Page 4

V anya

The drive back from the city stretches on forever. Each traffic light. Each pedestrian crossing. Each mile between me and the message I sent feels like an eternity of second-guessing.

They’re going to kill our daughter.

My own words echo in my skull, six simple words that might have just destroyed everything I’ve spent a lifetime building.

The steering wheel cuts into my palms. I’ve been gripping it too tightly, knuckles white, tendons straining. But loosening my hold feels impossible when everything else is sliding out of control.

Vex’s insane protocol haunts my thoughts as I navigate the familiar streets.

Two weeks. Maybe less before they start systematic bloodline verification of all senior personnel and their families.

Maybe days before they uncover the child I’ve kept hidden all these years and reveal exactly what she is.

The house sits at the end of Maple Street like a Norman Rockwell painting.

White shutters. Red brick. The mailbox painted with cheerful daisies that Ember insisted on adding when she turned sixteen.

Mrs. Henderson waves from her porch next door—the same friendly gesture she’s made every evening since we moved here.

I turn off the engine and sit in the driveway, watching the glow of lamplight through our front windows.

Inside, Ember is probably curled up with her laptop, working on some assignment for the carefully curated online courses that make up her education.

No dorm rooms. No study groups. No late-night conversations with roommates about boys and dreams and futures.

Just her mother, her books, and the invisible cage I’ve built around her life.

A cage that’s about to be torn apart by a goddamn madman.

I take a deep breath and compose myself, searching for the mask of calm I’ve perfected over decades of practice. But underneath, my hands won’t stop shaking.

Deep breath. You are her mother. You are in control. Everything is manageable.

The lies taste metallic, especially when Vex’s timeline pounds through my skull like a ticking time bomb.

I walk up the front path with measured steps, keys already in hand. The lock turns smoothly—I oil it every month, one of a hundred small rituals that keep our world running without friction.

“Mom?” Ember’s voice carries from the living room before I’ve hung up my coat. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me.” I keep my tone light, hanging the coat with deliberate care. “Who else would it be?”

She appears in the doorway, laptop balanced against her hip. The concern in her expression makes something twist in my chest. “You’re later than usual. And you have that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when work is… complicated.” She tilts her head, studying my face with an intensity that never fails to unnerve me. “Did something happen at the foundation?”

I just voted to implement the protocols that will expose everything we are.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I manage a smile that feels more convincing than it should.

For years, I’ve managed to convince her that I work for a dragon shifter foundation that requires us to maintain absolute secrecy at all times.

The truth. But not. Because the real threat comes from our own kind, not the humans she believes we’re hiding from.

We move through our evening routine with the smoothness of old habits.

A light dinner, and then tea—Earl Grey for her, chamomile for me.

Two armchairs by the fireplace, positioned exactly the right distance apart.

Close enough for conversation, far enough that she can’t read the tension in my bearing.

But tonight feels different. Every gesture weighted with the knowledge that we might have days, not weeks, before everything unravels.

“How was your day?” I ask, settling into my chair.

“Fine.” But there’s something in her voice, a note of frustration that’s been growing stronger over the past few months. “I finished the Thornfield essay. Started the research for my literature assignment.”

“Good. Dr. Morrison’s courses are excellent preparation for—”

“For what?” The question comes out sharply.

Ember sets down her teacup, the porcelain clicking against the saucer.

“Preparation for what, exactly? I’m twenty years old, Mom.

Most dragons my age are already working within clan structures, building relationships, establishing themselves in the community.

But I don’t know anyone. I’ve never even met another dragon outside of your carefully screened foundation colleagues. ”

Foundation colleagues—namely, the tiny circle of allies who’ve surrounded me since Cassia saved me from those flames.

Now, Ember’s words shake me; each lie has been necessary, each one another small wound in the relationship I’ve been trying so desperately to preserve.

But beneath the familiar guilt, panic claws at my chest. In a matter of days, her isolation might be the only thing standing between her and a genetic scanner that will reveal her mixed heritage to people who consider her an abomination.

“The dragon community can be… complex for young women,” I say carefully. “There are political factions that—”

“That what? Would disapprove of my bloodline?” Her eyes flash—literally flash, gold bleeding through the deep brown for just an instant. “You’ve been saying that for years, but you never explain what it actually means. Are we outcasts? Are we in hiding? Are we—”

“We’re careful.” The edge in my voice cuts through her words. “And that caution has kept us safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Safe from exposure that would put your life at risk.

The question hangs between us as I struggle for an answer that won’t terrify her. Ember leans forward, her whole body radiating the kind of determined energy that reminds me painfully of myself at her age. The same hunger for truth that got me into so much trouble with authority figures.

The same stubborn courage that made me fall in love with a man I was supposed to see as beneath my station. Inferior.

“From people who would use us,” I say finally. “Our bloodline carries certain… responsibilities. There are those who would exploit that for their own purposes.”

It’s not exactly a lie. But it’s not the truth either, and Ember is too smart not to sense the gap. The truth is that there are people who would kill her simply for existing. People who might discover her within days.

“So we hide forever?” The frustration in her voice cuts deep. “I’ll be twenty-one soon, Mom. Twenty-one. And I still don’t know my father’s name. I don’t know about our extended family. I don’t even know why my magic feels so different from everything you’ve taught me.”

Because you’re not just dragon. And because we might not make it to your birthday if Vex accelerates his timeline.

“Different how?”

She stands abruptly, pacing to the window with quick, restless movements.

“You know how. We’ve talked about this before, but you always deflect.

My fire burns cold sometimes. I can sense things that aren’t there—or maybe they are there, and I’m the only one who can see them.

And lately…” She turns back to face me, her expression vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.

“Lately, I dream about places I’ve never been.

People I’ve never met. As if there’s some part of my life that’s missing. ”

The bond. The blood connection she shares with Hargen is strengthening as she approaches full magical maturity. Soon, she’ll be able to reach across the distance between them without even understanding what she’s doing.

Maybe reaching out to him was inevitable, even if Vex’s enhanced protocols hadn’t forced my hand.

“Magical awakening can manifest in unexpected ways,” I manage. “That’s why it’s so important for you to learn control—”

“Stop.” The word cracks like a whip. “Stop giving me textbook answers. I’m not one of your foundation students, Mom. I’m your daughter. And I’m tired of being treated like I’m too fragile to handle my own heritage.”

She moves to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines of the carefully selected texts that make up her magical education. Every book chosen by me. Every lesson filtered through my interpretation. Every piece of knowledge shaped by what I deemed safe for her to know.

Safe from the truth that could get her killed if the wrong people discover it.

“These books,” she says quietly, “they’re all about pure dragon bloodlines. Ancient traditions. Clan hierarchies. But when I try to practice what they describe, it doesn’t work the way it should. It’s like trying to play a song when half the notes are missing.”

Because I gave you only half the truth. Because the other half would paint a target on your back.

“Some magical techniques take time to develop properly.”

“No.” She turns to face me, and there’s steel in her voice now. “It’s not about time or practice. It’s about information I don’t have. About parts of myself you’ve kept hidden.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “About my father.”

We’ve been circling this conversation for months, each exchange bringing us closer to the moment when my carefully constructed walls would finally crumble.

“I’ve told you what I can.”

“That he died fighting for our bloodline. That he was brave and honorable and loved us both.” Her voice takes on a mocking edge that cuts deeper than anger. “But no name. No clan affiliation. No details about his magic or his family or how you met. Nothing real.”

Because the real story would get us both killed. Because your father is alive, and telling you about him would have exposed everything we’re hiding from.

“Some truths are dangerous, Ember.”

“More dangerous than ignorance?” She crosses her arms, a gesture that’s pure defensive fury. “Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? You’ve kept me ignorant my entire life. Isolated. Controlled. And now I’m supposed to just trust that it was all for my own good?”