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V anya

The elevator descends into the bowels of corporate hell, and I adjust my mask one final time.

Silver threads catch the fluorescent light, casting shadows across my cheekbones.

The mask fits like a second skin now—ornate scrollwork and delicate metalwork that speaks to the rare Arrowvane bloodline I represent.

Fifteen years of wearing this face, and sometimes I forget which reflection is real.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, releasing the scent of expensive cologne and the barely concealed ambition of the Ivory League of the Syndicate.

Six figures already occupy the conference table, their masks reflecting the chamber’s eternal flames along with their individual insignia: Cymbane, Kiasog, Empyreal, Flamebrow, Helestre, and Vex.

Each representing a dragon clan that is all but extinct.

Clans that would certainly be long gone if the Syndicate hadn’t provided a way to join forces and survive in a world that has no place for our kind.

Now what? I wonder for the fifth time since getting the summons this morning. Meetings of the Ivory League are seldom unscheduled.

Elder Vex raises his iron-clad head as I enter. Even through that brutal mask, his satisfaction radiates like heat from a forge. When Vex calls emergency sessions, someone’s world is about to end.

“Elder Arrowvane.” His voice carries the weight of old authority. “How good of you to join us.”

I take my seat without acknowledging him. The tablet before me hums to life, biometric scanners confirming what everyone in this room believes—that I’m a senior representative of the Arrowvane bloodline, one of the few clan members trusted with Ivory League authority.

If only they knew what I really am.

Cassia Nightvale sits apart from the table, perfectly professional in her role as Senior Bloodline Verification Specialist. Her tablet glows with research data, and she doesn’t look up when I enter. Smart woman. We’ve perfected the art of appearing to be little more than casual acquaintances.

But the slight tension in her shoulders tells me everything I need to know. Whatever Vex has planned, it’s bad.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vex begins, his voice carrying clearly, “I trust you’ve all reviewed the reports from Seattle.”

A murmur ripples around the table. Of course they have.

The entire supernatural world has been reeling from what happened at Craven Towers, the headquarters of the clan run by Caleb and Dorian Craven.

Dragons revealed in broad daylight in full-scale battle.

The existence of our kind splashed across human social media.

“A catastrophic failure of operational security,” Elder Empyreal observes, her voice brittle with disapproval. “The Craven incident has set dangerous precedents.”

“Indeed,” Vex agrees, pulling up holographic displays. “Though I must acknowledge Creed’s innovative damage control. The humans’ psychological rejection of evidence has been… remarkable.”

The images show news footage, social media screenshots, expert debunking panels.

Humans desperately explaining away dragon combat as “viral marketing gone wrong” and “Hollywood special effects.” Their capacity for denial in the face of impossible truth is remarkable.

Humans will believe almost anything as long as it fits with their expectations.

Almost.

“Nevertheless,” Vex continues, “recent events have exposed fundamental weaknesses in our structure. The Craven clan’s… associations with witches and hybrid bloodlines.” His lip curls.

My eyes don’t flicker, but something cold unfurls in my chest. Here it comes.

“Which brings us to our primary concern,” Vex says. “While Creed manages the fallout from the Seattle fiasco, while he coordinates damage control and human manipulation, we face a crisis that threatens the very foundation of our purity protocols.”

“Indeed?” I say. “What manner of threat requires such urgency?”

“Contamination,” Vex says the word like it might taint him. “Our current detection methods are failing us. Mixed bloodlines are slipping through our safeguards, diluting the purity we’ve maintained for centuries.”

Fuck. Vex’s obsession with the purity of clan bloodlines is borderline obsessive.

He activates the holographic displays—genealogical charts showing bloodline traces, detection reports highlighting inconsistencies, statistical analyses that make my stomach clench.

“In the past year alone, we’ve discovered seventeen individuals within our territories whose heritage was… misrepresented.” His mask turns toward each member. “Seventeen contaminations that our existing protocols failed to identify.”

Elder Cymbane speaks from across the table. “Our current methods have served us well for generations. What evidence suggests they’re insufficient?”

“This evidence.” Vex pulls up detailed genetic analyses. “Advanced DNA signatures that show mixed heritage going back multiple generations. Dilution so subtle that our standard verification missed it entirely.”

The holographic family trees twist and branch, showing bloodline connections that trace back centuries. Names I don’t recognize, but the implications are clear—if they can detect heritage this far removed, no mixed-blood child is safe.

Including Ember.

“Interesting theory, Elder. But surely isolated cases don’t justify—” I begin.

“Isolated?” Vex says. “These seventeen represent only what we’ve found through accidental discovery. How many others remain hidden? How many corrupted bloodlines are living among us, breeding freely, spreading their contamination?”

The words leave me frozen. This isn’t about specific individuals anymore. This is about systematic hunting.

“What exactly are you proposing?” I ask, though I’m beginning to suspect I know.

“Enhanced Detection Protocol Seven.” The holographic display shifts, showing technical specifications that make alarm bells jangle. “Complete genetic verification using the latest resonance techniques. Bloodline analysis that can identify mixed heritage seven generations removed.”

Seven generations. The number echoes in my skull. Ember’s mixed heritage goes back exactly one generation—to her human witch father. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You’re suggesting wholesale genetic screening?” Elder Empyreal’s voice carries careful neutrality.

“I’m suggesting we protect our bloodlines from contamination.” Dark eyes flare behind his mask. “My own clan has fewer than a dozen pure members. Other clans face similar pressures. We cannot allow dilution to continue unchecked.”

“The scope seems… extensive,” Elder Cymbane observes. “Our current verification systems—”

“Are antiquated.” Vex cuts her off. “Cassia’s latest research has yielded remarkable advances in detection sensitivity. We can now identify contamination that previous methods would have missed entirely.”

All eyes turn to Cassia. For a fraction of a second, our gazes meet, and I catch the warning there.

He’s already decided.

“The enhanced protocols I’ve been developing,” Cassia says, her voice perfectly steady, “have reached new levels of precision. We can identify mixed heritage with ninety-seven percent accuracy, even in cases where the contamination occurred multiple generations ago.”

A collective murmur of approval ripples around the table. The Ivory League has always prized genetic purity. The elders at this table won’t even sanction mating between clans, let alone inter-species pairings.

I glance at Vex and contemplate the level of interbreeding his line must suffer from.

“Implementation timeline?” asks Elder Helestre.

“Three phases of screening,” Vex responds, pulling up detailed project schedules.

“Phase One: All new births and young adults under twenty-five, since they represent the most recent wave of infractions from our members. Phase Two: Existing clan members in positions of authority in order to determine loyalty to our cause. Phase Three: Comprehensive screening of all bloodline members to weed out any potential pairings that might be likely to result in illegal offspring.”

Phase One. All young adults under twenty-five.

Ember turns twenty-one in two weeks.

“The technical requirements,” I manage, “would be considerable. Magical resonance scanning on this scale—”

“Has been accounted for.” Vex’s preparation is thorough, terrifying. “We’ve secured the necessary equipment and personnel. Enhanced protocols can begin implementation within two weeks.”

Two weeks.

“So, what is it that you are proposing, Elder Vex?” It’s Flamebrow now.

“I want sanction to put these plans into practice,” he says. “To be assured that I am acting in the interests of all of those seated here, along with the clans represented.”

“And the ultimate aim?” Helestre asks.

“Exile for those lone dragons who’ve joined the Syndicate and then betrayed our aims by mating outside our ranks,” says Vex. “And for our most sacred bloodlines—those the Ivory League represents…” He looks around at the others. “Complete elimination.”

My heart literally stops as the blood drains from my face.

“By elimination, I’m assuming you mean…” God, I wish my voice wasn’t so hoarse.

“Execution, yes,” Vex responds smoothly, as if he’s not discussing wholesale murder. “And I expect you all to pledge your support.”

There’s a brief silence as the others mull over this.

“So, you want a vote?” says Elder Kiasog. Vex nods. “Very well,” says Kiasog, touching the panel of his screen. The green glow makes it quite clear what he’s opted for.

Elder Vex looks around the table at the others, who go through the same motion, one by one voting in favor of his policy of puritanical extremism.

This is fucking insanity!

“Elder Arrowvane? I’m sure that considering your role, you of all people would support this motion.”

I realize all eyes are upon me.