Page 28

Chapter 28

L ila

“Move! Now!”

The shout tears through the cabin, followed by boots hammering wooden floors. I’m shoving clothes into a backpack—clothes I didn’t own yesterday, that someone else picked for me—when Talon bursts through the door.

“Three minutes,” he says, voice clipped. His eyes catch mine, something electric passing between us. The ghost of his touch still burns on my skin. “You good?”

“Been better,” I say, zipping the pack. “Been worse, too.”

A hint of a smile touches his lips, there and gone in a heartbeat. My body remembers his hands, his mouth, the press of him inside me just twenty minutes ago. Before alarms shattered the moment, before reality crashed back in with Syndicate boots on the mountain.

Freedom’s leash never stretches far, does it?

“Hargen?” I ask, slinging the pack over my shoulder, wincing as tight muscles protest.

“Already in transport two.” Talon checks his weapon, all business now despite the heat still lingering in his eyes when they meet mine. “He’s mobile enough but not happy about being separated from you.”

Something twists in my chest. Hargen. The ritual revealed too much—his memories, his feelings for me. Feelings I’m not sure I return, especially after what just happened with Talon. Guilt gnaws at me.

“Will he be okay?”

“He’s with Zoe.” Talon helps me into a jacket that’s too big but blissfully warm. “She’s the best we have. She’ll get him out.”

Shouting echoes from outside. Through the window, I glimpse figures racing between cabins, loading vehicles, coordinating evacuation. The sanctuary betrayed after barely three days.

Could it be me?

I don’t want to think about it.

Outside, the air bites with mountain cold. A wintry sun paints the peaks in pale gold, beauty at odds with the tactical tension unfolding beneath it. Four black SUVs idle in formation, engines rumbling. Aurora operatives move briskly, loading equipment, checking weapons, establishing a perimeter.

“Transport one,” Talon directs, guiding me toward the lead vehicle.

My legs feel steadier than earlier but still weak. A life of captivity doesn’t vanish in a week. I slide into the backseat, Talon following, his body warm beside mine. Close. Protective, but not confining.

“All assets secured,” someone reports from the front seat. “Transports two through four ready to roll.”

“Execute.” The driver starts moving before the word fully leaves Talon’s mouth.

We lurch forward, tires crunching through fresh snow. I twist in my seat, watching the sanctuary shrink behind us—those precious cabins, that glimpse of normal life, of peace. Gone already.

“They’re heading toward the north ridge,” reports the operative monitoring communications. “Six-vehicle convoy, heavy tactical presence.”

“We had a day’s head start,” Talon mutters, tension radiating from him. “How did they catch up so fast?”

“Tracker?” I suggest, mind racing through possibilities. “In the Shard, maybe?”

His eyes sharpen. “Did they ever implant anything in you?”

The question lands like a punch. I hadn’t considered that possibility.

“I… I don’t think so. But there were times I was unconscious.” So many damn times. Moments when the visions had overwhelmed me.

Talon’s jaw tightens. His hand finds mine, warm and steady. “We’ll figure it out.”

Our vehicle tackles the mountain road aggressively, switchbacks sending my stomach lurching. The convoy spreads out, taking different routes but converging toward some destination I can’t yet see. The operative up front maintains constant communication, tracking Syndicate movement, reporting on the other transports.

“Transport two clearing checkpoint three,” he says, and relief loosens the knot in my chest. Hargen is still safe.

We drive for hours, leaving the mountains, entering terrain I don’t recognize. Forests give way to rockier landscape, civilization appearing and disappearing as we skirt small towns. I watch it all with hungry eyes, drinking in the world I’ve been denied.

“We’re approaching our destination,” Talon says finally, as our vehicle turns onto a service road that appears unused.

“Doesn’t look like much,” I observe, seeing nothing but wilderness and rocky outcroppings.

“That’s the point.”

We pass through what appears to be an abandoned mining facility, rusted equipment creating perfect camouflage. The road descends sharply, entering a tunnel cut directly into the mountainside. Massive doors slide open at our approach, closing behind us with finality that makes my breath catch.

Underground again. My hands clench involuntarily.

“It’s not a prison,” Talon says quietly, reading my reaction. “Just the safest place we have.”

I nod, forcing my breathing to steady. His hand covers mine, thumbs grazing over my knuckles. The touch grounds me, keeps the panic at bay.

The tunnel opens to a massive cavern, transformed into what can only be described as a military-grade bunker. Multiple levels carved into rock face, steel walkways connecting different sections. People move with purpose, some in tactical gear, others in civilian clothes. Screens display data, maps, surveillance feeds. A command center built into a mountain.

“Welcome to the Outpost,” Talon says as our vehicle parks in a designated bay alongside others. “Main Aurora operations hub for the western territories.”

The scale of it stuns me. This isn’t some fringe resistance; it’s an organization with resources, personnel, infrastructure. Yet the Syndicate has never mentioned them, never hinted at opposition this organized.

As we exit the vehicle, a flurry of activity surrounds us. Medical personnel approach, eyeing me with professional concern. Talon waves them off.

“She’s fine. Check transport two first. We have a critical recovery there.”

The mention of Hargen sends a pang through me. I scan the bay, looking for the other vehicles, for any sign of him.

“Transport two is five minutes out,” an operative reports. “No pursuit detected.”

Relief washes through me. I turn to find Talon watching me, something complicated in his expression.

“He’ll be okay,” he says, not needing to specify who.

“We have unfinished business, you and me,” I say, the double meaning clear between us. Our interrupted moment. The unexpected intimacy that shouldn’t have happened but did. The mark he left on my neck that faded, leaving me feeling strangely hollow in its absence.

His pupils dilate slightly. “Yes, we do.”

A throat clears behind us. I turn to find Viktor approaching, flanked by two people I don’t recognize—a striking woman with coffee-colored skin and silver hair and a tall, younger man with sharp features and pale green eyes that take me in with cool assessment.

“Briefing room, ten minutes,” Viktor says without wasting time on niceties. “We need to assess how they found us.”

“She needs rest,” Talon counters, protective instinct evident in his voice.

“I’m fine,” I interject before they can argue over me like I’m not standing right here. “I’ll be at the briefing.”

Viktor nods, satisfied, while Talon’s jaw tightens with obvious displeasure. The small display of autonomy feels significant: my choice, my voice, my decision. I’ve spent too long having every moment controlled; this minor assertion of will tastes like victory.

“This way,” Talon says, guiding me through the facility. “They’ll have quarters ready, but you should eat something first.”

The mess hall is utilitarian but comfortable. People glance our way as we enter, curiosity evident in their gazes. The Rossewyn witch. The asset. The prize Talon extracted from the Syndicate’s grasp. I lift my chin, refusing to shrink under their scrutiny.

Food appears before us—real food, not the bland nutrition of the Syndicate’s medical wing. I eat mechanically at first, then with increasing appreciation. Grilled chicken, steamed vegetables. Simple flavors, but intense after years of sameness. Talon watches me, concern and something warmer in his eyes.

“Better?” he asks when I’ve finished.

“Getting there.” I wipe my mouth, pushing the tray aside. “So, who exactly are these people? Really?”

Talon leans closer, voice dropping. “Dragons, mostly. Some witches. Others with abilities who don’t fit neatly into categories. All united by one thing: opposition to the Syndicate’s vision of the future.”

“And what vision is that?”

“Control. Order maintained through force and fear. Dragons as the superior species, with everything else serving our interests.” His mouth twists. “It’s seductive, especially to those who’ve lost their clans, their purpose. The Syndicate gives them something to call home, a sense of belonging, even if it comes at a high cost.”

“And Aurora wants…?”

“Balance. Coexistence. Finding our place in the modern world without the fear our ancestors lived by.”

I watch his face, seeing the conviction beneath the practiced phrasing.

“And which side are you on?” I ask, the question more personal than I’d planned. But I guess after what we did earlier, “personal” is our new normal.

His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. “Whichever side keeps you safe.”

The answer shouldn’t affect me so strongly. Shouldn’t send heat curling through my belly, shouldn’t make my heart flutter. But it does.

Before I can respond, a minor commotion ripples through the mess hall. I look up to see Hargen entering, supported by Zoe but walking under his own power. Relief floods me.

“He’s okay,” I breathe, half-rising.

Talon’s expression closes slightly, but he nods. “Go ahead.”

I cross to Hargen, hyperaware of Talon’s eyes on my back. Conflict tears through me—concern for Hargen, the connection we’ve shared for years, against this new, unexpected pull toward Talon.

“What are you doing here?” I scold Hargen quietly, taking his arm. “You should be resting.”

“I could ask you the same thing.” His eyes search my face, lingering on my neck. Without thinking, I put my fingertips to my skin where Talon’s teeth had grazed. Hargen’s eyes lock with mine. “But we both know that’s not happening.”

Zoe clears her throat. “Briefing in two minutes. We should move.”

The four of us make our way to a conference room carved directly into the rock face. The space is already filled with people—Viktor and his companions from earlier, plus several others in tactical gear or civilian clothes. The Aurora leadership, I assume.

Talon pulls out a chair for me, then takes the one beside it. Hargen sits on my other side, his presence familiar, steadying. The irony isn’t lost on me; I’m caught between the man who guarded me for years and the man who freed me.

Viktor stands at the head of the table, commanding attention without effort.

“We have a situation,” he begins. “The Syndicate found our sanctuary within days of extraction. The question is how.”

“Tracking device is the obvious answer,” says the silver-haired woman. “Either implanted or in their belongings.”

“We swept everything,” Talon counters. “Standard protocol. Nothing pinged.”

“The Shard, then,” suggests a bearded man further down the table. “It’s an ancient artifact. We don’t fully understand its capabilities.”

“It’s secured in the deepest vault we have, Samien,” Viktor dismisses. “Triple-shielded. If it were broadcasting, we’d detect it.”

My mind races through possibilities. “What about magical signatures? The ritual I performed to save Hargen… could they have tracked that?”

The room quiets, all eyes turning to me.

“Possible,” concedes the younger man who arrived with Viktor. “Blood magic of that magnitude leaves traces.”

“Then it’s my fault,” I say, the enormity of it settling in my chest.

“No.” Talon’s voice is firm. “If they tracked the ritual, that’s on me for not considering it, not on you for saving a life.”

Hargen shifts beside me, his discomfort tangible. “There’s another possibility,” he says quietly. “Me.”

Tension ripples through the room.

“Explain,” Viktor commands.

“The binding between us—between handler and asset—was created by Syndicate magic.” Hargen’s voice remains steady despite the accusation implied in his words. “It was designed to help me manage her visions, but it’s a connection. A tether.”

“That you didn’t think to mention until now?” Zoe’s voice cuts like ice.

“I thought it was broken during the extraction,” Hargen says defensively. “The gunshot, the blood loss—I felt it snap.”

“Did it?” Talon asks, looking between us.

I close my eyes, searching inward for that familiar presence, that bond of magic that’s been part of me for so long. It’s there, but changed. Transformed by the ritual, by the Shard’s intervention.

“It’s different,” I say finally. “Not broken, but… altered. The ritual rewrote it somehow.”

“Convenient explanation,” mutters someone down the table.

Anger flashes through me. “You think he’s what? A plant? A spy?” I lean forward, voice hardening. “He took a bullet trying to help me escape. Nearly died for it.”

“A calculated risk to gain our trust,” suggests the silver-haired woman, her eyes sharp.

“Baseless accusations solve nothing, Tabitha,” Talon interjects. “We need facts, not suspicion.”

“What we need,” Viktor says, “is to address the immediate threat. Whether they tracked the ritual, the binding, or something else entirely, the fact remains—both the Syndicate and now the Circle are hunting us specifically.”

This catches my attention. “The Circle? How do you know?”

Viktor nods to an operative who brings up a surveillance image on the wall screen. A figure I recognize instantly: Malakai Steele, the old dragon from my visions, from Elena’s first abduction.

“Confirmed sighting near the sanctuary perimeter twelve hours after evacuation,” Viktor explains. “Not with the Syndicate forces. Separate. Searching.”

“For me?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“For the Shard,” Viktor corrects. “And for what you can do with it.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air. The ancient crystal weighs on me even from the vault where they’ve secured it; its power, its history, its connection to my bloodline. To Elena.

“So we have two enemy factions hunting us,” summarizes Talon, frustration evident in his voice. “Both after the same asset.”

“Which gives us leverage,” Viktor says, something calculating entering his tone. “And an opportunity to balance the equation.”

I don’t like where this is going. “Meaning?”

“The Cravens have your daughter. The Heartstone. And now a phoenix.” Viktor leans forward. “Together with the Shard and your abilities, we could forge an alliance that would stand against both the Syndicate and the Circle.”

“You want to use me as a bargaining chip,” I say flatly.

“I want to use your abilities to protect what matters,” Viktor counters. “Your daughter included.”

“Elena is safe with the Cravens,” I say. “I’ve seen it in visions. I’ve felt it.”

“For now,” Tabitha interjects. “But the Syndicate’s reach is long, and Creed doesn’t forgive being thwarted.”

“His reach won’t extend past death,” I say, voice hardening. “And that’s what’s coming for him.”

“You know he’s just the tip of the iceberg, right?” says the sharp-featured man from earlier. “Behind Creed is an entire network of dragon leaders. You can take him down, but you won’t get rid of the rot at the top.”

“I don’t think she needs a lesson on Syndicate politics, Otto,” Talon says coldly.

“Maybe I do,” I find myself saying. “Maybe I need to know who to take out.”

The room falls silent, tension thickening the air.

“Vengeance is a luxury we can’t afford,” Viktor says finally. “We need strategy, not emotion.”

“Easy to say when you haven’t seen what I have,” I snap, anger flaring hot and bright.

Talon’s hand finds mine beneath the table, a silent show of support. On my other side, Hargen tenses, noticing the gesture.

“What exactly are you proposing?” Talon asks Viktor, redirecting the conversation.

“We approach the Cravens. Offer an alliance. Our resources, the Shard, Lila’s abilities, in exchange for their protection and cooperation against our common enemies.”

“And if I refuse?” I ask, the question pointed.

Viktor’s gaze hardens. “This is bigger than individual choice, Lila. The Syndicate and the Circle both want a world where dragons rule through fear and dominion. Is that the future you want for your daughter?”

The manipulation is obvious but effective. I think of Elena, finally found after so long. Of the visions showing her with Caleb Craven, their connection, their shared destiny. The happiness she deserves.

“I have every intention of finding my way to the Cravens. Not for you. For my daughter. We’ve been apart for too long. But I want her safe,” I say. “And I won’t be another puppet. Not yours, not anyone’s. That’s non-negotiable.”

Murmurs ripple around the table. Viktor studies me, reassessing.

“She’s right,” Talon says unexpectedly. Heads turn toward him. “Forcing her hand makes us no better than the Syndicate. If we’re truly care about balance and choice, we start by respecting hers.”

I feel a surge of gratitude, of connection to him that deepens what started in that cabin.

“A principled stand,” Viktor acknowledges. “But principles won’t stop the Syndicate or the Circle.”

“Neither will coercion,” I counter. “You want me as an ally? Treat me like one. Not an asset. Not a weapon. A person with free will.”

Tabitha’s lips curve slightly. “I like her,” she says to Viktor. “She has spine.”

Viktor sighs, conceding the point for now. “Very well. We approach the Cravens but with full transparency about the decision being yours.” He fixes me with an intense stare. “But consider this: your daughter may be safe for now, but she’s also unskilled. Unaware of her full potential. You could help her understand what she is, what she can do.”

The appeal lands as intended, stirring maternal instincts long suppressed but never extinguished. My little girl grew up without knowing her heritage, her power, her blood. Her mother.

“I’ll consider it,” I say, already knowing that I’m going to agree to it but needing it to be on my terms.

Viktor nods, apparently satisfied with this small victory. “The council will convene again tomorrow to finalize our approach strategy. Until then, I suggest everyone get some rest. Particularly you,” he adds, nodding to me. “You’ve been through more than anyone should ever have to bear, Lila.” There’s a gentleness to his words that I find more persuasive than anything he’s said so far.

I give a small nod, not trusting myself to speak. I’ve learned to withstand abuse in so many forms and come out stronger. But kindness? That leaves me floundering.

The meeting breaks, people dispersing with purpose. Hargen rises stiffly beside me, pain evident in the tightness around his eyes despite the healing magic.

“We should talk,” he says quietly. “About the ritual. About… everything.”

I nod, though anxiety flutters in my chest. “Later. When you’re stronger.”

His eyes flick to Talon, then back to me. “Don’t wait too long, Lila. Some conversations need to happen while they can still matter.”

He walks away, each step careful but determined. Guilt twists in my gut, watching him go.

“You okay?” Talon asks, still beside me, as the room empties.

“Not particularly,” I admit. “But better than I was a week ago, locked in that cell.”

He helps me up, hand lingering beneath my elbow. “I’ll show you to your quarters. You really should rest.”

We walk through corridors carved from living rock, the Outpost’s vastness becoming apparent. People nod as we pass, curiosity and respect mingling in their glances. Word has spread. I’m the Rossewyn witch, the Shard-wielder, the asset Talon extracted at great risk.

The quarters, when we reach them, are more comfortable than I expected. A real bed. A private bathroom. A window, not to the outside, but to a massive central atrium where natural light filters down through cleverly designed channels in the mountain.

“It’s not the Ritz,” Talon says, watching me take it in. “But it’s secure.”

“Are you kidding me? This is luxury.” I move to the window, placing my palm against cool glass, watching people move through the atrium below. “All these people living here. Fighting the Syndicate. I never knew…”

“That was by design. The Syndicate doesn’t acknowledge opposition. It suits them to let their assets believe resistance is futile.”

I turn to face him, struck by the intensity in his eyes as he watches me. The moment in the cabin rushes back. His hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the weight of him between my thighs. Heat blooms in my cheeks.

“About what happened…” I begin, uncertain of how to navigate this new territory.

He takes a step closer, not crowding but definitely in my space. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “I just… It’s a lot. Everything’s happening so fast. A week ago, I was a prisoner. Now I’m free, running for my life, and you and I—” I gesture helplessly between us.

“I know.” His voice softens. “It’s not exactly conventional timing.”

I laugh, the sound surprising me. “Conventional flew out the window a long time ago, Talon.” I taste his name as I say it, liking how it feels on my tongue.

He smiles—a real smile that transforms his face, makes the dragon in him glow through human features. “True enough.”

We stand there, the air between us charged with possibility, with questions neither of us is ready to answer.

“I should go,” he says finally, taking a reluctant step backward.

“Talon.” I reach for his hand before he can retreat further. His skin is warm against mine, that simple contact sending a shiver up my arm. “Thank you. For standing up for me in there. For giving me a voice.”

His fingers curl around mine, thumb tracing my pulse point. “Always,” he says simply.

And somehow, I believe him. After everything that’s happened, I believe this man who is practically a stranger. Trust him in a way that defies logic or experience.

He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture is oddly formal yet intimate, sending heat spiraling through me.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll be close if you need anything.”

He leaves, the door closing softly behind him. I sink onto the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth of his lips on my hand, the memory of his mouth on other, more intimate places. My fingers rise to the ghost of the mark on my neck, still sensitive to the touch.

What is happening to me?

This connection, this pull toward him, defies explanation. It’s too fast, too intense, too overwhelming after years of emotional numbness. Yet, I can’t deny it exists. Can’t pretend I don’t crave his touch, his presence, his protection that never becomes possession.

I stretch out on the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with me. Outside my door, the Outpost hums with activity: planning, preparing, mobilizing against enemies who want what I can do. What I am.

Tomorrow will bring more complications. Viktor’s agenda, Hargen’s feelings, approaching the Cravens, possibly seeing Elena after so long. But for now, in this moment of quiet, I allow myself to feel something I’d forgotten existed.

Hope, yes. Freedom, absolutely.

But also this impossible connection to a dragon whose touch makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in decades. More myself.

More… everything.