about starting a new liquid diet. Got any recommendations? Perhaps something dark, ancient, and directly from your veins?

I stifle a snort at my own absurdity. Focus, Esme .

“Something amusing?” Dayn asks.

“Just contemplating the ridiculousness of my life choices.” I push a low-hanging branch out of my way. “Never thought I’d be escorting an unconscious clearblood guard through the woods with a dragon.”

“Life is full of surprises.”

“Is that what this is? A surprise? Because it feels more like a carefully orchestrated trap.”

Dayn shifts Mazrov’s weight on his shoulder. “Perception is subjective.”

“Philosophy now? Really?”

The trees begin to thin as we approach the edge of the forest, and I can see Heathborne’s imposing silhouette growing larger against the night sky. I quicken my pace slightly, eager to get this over with.

“Slow down,” Dayn says behind me. “We need to approach cautiously.”

I roll my eyes where he can’t see. “Right, because two people carrying what’s obviously a body-shaped sack won’t attract attention regardless of our speed.”

“Your sarcasm is noted but unnecessary,” he replies coolly.

We fall into silence as we continue our trek. The runes on my wrist pulse rhythmically, almost mockingly. Drink his blood. Drink his blood. My grandmother’s words echo in my head like some demented nursery rhyme.

I glance back at Dayn, studying his profile in the moonlight.

His jaw is set, eyes focused ahead, carrying Mazrov’s considerable weight as effortlessly as if the guard were made of cotton.

How exactly does one casually extract blood from a dragon?

I imagine myself attempting small talk while palming a syringe: So, lovely weather we’re having. Mind if I just... tap a vein?

The absurdity almost makes me laugh out loud again.

“Sure nothing’s on your mind?” Dayn asks without looking at me.

“Just wondering if dragons are blood type O-negative. You know, universal donors and all that.”

His step falters slightly—the first sign of surprise I’ve ever seen from him. “An odd question.”

“I have a naturally inquisitive mind.”

“Indeed.” His voice is flat. “Though I suggest focusing your curiosity elsewhere.”

We emerge from the forest onto a narrow path that winds its way toward Heathborne’s service entrance. The massive stone walls loom above us, windows dark except for the occasional flicker of lamplight. Guards will be patrolling, but Dayn seems unconcerned, striding forward with purpose.

“I assume you have a plan for getting past security with our... package?” I ask, nodding toward Mazrov’s form.

“The guards won’t see us,” Dayn says simply.

“Invisibility spell?” I raise an eyebrow. “Fancy.”

“Not exactly.”

As we approach the service gate, I notice the two guards stationed there standing unnaturally still. As we draw closer, I see their eyes are open but vacant, staring straight ahead without tracking our movement.

“What did you do to them?” I ask, waving a hand in front of one guard’s face. No response.

“They’re merely... elsewhere at the moment,” Dayn replies. “They’ll remember nothing of our passing.”

“Must be convenient, being able to mind-wipe people at will,” I mutter as we slip through the gate. “Do you ever use that trick at faculty meetings?”

“Tempting,” he says, and I swear I catch a slight smile on his lips before it vanishes.

We move through the darkened service corridors of Heathborne, our footsteps echoing softly against stone.

I match my pace to Dayn’s, careful to stay close as we navigate the labyrinthine passages.

The walls feel like they’re closing in, ancient stone breathing with secrets.

Or maybe that’s just my imagination, fueled by the increasingly bizarre situation I find myself in.

“So,” I whisper, breaking the tense silence as we turn down yet another identical corridor. “What’s your blood type anyway? Just curious. For science.”

Dayn doesn’t even glance at me. “I don’t believe dragon blood falls within standard human classification systems.”

“Right. Of course not. That would be too convenient.” I step over a loose flagstone. “Probably tastes terrible anyway. Like, I don’t know, fire and brimstone? Liquid arrogance?”

This earns me a sideways look, his amber eyes glinting in the dim light. “You have a peculiar fixation with blood this evening.”

“Just making conversation.” I shrug. “Better than discussing the weather or how we’re smuggling an unconscious guard through the castle.”

I scan the corridor ahead, mapping possible escape routes should we encounter trouble. Old habits.

“Your grandmother visited you,” Dayn says suddenly, his voice low and matter-of-fact.

I nearly trip over my own feet. “What?”

“In the stone chamber. You had a spectral visitor.” He continues walking as if he’d merely commented on a change in temperature. “What did she tell you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, the words feeling clumsy on my tongue. “Though if you’re suggesting I talk to ghosts now, I’m flattered you think I’m that powerful while under the influence of your runes.”

“The runes on your wrist flared. They respond to certain... interferences.” His tone remains casual, but there’s an edge to it now. “Ancestral communication would qualify.”

Fantastic. My magical monitor apparently doubles as a spirit detector. “If you must know, she just wanted to check if I was eating enough vegetables. Very concerned about my fiber intake.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Dayn shifts Mazrov’s weight again with ease. “Salem matriarchs aren’t known for their nutritional advice.”

We turn down another corridor, this one narrower than the others. The air feels different here—charged somehow, as if the very stones are holding their breath. Ahead, a door stands partially hidden in an alcove, the wood ancient and marked with symbols similar to those in the forest chamber.

“Here,” Dayn says, stopping before it. He presses a palm against the center of the door. The symbols carved into the wood begin to glow with the same amber light as his eyes, pulsing in a complex rhythm. The door swings inward silently, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into darkness.

“After you,” he says with a gesture that might almost be mistaken for courtesy if I didn’t know better.