Page 31

V anya

I wake to darkness and pain. My head throbs with each heartbeat, a steady reminder that I’m still alive when I should be dead. My throat burns, parched and raw from screaming I don’t remember. The air smells of old stone and something metallic—blood, possibly mine.

Slowly, the darkness resolves into shapes. A cell. Windowless. Stark. Ancient runes etched into every surface glow with faint silver light, casting long shadows across the floor. I’ve seen rooms like this before—I’ve sent people to rooms like this—but I never expected to end up in one myself.

When I try to move, metal bites into my wrists. The weight is distinctive, the cold burn unmistakable.

Binding chains of dragon-forged steel.

They’re rare now, artifacts from an earlier age when our kind warred openly. Forged in dragon fire, quenched in witch blood, designed to suppress both shifting and magical connection. The last time I saw a set was in the Syndicate museum, displayed as a relic of more barbaric times.

Apparently, those times have returned.

I reach instinctively for the bond with Hargen, then Ember, finding only emptiness where their presence should be. Not distance—nothingness. A void where connection lived. The isolation hits harder than any physical pain, a yawning absence that threatens to swallow me whole.

Panic rises, sharp and immediate. I fight it down with a discipline forged over years, forcing my breathing to steady. Panic kills. Calm survives. I’ve said this to others a thousand times.

Time to follow my own advice.

I take stock of my situation with clinical detachment.

Cell approximately twelve feet square. Single door, reinforced steel.

Binding chains attached to a central floor anchor, allowing limited movement.

No visible surveillance equipment, though the runes themselves likely serve that purpose.

The chains prevent shifting, so escape in dragon form is impossible.

My clothes have been replaced with standard detention garments—gray fabric, no pockets, no potential weapons. They’ve even taken my hairpins. Professional. Thorough.

I expected nothing less from Vex.

The door opens with a metallic groan. Light spills into the cell, momentarily blinding. I blink away the spots in my vision as two guards position themselves at the entrance, weapons drawn. Between them stands Elder Vex.

He’s not wearing his mask.

In fifteen years of Ivory League meetings, I’ve never seen his actual face. The masks were symbolic as much as functional, representing bloodlines rather than individuals. Removing his now is a calculated message: the old rules no longer apply.

His features are surprisingly ordinary—thin lips, sharp cheekbones, eyes the color of mud.

A face that might belong to any aging bureaucrat, not the zealot who’s orchestrated countless purification campaigns.

The only hint of his true nature is the faint pattern of scales along his jawline, silver-gray against pale skin.

“Elder Arrowvane.” He steps inside, tablet in hand. “Though I suppose that title no longer applies.”

I say nothing. Conservation of energy is crucial now.

He moves closer, studying me with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. “I must admit, I’ve looked forward to this conversation for some time.”

“Have you?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears, echoing in the empty room.

“Oh,, yes.” He activates the tablet, displaying data: the results of yesterday’s procedure. “Your performance has been… remarkable. All this time, you’ve been right under our noses. I’m almost impressed.”

I watch him carefully, measuring his satisfaction. He wants me broken, desperate. I won’t give him that pleasure.

“Let’s discuss your hybrid child.” He swipes through images on his tablet—fragments pulled from my mind during verification. Ember at various ages, her features blurred but recognizable. “Age, abilities, location. Details, please.”

I remember the strategic decision I made before he ripped into my mind. Ember is safely beyond their reach, protected by Aurora resources and her father’s vigilance. The families in my network are not. If I focus Vex’s attention on my daughter, perhaps the others will remain hidden.

“She’s twenty years old,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Her abilities are still developing.”

“Location.”

“I don’t know.” This much is true. Hargen has her.

Vex’s expression hardens. He touches something on the tablet.

The chains around my wrists flare with silver light. Pain lances through my body, fire in my veins. I arch against the restraints, teeth clenched to keep from screaming.

“Let’s try again,” he says when the pain subsides. “Location.”

I draw a ragged breath. “Last known location was a safe house outside the city. But she won’t be there anymore.”

“Because you helped her escape.” Not a question. “During verification, you admitted as much.”

“Did I?” I let my lips curve into a smile that costs more than it should. “Good.”

The chains activate again. This time, I can’t stop the cry that tears from my throat. When it ends, I’m slumped forward, sweat beading on my forehead.

“I don’t understand you,” Vex says, genuine confusion in his tone. “You, of all people—Arrowvane bloodline, one of the oldest pure dragon families. You should have upheld our values, protected our heritage. Instead, you betrayed everything we stand for.”

“She’s my daughter.” I meet his gaze directly. “Wouldn’t you protect your child, regardless of bloodline?”

The question catches him off guard. For a moment, something almost human crosses his features.

“Is that all you’ve been hiding?” he asks finally. “Just one hybrid child?”

The opening I’ve been waiting for. I let my expression crack, showing calculated vulnerability.

“What else could possibly matter more than my own daughter?”

He studies me for long moments, sensing the partial truth in my words. Then he adjusts something on the tablet.

The chains constrict, pulling my arms painfully behind me. Magic surges through the metal, not just pain now but invasive presence, searching for resistance.

“Who is the father?” Vex leans closer. “Another transgression to add to your list, no doubt.”

I fight against the restraints, unable to stop the instinctive response. Scales ripple across my skin despite the binding chains’ suppression—silver against pale flesh, my dragon nature fighting to protect me.

“No one important,” I gasp.

“The verification data suggests otherwise.” His voice drops lower. “A bond that predates your daughter’s birth.”

The chains tighten further. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

“Hargen Cole,” I whisper, presenting it as my final, shameful secret. “The Aurora operative.”

Vex’s expression transforms with triumph. “An Aurora operative and a witch? The ultimate betrayal.”

“Yes.” I let my head drop, feigning defeat. “The ultimate betrayal.”

“I suspected there was something wrong with how you handled his interrogation,” Vex says, satisfaction coating every word. “The missing recordings, the private facility, the convenient disposal with no body to verify. Now I understand why you let him go.”

I remain silent, letting him build his narrative. Every moment he focuses on Hargen and Ember is another moment my network stays hidden.

“The Ivory League will determine your sentence,” he says finally. “Though I think we both know what it will be.”

Execution. He doesn’t need to say it.

He turns to leave, pausing at the door. “You could have been one of our greatest assets, Vanya. Such a waste.”

The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with pain and silence. I slump against the wall, exhaustion claiming every muscle. The binding chains loosen slightly now that there’s no one to witness my suffering.

I’ve given him what he wanted—a confession, a betrayal he can understand. A simple story of maternal instinct overriding bloodline loyalty. It’s almost insulting how easily he accepted it, how readily he believed that my daughter was my only concern.

Men like Vex never understand that love extends beyond family. That protection can encompass strangers. That some principles matter more than personal loyalty.

The network remains secure. The families still hidden. Whatever happens to me now, that knowledge will get me through the pain.

I close my eyes, letting memories wash over me. Ember. Hargen. The happiness they brought.

I won’t survive this situation. The realization brings surprising calm. The Syndicate will make an example of me. My execution will be public, a warning to others who might consider similar betrayal.

But they won’t find the others. They won’t dismantle what we’ve built. That certainty feels like victory, even in defeat.

Hours pass. The cell door opens again, revealing Cassia flanked by two different guards. Her face shows nothing as she enters with verification equipment—professional detachment masking whatever she might feel at seeing me chained and broken.

“Additional tests have been ordered,” she announces for the guards’ benefit. “Standard protocol for high-level verification.”

I watch her set up the equipment with precise movements. Her presence here means she’s not under suspicion, which is the first good news I’ve had since waking in this cell.

“This will take approximately thirty minutes,” she tells the guards. “The subject must remain isolated during the procedure to prevent contamination of results.”

They hesitate, exchanging glances.

“Director Vex authorized this personally,” she adds firmly.

“We’ll be right outside,” one says finally. “Call if there’s any trouble.”

The door closes behind them. Cassia activates the equipment, creating a low hum that masks conversation. Only when the machines are running at full capacity does she move closer, dropping to her knees beside me.

“Most families have been evacuated,” she whispers, her professional mask falling away. “The network is holding.”

Relief washes through me. “No signs they suspect anyone else?”

“None. They believe you acted alone, protecting your hybrid daughter.” Her fingers work quickly, loosening the binding chains just enough to ease the worst pressure. “Your sacrifice has saved dozens of lives, Vanya.”

“Worth it,” I manage, though the words come out as a rasp.

She works in silence for a moment, adjusting equipment settings that don’t need adjusting, buying us precious minutes.

“They’ll execute me,” I say eventually.

“Yes.” No false comfort, no empty reassurances. This is why I’ve always trusted her. “Three days, according to the schedule I saw. Public, so everyone knows what happens to traitors.” Her expression darkens.

Three days. The timeline is both too short and endless. “The families who haven’t been evacuated yet?”

“We’ll get them out. Meredith has taken over coordination.” She names another member of our network, someone positioned to continue the work. “The system you built will survive you.”

I close my eyes briefly, gratitude overwhelming. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Her voice catches slightly. “You’re the one paying the price.”

A truth neither of us can change. I swallow against the tightness in my throat.

“I’m not afraid to die,” I tell her, needing someone to understand. “I’ve been prepared for that possibility since this began.”

“Then what?” she asks softly.

“I’m afraid of not seeing them again.” The confession tears from somewhere deep inside, the fear I’ve kept buried. “I finally had them both, only to lose them forever.”

Cassia’s hand finds mine, a brief squeeze that offers more comfort than words could. “They know you loved them. That you did this for the right reasons.”

“Do they?” I wonder. “Or do they think I chose duty over family? As always.”

“They know,” she says with quiet certainty. “And someday, they’ll understand.”

The equipment beeps, signaling the end of our stolen moment. Cassia stands, her expression shuttering as she adjusts settings and records false data.

“The verification is complete,” she announces loudly for the benefit of anyone listening. “Results will be submitted to Elder Vex directly.”

As she gathers her equipment, she pauses beside me one last time. “I’ll come again tomorrow if I can.”

Then she’s gone, and I’m alone with the chains and the runes and the knowledge that I have three days left to live.

I lean back against the cold wall, exhaustion claiming every muscle. In the darkness, I imagine I can still feel them—Hargen’s steady presence, Ember’s bright energy—even through the binding chains’ suppression.

It’s an illusion, of course. A memory of connection rather than connection itself.

But sometimes, memories are all we have left.