Page 23

V anya

The sound of vehicles pulling up outside cuts through the pre-dawn darkness. Three dark SUVs, moving with military precision down the tree-lined lane that leads to the house.

This is it.

I press my palms against the desk, forcing steadiness. Voices drift from down the hall. Hargen’s low rumble, carefully controlled. Ember’s higher pitch, confusion threading through her words. My daughter being told her world is about to shatter.

Be brave, I tell myself. For her. For them.

But bravery feels impossible when every instinct screams at me to run, to grab them both and flee into whatever safety Viktor Parlance can provide. The Aurora Collective’s protected territories. Freedom from masks and lies and the constant calculation of survival.

Instead, I’m choosing to stay in hell.

Heavy footsteps in the hallway. Multiple sets—the extraction team is inside.

I smooth my hair, pull in a deep breath.

“Mom?” Ember’s voice carries from the living room, bright with nervous energy. “Are you ready?”

The question rattles my fragile composure. Ready. As if anyone could be ready for this.

I walk toward my daughter’s voice, each step deliberate. In the living room, controlled chaos. Three operatives in dark tactical gear, checking weapons and communication devices. A woman with steel-gray hair directing operations—team leader. And in the center of it all, Ember.

My daughter, clutching a hastily packed duffel bag, eyes flitting about anxiously. She looks so young.

She believes we’re all leaving together.

Oh God. How do I do this?

Hargen catches my eye across the room. His expression is controlled, but I see the pain underneath. The desperate hope that I’ve changed my mind.

“Extraction ready in five minutes,” the team leader announces. “One asset, minimal luggage. Transport window is tight.”

One asset. Hargen has updated them.

Ember looks between me and the operative, confusion creeping across her features. “Mom? Why did she say one asset?”

The room falls silent. Even the clicking of tactical preparations stops. Everyone looking at me—the woman who’s about to destroy her daughter’s world.

I cross to Ember, reaching for her hands. They’re warm, so different from my own cold fingers. “Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re coming with us.” It’s not a question. It’s a desperate statement, a child’s certainty that her mother would never abandon her.

“I can’t.”

Ember’s face goes white. “What do you mean you can’t?”

How do I explain? How do I make her understand that sometimes love means sacrifice?

“There are people who depend on me,” I begin, but it sounds so goddamned weak. “Families like ours, with children who—”

“I don’t care about other families!” Ember’s voice cracks. “I care about our family! You can’t just stay here and die for strangers!”

Die. She’s not wrong. If the Ivory League discovers who I really am, death will be a mercy.

“They’re not strangers,” I say quietly. “They’re mothers and fathers trying to protect their children. Children who are hunted for the crime of being born different.”

“Like me.”

“Like you.”

“Then come with us!” Her grip on my hands tightens. “Help them from somewhere safe! You can’t protect anyone if you’re dead!”

Pure sense that makes my justifications crumble.

“It’s not that simple—”

“It is that simple!” Tears track down her cheeks now. “Choose us! Choose me! I’ve lived without a father my whole life—I can’t lose my mother too!”

The team leader clears her throat. “Ma’am, we really need to move. Every minute increases risk exposure.”

Exposure. Risk. The cold mathematics of survival that have governed my life for decades. But looking at Ember’s tear-streaked face, the numbers don’t add up anymore.

“Fifteen more minutes,” Hargen says firmly. “She deserves that much.”

The operative’s jaw tightens. “Sir, with respect, the window—”

“Fifteen minutes.” His voice carries authority I’d forgotten he possessed. Witch-born power, even in exile. “We’re not leaving without proper goodbyes.”

Ember turns to him, hope blazing in her expression. “Tell her, Hargen. Tell her she has to come with us.”

But he can’t. We both know that. Whatever brought him back into my life, he understands the impossible position I’m in.

“Your mother has responsibilities,” he says carefully. “People who will die if she disappears.”

“What about me?” Ember’s voice breaks completely. “What about what I need?”

The question I’ve wrestled with every day for fifteen years.

“You need to live,” I whisper. “You need to grow up somewhere the Ivory League can’t reach you. You need to become the woman you’re meant to be, not the shadow I’ve forced you to be.”

“I need my mother!”

The words shatter what’s left of my composure. I pull her into my arms, breathing in the scent of her hair—lavender shampoo and something that’s been a part of my world since that day I first held her in my arms. My daughter. The brightest thing in my world.

“I know,” I whisper against her temple. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

She sobs against my shoulder, almost a woman now, but feeling like the five-year-old who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms. When I could fix everything with hot chocolate and stories.

“I can’t do this without you,” she whispers.

“Yes, you can. You’re stronger than you know. Stronger than I ever was.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is.” I pull back enough to look at her face. “Do you know what I was doing at your age? Following orders. Parroting my bloodline’s hatred. Believing that purity mattered more than compassion.”

“You changed.”

“Because I met your father. Because I carried you. Because love taught me what strength really means.” I cup her face in my hands. “You were born knowing what took me decades to learn.”

“Then stay and learn more!” Her voice rises. “Learn what it means to choose your family over your duty!”

Family over duty. Such a simple concept. Such an impossible choice.

“Ma’am.” The team leader’s voice cuts through our goodbye. “I really must insist. We have a narrow extraction window, and every second—”

“I understand the risks,” I snap, my Shadowhand persona bleeding through. The woman who commands fear and respect in equal measure. “You’ll wait.”

She steps back, properly chastened. Good. Let them see what they’re asking me to leave behind.

I turn back to Ember, but she’s looking past me at Hargen. Something passes between them—understanding, perhaps. Recognition of shared helplessness.

“Will you keep her safe?” I ask him, my voice steadier now.

“With my life,” he promises.

Ember looks back at me. “This isn’t forever, is it? You’ll find a way to come to us?”

Lies would be kinder. False hope easier than brutal truth. But I’ve spent too many years lying to my daughter already.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “The work I do… the position I hold… It’s not something you walk away from.”

“Then I’ll come back for you.”

“No!” I say too sharply, but I can’t help myself. “Promise me, Ember. Promise me you’ll never come back here. Never try to find me.”

“I won’t promise that.”

“Then promise me you’ll wait. Give yourself time to build a life first. To understand what safety feels like. To become who you’re meant to be without my shadows following you.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

Her face hardens with resolve. “A year. I’ll give you a year to figure out how to leave. After that, I’m coming back whether you like it or not.”

A year. It might as well be forever, but I see the determination in her expression—my stubborn streak looking back at me.

“A year,” I agree, because sometimes hope is all you have.

The team leader makes another pointed throat-clearing sound. “Ma’am, the risk assessment—”

“Is my responsibility,” Hargen interrupts. “And I’m accepting it.”

But Ember is already pulling away from me, wiping her eyes. Growing up in real time, accepting what can’t be changed.

“I hate this,” she says quietly.

“So do I.”

“I hate that you’re choosing them over me.”

“I’m choosing your future over my present.” The words taste wrong. “I’m choosing to keep you alive.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not.”

She looks around the room—at the extraction team, at Hargen, at the life she’s about to leave behind. When her gaze returns to me, something has shifted. She’s no longer fighting what has to happen.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, baby. More than my own life. More than anything in any world.”

We embrace one final time. I memorize the feeling of her in my arms, the sound of her breathing, the way she smells like home and everything I’m giving up.

“Ready?” the team leader asks, gentler now.

Ember nods against my shoulder. When she pulls away, she’s composed. My brave girl, facing the unknown.

“When we see each other again—” she starts.

“When,” I agree, though we both know it might be never.

Hargen approaches. “Vanya.”

“Take care of her,” I whisper again.

“Always.”

“Help her understand her heritage. Teach her to fly properly. To fight if she needs to.” My voice cracks. “To love without fear.”

“I will.”

He starts to say something else, but I shake my head. We’ve said what matters. Anything more will only make this harder.

The team moves with renewed efficiency. Equipment checked, weapons secured, communication established. They’re good at this—extracting people from impossible situations.

Ember picks up her duffel bag, movements steady now. She’s made her peace with leaving, even if she hasn’t made peace with my staying.

“A year,” she reminds me.

“A year.”

Then they’re moving toward the door. My daughter walking away from me, possibly forever. Hargen beside her, protective and steady. The team surrounding them both.

I follow them to the front door but don’t step outside.

“Mom?” Ember pauses on the threshold.

“Yes?”

“I’m proud to be your daughter.”

The words shatter what’s left of my composure. So much doubt, of wondering if I’ve damaged her with my choices, with the necessity of hiding who we are.

“I’m proud to be your mother,” I choke out the words.

Then she’s gone. Walking down my front path between armed escorts, getting into a vehicle that will take her away from everything she’s ever known.

I watch as the SUVs pull away. Three dark shapes disappearing down the shaded road, carrying my heart with them.

The house settles into silence. I sink onto the couch, finally allowing myself to collapse. The tears come in waves—grief and relief and terror tangled together. I’ve done the right thing. I’ve saved my daughter from the Ivory League’s reach.

But God, it hurts.

I cry until I’m empty, until there’s nothing left but silence. Then I stand, smooth my hair, and walk back to where my car is parked outside. The Shadowhand has work to do.

The world hasn’t stopped just because my heart is breaking.