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H argen

The cafeteria buzzes with conversation that would have blown my mind six months ago.

At the table to my left, a wolf shifter argues politics with a dragon whose scales shimmer golden-green along her forearms. To my right, three witches demonstrate ward techniques while a bear shifter offers commentary on forest magic applications.

I watch it all while picking at lunch that tastes like cardboard.

The novelty hasn’t worn off—seeing supernatural beings interact without fear, without the rigid hierarchies that governed my world for decades.

But today, the easy camaraderie feels distant.

My mind keeps drifting toward Syndicate territory, toward the woman I left behind.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Ember says, stabbing her salad with unnecessary force.

“What thing?”

“The brooding stare. Like you’re trying to see through walls all the way to Mom.” She takes a drink, then adds more quietly, “I do it too.”

“Sorry. I was—”

Pain explodes through my skull. White-hot agony that drops me forward, my forehead nearly hitting the table. Around me, conversations dim as if heard through water.

Then her voice, desperate and breaking, tears through the bond we’ve maintained across decades of separation:

“They know. Protect Ember.”

The words come with fragments—terror, violation, the sensation of mental walls crumbling under assault. I feel her pain as clearly as if it were my own, the desperate struggle to hide what matters most.

“Hargen?” Ember’s voice sounds far away. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

I try to speak, but another wave crashes over me. Vanya’s fear floods through me, followed by something worse—the systematic destruction of everything she’s built to protect herself.

Then I feel Ember’s hand on my shoulder as she leans across the table. She gasps, snatching her hand away.

“Mom,” she whispers hoarsely. “I can feel her too. She’s hurting.”

I look up to find Ember clutching her chest, her breathing shallow.

The fork falls from her other hand, clattering against the plate.

Ember’s hands tremble. As I watch, scales begin manifesting along her knuckles, silver-edged and sharp.

Her fingernails extend into claws that dig into the table’s surface.

“I can’t stop it,” she says frantically, staring at her transformed hands in shock.

The conversations around us falter. Other Collective members notice the sudden manifestation, heads turning toward our table. A few stand, ready to help or defend depending on the situation.

I reach for her hands, covering the scales with my palms. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Mom’s not.” Ember’s voice cracks. “They’re hurting her. I can feel it.”

The scales fade gradually, but her distress remains sharp and bright between us. I’ve never seen her magic respond to emotion this way—protective instincts overriding conscious control.

“We need Viktor,” I say, standing and helping her up.

The walk to Viktor’s office feels endless. Every step carries us further from the woman whose pain still echoes through our bond. Ember stays close beside me, her breathing still uneven.

Viktor looks up as we enter, immediately sensing something’s wrong. Ancient texts spread across his desk—research into hybrid manifestation patterns that I recognize from the covers.

“What happened?” he asks, pushing his seat back and straightening.

“Vanya’s been compromised.” The words come out rough. “They’re doing something to her.”

Viktor’s expression sharpens. “How certain are you?”

“We both felt it,” Ember interrupts, stepping forward despite the tremor in her voice. “She’s in trouble!”

I describe the message, the fragments of her experience that came through our connection. Viktor listens without interrupting, his face growing more concerned with each detail.

“A dual confirmation through separate bonds,” he murmurs when I finish. “That’s significant. And troubling.”

“So what do we do?” Ember demands.

Viktor’s jaw tightens. “Our extraction team deployed yesterday on another operation. Dragon exposure incidents in three human cities—we can’t ignore the political ramifications.”

My heart drops. “When will they return?”

“Three days minimum. Depending on if the situation requires extended damage control.”

“Three days?” Ember’s voice rises. “So we just abandon her?”

Viktor’s expression carries genuine regret. “I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do right now. I can’t send you into that place without a full contingent. A hasty rescue attempt would be foolish.”

Rage builds in my chest, white-hot and consuming. “She risked everything. I won’t leave her there.”

“Hargen, think.” Viktor stands, moving around the desk. “A failed rescue would be a complete waste of time and probably only increase any potential danger to her. Not to mention yourself and anyone stupid enough to go in with you.”

“We have to try something!” Ember steps beside me, united in desperation.

I look at Viktor, at the maps covering his walls, at the symbols of an organization built on careful planning and calculated risks. All of it means nothing if we can’t protect the people who matter.

“I’m going,” I say quietly. “With or without your support.”

Ember immediately jumps in. “I’m coming too.”

“Absolutely not.” I turn to face her, putting iron in my voice. “Your mother sacrificed everything to keep you safe. I won’t undo that.”

“That’s not your decision to make!” Anger flares in her eyes, and I catch the shimmer of scales along her jaw again.

“Yes, it is. I’m your father, and I’m telling you—”

The office door opens. Nadia enters without knocking, immediately assessing the tension in the room.

“I felt the disturbance,” she says, eyes moving between Ember’s agitated state and my rigid posture. “What happened?”

“Family crisis,” Viktor explains tersely. “Hargen wants to attempt a solo extraction mission to retrieve the Shadowhand.”

Nadia’s attention sharpens. “The Syndicate facility? That’s suicide.”

“Not if I have the right connections,” I say, an idea beginning to form. I look at Nadia, then back at Viktor. “I need you both to keep Ember safe while I’m gone.”

“You can’t just decide this alone,” Ember protests.

I ignore her, pulling out my communication device. “I’m contacting Lila Rossewyn. She escaped from Syndicate detention once.”

Viktor’s eyebrows rise. “Involving outsiders creates additional risk.”

“Lila owes me. And she has connections to the Craven clan.” I activate the secure channel, praying she’ll answer. “Resources the Collective can’t provide right now.”

Ember moves closer, desperation replacing anger. “Please. She’s my mother. I love her too.”

The words hit harder than any argument could. Because she’s right—Vanya belongs to both of us. But that doesn’t change what needs to happen.

“Which is exactly why you’re staying here,” I say firmly. “Where she knows you’re safe.”

Nadia steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Ember’s shoulder. “Your father’s right. Going would put you directly in the path of people who want you dead.”

“But I could help—”

“You’d be a liability,” Nadia says with kind honesty. “However powerful you are, you’re untrained for this kind of operation.”

The communication device crackles to life. “Hargen?” Lila’s voice carries across the distance, immediately alert. “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help.” The words come easier than expected. “Someone I care about is in Syndicate custody. I need to get her out.”

“When?”

“Now. Tonight, if possible.”

“Who is she?”

“Complicated.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to find words that won’t require explaining too many years of lies. “Someone I thought was dead. Someone who matters.”

Lila pauses for a moment, probably mulling over my motivations. After all the time we spent together, she knows me better than most.

“You pulled me out of hell, Hargen,” she says simply. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Access to Syndicate headquarters. Intelligence on current security protocols. A way inside that doesn’t trigger every alarm they have.”

“I’ll contact Caleb Craven. His clan has resources that could help.” She pauses. “This is about the message you received, isn’t it? The one that made you leave in such a hurry.”

“Yes,” I acknowledge, feeling guilty that I never had a chance to explain.

Papers rustle in the background. “Give me two hours to coordinate.”

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t do anything until we reach you.”

The line goes dead. I pocket the device and head for the door, already mentally cataloging the weapons and supplies I’ll need.

I stop short as pain explodes through my skull again—different this time. Not the sharp agony of her distress, but something worse.

Emptiness.

The bond goes silent. Not quiet—silent. Like a void where Vanya should be, a missing piece of my soul suddenly torn away. It suddenly occurs to me that her presence has been so quietly consistent for so long that I never actually realized she’s been there all along. And now it’s gone.

I stumble, catching myself against the doorframe. Viktor moves to steady me.

“What happened?” he asks urgently.

“The bond is gone.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears. “There’s nothing there anymore; she’s just… gone.”

Viktor’s expression darkens with understanding. “Dragon binding chains. They’ve completely isolated her from external magic.”

“What does that mean?” Ember asks, fear threading through her voice.

“It means they know exactly what she is,” Viktor says grimly. “And they’re taking no chances.”

I straighten, forcing strength into my legs. The emptiness where Vanya’s presence lived for decades feels like a wound that won’t heal. But I shove the pain aside, focusing on what matters.

She’s alive. Cut off, isolated, probably terrified—but alive. The binding chains wouldn’t be necessary otherwise.

“Two hours,” I say, checking my watch. “That’s how long I have to prepare.”

Viktor watches me from his doorway as I head toward the armory. “Hargen,” he calls as I reach the threshold.

I turn back.

“Don’t let emotion cloud your judgment. You’re no good to her dead.”

“I’ll bring her home,” I say, already moving. “If she’s still alive, I’ll bring her home.”

The words carry more determination than hope. Because once again, this woman has me rushing headlong into enemy territory. But I’ve spent decades in the intelligence game; I know the risks, and I’m willing to take them.

I just pray that it’s not too late when I get there.