Page 19

H argen

The crunch of tires on gravel pulls me away from the window.

I’ve stood there for what feels like hours, my fingers curling against the worn sill, nails digging into weathered wood. Years of Syndicate service taught me to remain composed in the face of unexpected threats, but nothing has prepared me for this.

The sound of an approaching car shouldn’t make my heart stutter like a faulty engine. Shouldn’t leave me wondering if it might be easier to turn and run.

You’re a father now. Man up.

I take in the sparse furnishings of Vanya’s neat house, the strategic exits, the subtle magical wards woven into the foundation. Even here, at the end of a forgotten dirt road surrounded by dense forest, old habits die hard.

The car engine cuts. A door slams. Footsteps on the path.

I’ve spent decades working with some of the most powerful magical beings on the planet, but now I stand frozen, unable to move as those footsteps approach the porch. My acute awareness catches a hesitation; I’m almost certain I hear a deep breath drawn and held.

The door opens.

She stands framed in golden light, pale blonde hair cascading past her shoulders—her mother’s hair, unmistakably.

But as she steps inside, I see my eyes looking back at me.

Deep brown, assessing, wary. Her face mirrors Vanya’s—high cheekbones, delicate nose, proud chin—but there’s something in her expression, a quiet intensity, that belongs to me.

Ember.

My little girl.

Grown now.

My God.

Neither of us moves. I can’t seem to remember how to speak. Something fierce and protective ignites inside me, an unfamiliar instinct I’ve never experienced in centuries of life.

She breaks the silence first.

“I’ve imagined meeting you my whole life.” Her voice is steady despite the emotion lurking beneath the surface. She maintains her distance, one hand resting on the doorframe.

Smart. Cautious. Another trait she inherited from me.

The tightness in my throat makes it difficult to respond.

“I didn’t know you existed until last week,” I finally reply. “If I had known…”

I let the sentence hang. What would I have done? Abandoned my post as Lila’s handler? Defied the Syndicate’s most sacred laws?

Both, likely.

She studies me with an intensity that reminds me of her mother. “Mom told me you were dead.” A statement, not a question, but I hear the implicit accusation.

“She was protecting you,” I say simply. “And she was right to do so.”

A flicker of surprise crosses her face—perhaps she expected defensiveness. Instead, I offer honesty. It’s all I have.

“She said you were a Syndicate agent,” Ember continues, taking a cautious step forward. “That you died a hero.”

A short laugh escapes me. “I’ve been many things for the Syndicate. A hero was never one of them.”

“Then what were you?”

The weight of centuries presses down as I consider my answer. “I was a handler. I monitored powerful witches who could be valuable to the Syndicate.” I meet her gaze. “But with your mother, I was simply a man. The only time in my life I truly was.”

Something shifts in her expression. She moves closer, stopping just beyond arm’s reach. “Did you love her?”

“Yes.” The word comes instantly, without hesitation. “I loved her beyond reason.” I feel my throat tighten. “I believed she died because of that love.”

She nods. “That must have been hard.”

“Unbearable,” I say, the word barely scraping the surface of what it felt like.

“You’re tall. Like me.” She seems to recognize the need to lighten the tone a little.

“You have her smile,” I say, the observation slipping out before I can stop it.

“Mom says I have your temper,” she replies, challenge flashing in her eyes.

“My temper?” I chuckle because if there’s one thing I’ve never been, it’s hot-headed. “Maybe not that.”

She smiles back at me. “Yeah. I think she may have been projecting a bit.” She pauses. “I think I have your magic, though.”

I’d expected this, after what Vanya told me, but seeing the proof before me is different. “Show me,” I say quietly.

Ember hesitates only briefly before extending her hand, palm up. A small flame appears, dancing above her skin. It flickers between crimson and gold, the unmistakable signature of Rossewyn magic. The same power that runs in my veins.

Without conscious thought, I extend my own hand and summon a matching flame. Our fires recognize each other, stretching across the space between us, tendrils of magic reaching toward one another like sentient creatures seeking connection.

“That’s never happened before,” she whispers, watching our magic dance together. “Mom couldn’t do this with me.”

“No, she wouldn’t be able to.” I extinguish my flame and step closer. “This is Rossewyn magic. It responds to our bloodline.”

Ember doesn’t extinguish her flame. Instead, she shapes it into a small dragon that flies in circles above her palm. The control, the precision—she’s had excellent training.

“Rossewyn?” she asks, cocking her head.

“Yes.” I nod. “It’s our line. An ancient witch line, connected to dragons for centuries.”

She stares down at the tiny dragon in her hand, as if mesmerized. “Why did you never look for her?” The question comes suddenly, sharply. “If you loved her so much, why did you believe she was dead?”

The accusation stings, but I don’t flinch. “I watched her burn,” I say, the memory vivid despite the years. “My position required that I witness the execution. I saw dragon fire consume what I believed was her body.” My jaw tightens at the image still burned into my mind.

“And now?” She closes her fist, extinguishing the flame. “Now that you know she’s alive? That I exist?”

“Now that I know you’re mine, everything changes,” I say simply.

Her eyes flash. “I’m not yours. You don’t know me.”

“No,” I agree, respecting her anger. “I don’t. But you are my blood. And in our world, that means something.”

She paces away, restless energy radiating from her. “Mom said you’re working with the Aurora Collective now. That you’ve turned against the Syndicate.”

“Yes.”

“Why should I believe you? How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“You shouldn’t believe me,” I tell her honestly. “Trust should be earned, not given.”

My answer seems to surprise her. She stops pacing and turns to face me fully.

“What exactly am I?” The question comes abruptly, but I sense she’s been waiting her entire life to ask it.

“You’re the best of both worlds,” I say, watching her carefully. “Dragon from your mother’s bloodline, witch from mine. A powerful, magical combination.”

She doesn’t look shocked. Instead, relief washes over her face. “You know, I always knew there was something different about me. Something Mom wouldn’t explain.” Her hands clench at her sides. “All my life, I’ve felt… incomplete. Like pieces of me were missing.”

I nod, understanding. “Your dual nature is rare, but not unprecedented. Many of the older clans worked hard to prevent such unions, but they’ve happened throughout history.”

“Is that why they want me dead?”

“Perhaps. Maybe you represent what they fear most—change. The end of their controlled bloodlines and ancient hierarchies.” I move closer, within arm’s reach now. “But you’re also proof that their entire worldview is flawed.”

Ember absorbs this, brow furrowed in thought. Then, without warning, her hand darts out and grabs my wrist. I allow it, suppressing the instinct to break free. Her touch sends a current through me—a magical recognition, blood calling to blood.

She feels it too. Her eyes widen.

“You really are my father,” she whispers.

“Yes.” My voice is suddenly husky.

She releases me abruptly and steps back, visibly shaken. I give her the space she needs, though everything in me wants to protect her from what’s coming.

“What happens now?” she asks, vulnerability breaking through her careful control.

“The Syndicate is going to hunt you,” I tell her bluntly because there’s no sense in sugarcoating it. “Your mother has risked everything to keep you safe. And I intend to do the same.”

“And if I don’t want your protection? If I want answers instead?”

A slight smile tugs at my mouth—so like her mother, demanding truth regardless of consequence.

“Then I’ll give you both,” I promise. “Protection and answers. Starting with this one: I don’t know you yet, Ember. But I want to.”

She studies me, judgment in her gaze. I stand unflinching under her scrutiny, allowing her to see me clearly—not just the Syndicate handler or the Aurora operative, but the man.

Her father.

Finally, she nods; a small gesture, but it’s profound.

“I don’t know you either,” she says. “But I’m willing to learn.”

It’s not forgiveness or acceptance. It’s something more tentative, more fragile. But I recognize it for what it is.

A beginning.