Page 20

V anya

The pasta is simple—something I threw together from the limited pantry—but Ember devours it like she hasn’t eaten in days. She sits across from Hargen, stealing glances when she thinks he isn’t looking, her fork pausing mid-bite whenever he speaks.

“You said you’ve been reading magical theory,” Hargen says, scooping up a forkful of spaghetti. “What’s your favorite subject?”

“Mainly protection. I’ve been trying to reverse-engineer protection spells from the Second Age.” Ember’s eyes light up. “They achieved effects we can’t replicate today with half the energy expenditure.” She catches herself, face flushing. “Ugh. I probably sound like a complete geek.”

“No.” Hargen shakes his head. “Although that’s pretty advanced reading for someone your age,” he observes.

“Mom’s always said I have an old soul.” Ember grins at me across the table. “She started me on basic texts when I was six. I think she was tired of me asking questions she couldn’t answer.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Like why some dragons have to shift completely while others can maintain partial forms. Or why some lines produce such powerful seers when their magical signature should theoretically dilute over generations.” She takes another bite, speaking around it with enthusiasm.

“Mom thinks it has to do with the original binding magics used to create the bloodlines, but I wonder if it’s more about selective breeding practices maintaining—”

“Ember,” I interrupt gently. “Let your father eat.”

The word slips out before I can catch it. Father. Not “Hargen” or “our guest.” The simple truth that’s been burning in my chest since the moment they laid eyes on each other.

Ember’s fork clatters onto her plate. “Sorry. I get excited about research.”

“Don’t apologize.” Hargen’s voice is soft. “I like hearing what interests you. Your mother’s right about the original binding magics, but your instinct about selective breeding has merit, too. Some bloodlines maintain power through very specific mating rituals designed to amplify latent abilities.”

“Really?” Ember leans forward. “I’ve read about the rituals, but the texts never explained the mechanics. How did they ensure magical compatibility?”

I watch Hargen’s face as he answers, noting the careful way he chooses his words. He’s protecting her from the darker aspects of bloodline politics while feeding her curiosity. Already learning to be her father.

“Blood resonance testing,” he explains. “Some beings can sense magical compatibility through close contact. The stronger the resonance, the more likely their offspring would inherit amplified abilities rather than diluted ones.”

“That’s how you knew,” Ember says suddenly, looking between us. “That’s how you and Mom knew you were… compatible.”

The silence stretches taut. I can feel Hargen’s eyes on me, reading the careful neutrality I’m projecting.

“No,” I say simply. “We fought it.”

Ember nods, processing this information with the clinical interest she applies to all her research. But there’s something else in her expression—a hunger for family history, for the story of her own origins.

“What was it like?” she asks. “When you first met?”

Hargen sets down his fork. “Your mother was arguing with her supervisor about protocol modifications. She had this way of speaking that made everyone in the room stop and listen.”

“She still does that,” Ember says with a grin. “Gets all formal and precise when she’s making a point. I call it her ‘lecture voice.’“

“I do not have a lecture voice,” I protest.

“You absolutely do.” Ember turns to Hargen. “She used it yesterday when she was explaining why I couldn’t leave the house. Very authoritative. Very ‘I am your mother and you will listen to me.’“

Hargen’s lips twitch. “I remember that voice. She used it on me once when I questioned her strategic assessment of a Syndicate compound. Made me feel like a naughty kid.”

“See?” Ember gestures with her fork. “Lecture voice.”

The easy teasing between them catches me off guard. This glimpse of what we could be—the three of us sharing meals and stories and gentle mockery. A family.

“I was right about that compound,” I say, deflecting the sudden tightness in my chest. “If you’d listened to my ‘lecture voice,’ you wouldn’t have walked into that ambush.”

It’s so strange to be talking about events that happened so long ago as if they were yesterday. But somehow, that’s how it feels.

“You were completely right,” Hargen agrees. “I still have the scar from ignoring your advice.”

“Where?” Ember asks with immediate interest.

Hargen pushes up his left sleeve, revealing a jagged line across his forearm. “Defensive ward. Designed to mark intruders so they could be tracked later.”

Ember reaches out instinctively, her fingers hovering over the raised skin without quite touching. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore. But it serves as a good reminder to listen when your mother gives strategic advice.”

The warmth in his voice when he says “your mother” sends heat through my chest. As if the three of us sitting here together is the most natural thing in the world.

As if we’re already a family instead of strangers learning to navigate each other.

“More pasta?” I ask, reaching for the serving bowl.

“Please.” Ember holds out her plate. “This is really good, Mom. Better than your usual cooking.”

“My usual cooking?”

“You know. Those protein bars you call dinner when you’re distracted. Or that soup that’s definitely just heated canned goods with extra salt.”

Hargen chokes on his water. “She still does that?”

“Does what?”

“Forgets to eat when she’s focused on something important. I used to find her in the research library at two in the morning, surrounded by case files and empty coffee cups.”

“That’s exactly what she does!” Ember’s face lights up with recognition.

“Some things never change,” Hargen says, his eyes finding mine across the table.

But everything has changed. We all know it, even if we’re pretending otherwise for these stolen moments of normalcy.

I serve Ember another portion, watching her animated discussion of dragon research with Hargen. She’s hungry for this connection, for someone who understands her intellectual curiosity and can match her knowledge. For a father who looks at her like she’s the most fascinating person in the world.

The ache in my chest grows sharper with each passing minute.

“I should probably get some sleep,” Ember says eventually, covering a yawn. “Tomorrow’s going to be…”

“Different,” I finish when she trails off.

“Yeah.” She stands, gathering her plate. “But good different, right?”

The question is directed at both of us, hope threading through her voice.

“Yes,” Hargen answers with quiet certainty. “Good different.”

She hugs me first—a fierce embrace that lasts longer than usual. “Thank you,” she whispers against my shoulder. “For everything. For protecting us. For making this possible.”

Then she turns to Hargen, hesitating for just a moment before stepping into his arms. The hug is careful, tentative, but real.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him.

“So am I.”

She disappears down the hallway, leaving us alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

I clear the table in silence, hyperaware of his presence as he moves around the kitchen. The easy familiarity of shared domestic tasks feels dangerous. Too much like the life we might have had.

“She’s extraordinary,” he says finally.

“She is.” I rinse plates under hot water, focusing on the simple task. “Smart, kind, curious about everything. Sometimes I can barely believe she’s mine.”

“Ours.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with implications.

“Hargen.” I dry my hands, turning to face him. “We need to talk about what happens next.”

“You’re right.” He leans back against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his massive chest. “I’m getting us out of here.”

He says the words with such certainty that it’s hard to believe anything could possibly go wrong.

“And how do you propose that?” I ask, wishing I didn’t sound so anxious.

He crosses the kitchen in two steps, his hands gentle on my shoulders. “The Aurora Collective has extraction protocols. Safe houses. Protected territories where the Syndicate can’t reach. We can all disappear tomorrow.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Absolutely.” His thumb traces across my collarbone absently. “Viktor Parlance leads them. Good man. He’s already authorized full protection for both of you.”

“Tell me about them,” I say.

“Safe territories in the northern mountains. Established communities where mixed bloodlines aren’t just tolerated—they’re celebrated.

” His voice carries genuine enthusiasm. “Ember would thrive there. Educational opportunities, other young dragons to learn from. Freedom to explore her heritage without fear.”

The picture he paints is seductive. A world where our daughter could be herself completely, where her hybrid nature is a gift instead of a death sentence.

“It sounds perfect,” I say, meaning it.

“It could be our fresh start. All three of us.”

I lean into his touch, allowing myself to imagine it. Mornings without calculating which lie to tell. Evenings spent reading with Ember without worrying that tomorrow might be the day it all goes wrong. Nights falling asleep beside the man I’ve loved for decades instead of alone with my guilt.

“What’s the timeline?” I ask.

“I’ll contact Viktor first thing tomorrow morning. He can have extraction teams in position within hours.” Hargen’s hands slide down my arms. “We pack light, travel fast, disappear completely.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“The best plans usually are.”

We stand in the kitchen’s soft light, his hands warm on my skin, discussing our mutual disappearance like any other logistics problem. But underneath the practical conversation, I can feel the pull between us—the magnetic attraction that’s never diminished despite decades of separation.