Page 18

Chapter 18

T alon

Scales itch beneath my skin, dragon instincts screaming as Creed outlines the assault plan. Twenty operatives, full tactical gear, armed with weapons designed for dragon-on-dragon combat. No subtlety. No caution. Just overwhelming force aimed at Craven Industries’ gleaming headquarters.

“Full offensive capability,” Creed says, pointing to the schematic displayed on the wall. “Three entry points. Primary force through the lobby. Secondary team through underground access points. Aerial support from our shifters.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He’s talking about dragons in flight. In downtown Seattle. At rush hour.

“With respect, sir,” I interject, forcing my voice to remain calm, “the exposure risk—”

“Is acceptable given the circumstances.” Creed’s eyes flash amber, dragon breaking through. “The Circle has forced our hand. If Steele activates the Heartstone with the witch, we’re exposed anyway, just on their terms instead of ours.”

“You’re talking about revealing our existence to the world.” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice.

“It was inevitable.” He shrugs like we’re discussing a weather forecast rather than the end of centuries of secrecy. “We’ve always had contingency plans for this sort of thing. The Syndicate is prepared to manage the fallout.”

Prepared? Bullshit. Nobody’s prepared for this. The arrogance of it chokes me.

This is the worst possible way for humans to learn about us. Not through careful introduction, controlled narrative, proof of peaceful coexistence, but through violence. Through fire and blood and combat in the heart of a major city.

The Aurora Collective has debated public revelation for years. Careful plans. Educational campaigns. Government liaisons established first. A path thoughtfully laid to minimize panic, prevent witch-hunts, avoid mass hysteria.

Not… this. Not dragons tearing each other apart above city streets.

“Teams deploy in thirty minutes,” Creed continues. “Reeve, you’ll coordinate surveillance from mobile command. I want eyes on every entrance, every floor.”

Away from the action. Still being sidelined. Still suspect.

“Sir, my combat experience—”

“Is valuable, which is precisely why I need you overseeing the operation rather than in the thick of it.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Consider it a vote of confidence.”

Bullshit. He doesn’t trust me. But it works in my favor—gives me the distance I need to contact Aurora, to find a way to extract Lila while everyone’s focused on the assault.

“Understood.” I nod sharply. “I’ll prep the mobile unit.”

I leave the briefing room, striding through corridors now swarming with personnel in tactical gear. The tension in the air is electric, fear and anticipation mingling with something darker. Dragons preparing for battle. Ancient instincts awakening.

Mine included.

The equipment room is buzzing with pre-battle energy, operatives grabbing weapons, comms units, specialized gear designed for dragon combat. I requisition what I need, adding extra comm batteries, surveillance drones, and tactical tablets to my equipment bag.

Twenty-three minutes after leaving the briefing, I’m behind the wheel of the mobile command vehicle, leading a convoy of Syndicate transports toward downtown Seattle.

Eventually, the city skyline emerges through the afternoon haze, Craven Industries’ headquarters rising like a gleaming spire from the urban landscape. Sixty stories of glass and steel. Home to one of the oldest dragon bloodlines in North America. Soon to be a battleground.

I park the command vehicle three blocks away, positioned for maximum surveillance coverage while maintaining a safe distance. The location also happens to be perfect for what comes next.

“Command unit established,” I report into my comms. “Deploying surveillance drones now.”

I activate the drones, sending them to circle Craven Tower while I track their feeds on the command center screens. The building appears normal—employees going about their business, security visible but not excessive, nothing to suggest the danger lurking beneath.

No sign of Steele. No sign of Elena.

But they’re there. I can feel it in my gut, in the prickling of scales beneath my skin.

Team leaders call in, confirming positions. The tactical clock counts down. Fifteen minutes until synchronous assault.

I check the street—clear of pedestrians momentarily—then slip from the vehicle, ducking into the alley behind the command post. My fingers find the encrypted comm unit hidden in my tactical vest.

“Aurora actual. Talon reporting. Highest priority.” My voice is tight with urgency, back pressed against cold brick. “Syndicate assault on Craven Industries imminent. They’re going public with our existence.”

Static, then Viktor’s voice, not Zoe’s.

“Explain.” A single word, tense with disbelief.

“Creed’s mobilizing full tactical response, including shifted aerial units. They’re attacking Craven Tower to retrieve the witch and the Heartstone. He’s authorized full visibility—dragons in broad daylight.”

“That’s… impossible.” Viktor’s voice turns hollow. “They can’t seriously be considering—”

“Not considering. Doing. Fourteen minutes until first breach.”

A sharp curse in a language dead for centuries. “This changes everything.”

“The complete exposure we feared,” I confirm, glancing toward the street, ensuring I’m still alone. “They’re framing it as inevitable, claiming they’ve planned for this. They’re delusional, Viktor. They have no idea what they’re unleashing.”

“Our entire strategy…” He trails off, and I can picture him calculating, recalibrating years of careful positioning. “What’s your assessment of probable outcomes?”

“Total fuck up, to use the technical term. Panic. Potential civilian casualties, though they claim they’ll minimize.” I rub my jaw, stubble rasping against calloused fingers. “Best case? Mass hysteria, conspiracy theories, denial from authorities, debate over ‘special effects.’ Worst case? Full acknowledgment of our existence without any of the safeguards we’ve spent years preparing.”

“And the witch? Lila Ross?”

“Still at the facility. Security lockdown in full effect; they’re monitoring her closely. No chance of extraction while the assault’s underway.”

Silence stretches for three heartbeats.

“Priorities have shifted,” Viktor says finally. “If dragons go public today, everything changes. Extraction of the Ross witch is secondary now. Primary objective is containment of the situation.”

Ice slides through my veins. “We can’t abandon her.”

“Not abandoning. Postponing.” Viktor’s voice softens slightly, a rare concession from a dragon centuries old. “Get through today. Monitor the assault. Report developments. We’ll reassess extraction once we know what we’re dealing with.”

Logic. Cold, rational calculus. Exactly what I’d have advocated before meeting Lila. Before feeling her skin beneath my fingers, tasting her mouth, witnessing her strength.

“Understood,” I lie.

“Be careful, Talon.” Genuine concern colors Viktor’s voice. “If this goes sideways—”

“I know.” Everything changes. Everything we’ve worked for—the careful balance, the secrecy, the Aurora Collective’s vision for peaceful coexistence—all gone in an instant.

“Aurora actual out.”

I slip the comms unit back into my vest and return to the command vehicle, mind racing with contingencies. The first assault team will breach in eleven minutes. Eleven minutes until dragons potentially reveal themselves to the world.

Eleven minutes to find another way.

The surveillance feeds show security moving around Craven Industries’ main entrance. Nothing frantic, nothing that suggests they’re aware of the coming storm. Either they don’t know, or they’re very good at hiding it.

I activate the thermal imaging on the drones, scanning the building’s interior through the glass facade. Heat signatures cluster on several floors—most concentrated in the lobby, upper executive level, and… there. Beneath the building. Multiple signatures in what should be empty basement levels.

I zoom in, enhancing the feed. The basement level shows several figures surrounding something that doesn’t register properly on thermal, a cold spot where heat should be. An artifact, perhaps.

The Heartstone.

I send the coordinates to the tactical team, knowing I should hope they reach it first. Knowing I should want Syndicate success over Circle victory.

Instead, I hope they both fail. That Elena somehow escapes both sets of monsters that hunt her.

Eight minutes.

The assault teams report ready positions. Transport vehicles strategically placed. Aerial teams in holding patterns outside visual range of the target.

Five minutes.

I track thermal signatures throughout the building. Normal patterns of movement on most floors. Business as usual for the humans who have no idea their world is about to change forever.

The basement cluster remains unchanged, multiple signatures surrounding that cold spot. One signature burns brighter than the others, the energy output beyond normal parameters. Elena, perhaps?

“Thermal anomaly in basement level,” I report. “Possible high-value target showing unusual energy output.”

“They’re activating her,” Creed barks. “All units, execute now. Repeat, execute now.”

And just like that, the careful timeline collapses.

Tactical teams rush the building’s entrances—front lobby, loading dock, underground parking. On the drone feeds, I watch Syndicate operatives emerging from vehicles, tactical gear identifying them as private security to any watching humans. Armed, but still maintaining human appearance.

For now.

The first resistance comes at the main entrance—Craven security engaging, weapons drawn. Humans, not dragons. Unknowing pawns in a war they can’t comprehend.

“Hold fire on human security,” I order, broadcasting to all teams. “Non-lethal takedowns only.”

My command is acknowledged, but I watch with growing dread as Syndicate operatives push forward. Even non-lethal force looks brutal on the surveillance feed; trained dragons in human form against ordinary security personnel. The outcome is never in question.

The first breach happens at the loading dock. Team Three reports access to the building’s service corridors, encountering minimal resistance. They move toward the basement levels, toward Elena.

A ripple of movement draws my eye to the upper floors of the tower. At first, I think it’s a drone malfunction; something moving too fast, disturbing the air currents.

Then I see it.

A shape launching from a setback on the fortieth floor, wingspan extending mid-fall. Scales catching the setting sun, black and crimson against the clear sky.

Dragon. Fully shifted.

In broad fucking daylight.

“Air contact!” I shout into the comms. “Hostile dragon, northeast quadrant!”

Circle operative. Has to be. The markings are wrong for the Craven clan—too dark, too aggressive in pattern.

“All aerial units engage,” Creed commands. “Full combat protocols authorized.”

No! No, no, no, goddammit!

I can only watch as Syndicate airborne units respond, dragon forms materializing from what had appeared to be circling birds of prey. Their transformations happen high enough that ordinary humans might mistake the distant shapes for aircraft… but not for long.

Not when they engage.

The first impact shakes the air itself, the Circle dragon colliding with a Syndicate operative mid-air, claws raking, teeth snapping. They spiral downward, locked in combat, before separating with powerful wingbeats that send shockwaves visible even on my monitors.

On the street below, people stop. Point. Pull out phones.

Recording.

Witnessing.

The end of secrecy unfolding in high definition.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Team Two reports reaching the basement levels, encountering heavy resistance. Circle operatives waiting in ambush. Dragon versus dragon in the confined space beneath the tower.

I track thermal signatures, watching in growing horror as the basement battle intensifies. Energy readings spike dangerously around that cold spot. Something’s happening with the Heartstone. It’s responding to Elena’s presence, to her blood. Just as Lila warned.

Above the tower, dragon combat intensifies. Fire blooms against the late afternoon sky… brief, brilliant bursts as combatants test defenses. Civilians on surrounding streets no longer just recording—they’re running. Screaming. The first wave of panic spreading outward from the tower like ripples from a stone.

“Team Three, report.” My voice cuts through the confusion of comms chatter. “Status on primary target?”

Static, then: “Heavy resistance. Circle forces entrenched around some kind of chamber. Can see the Heartstone. The Ross woman is there, but—” The transmission dissolves into static.

“Team Three, repeat. Status on the Ross woman?” I demand, a cold knot forming in my gut.

More static. Then a different voice breaks through, panicked: “She’s touching it! The Stone! Something’s happening—”

The transmission cuts off, replaced by an earsplitting shriek of feedback. Warning lights flash across my command console—energy surge detected, readings off the charts.

Through the drone feed, I watch as a pulse of crimson light erupts from the base of the tower, spreading outward like a shockwave. Glass shatters on the lower floors, car alarms blare on surrounding streets.

The Heartstone.

Elena has accessed it.

I switch to ground-level cameras, watching civilians fleeing in panic, phones still recording despite their terror. Capturing every moment of revelation. Every second of the world changing forever.

Above, dragon combat intensifies, tactics abandoned for raw aggression. Fire blooms more frequently now, dragons no longer concerned with concealment. One Syndicate operative falls, wing membranes shredded, spiraling toward the ground before catching himself mere feet above screaming onlookers.

“All teams, report!” I demand, cycling through feeds, tracking confusion spreading through the building. “Status on primary target!”

Nothing from Team Three. Their last known position now shows only a thermal blank—some kind of interference blocking readings.

Team One reports heavy casualties, pinned down in the lobby by Circle forces. Team Two still fighting their way toward the basement levels, but making minimal progress.

“Command to Creed,” I transmit. “Have lost contact with Team Three. Energy surge detected at primary target location.”

“What kind of surge?” His voice is tight with strain.

“Unprecedented. Readings beyond established parameters.”

Another energy pulse emanates from the building’s foundation, stronger than the first. The command vehicle rocks with the force of it, systems flickering momentarily. On the streets, civilians abandon cars, flee buildings, social media no doubt exploding with footage no government agency could hope to contain.

No protocols will be enough for this. No plans, no contingencies, no careful management. The dragon world erupts into the human one in an uncontrolled explosion—exactly as the Circle always wanted.

The third pulse hits like a physical blow, systems throughout the command vehicle shorting out momentarily before emergency backups engage. Through the windshield, I watch as windows shatter throughout the tower, glass raining onto screaming civilians below.

This is beyond containment now. Beyond any contingency the Syndicate could have prepared for.

Dragons are revealed. The world changes today.

And I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Through damaged systems, I receive fragments of team reports. Circle forces retreating. Malakai Steele seen fleeing the basement level, injured but alive. And most concerning: Elena Ross has the Heartstone. Is controlling it somehow.

A witch with the power to command dragons. The Heartstone in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand what she holds. And humans discovering our existence through violence and terror.

The perfect storm.

I slump back in my seat, watching dragons battle in open skies above the city. Centuries of secrecy ending in minutes. The Aurora Collective’s careful plans for peaceful coexistence shattered before they could begin.

My comms unit crackles to life with a burst of static.

“Command, Team Two. Malakai’s retreating with remaining Circle forces. Heavy casualties on our side.”

“Status on the witch and the Heartstone?” I demand, leaning forward.

“Craven Clan has her. They’ve formed a defensive perimeter. Took down three of our operatives when we attempted approach. The witch… She has the stone. It’s responding to her.”

Something unclenches in my chest. Elena’s alive. Protected by the Cravens. Better them than Malakai or the Syndicate.

“Fall back,” I order. “Regroup at—”

“All units withdraw immediately.” Creed’s voice cuts across the channel, rage vibrating through each syllable. “I repeat, full withdrawal. The operation is compromised.”

The comms explode with overlapping acknowledgments as teams begin their retreat. Above the tower, Syndicate dragons disengage, wheeling away toward extraction points, leaving confusion and revelation in their wake.

“Reeve,” Creed snaps. “Get that command vehicle back to base. Now.”

“Sir, we should attempt to—”

“That’s a direct order. The witch is lost to us. For now.”

“Affirmative,” I respond. Then I start the engine, watching smoke rise from Craven Tower as humanity’s understanding of their world changes forever.