Page 3

Chapter 3

T alon

Impatience burns through my veins as I stare at the empty chair where Viktor should’ve been twenty minutes ago. The Aurora Collective doesn’t tolerate lateness—except, apparently, from its founder.

The underground meeting room reeks of old coffee and secrets. Seven of us sit around the scarred oak table—each face grim, each posture tense. We’re an odd collection of misfits: two former Syndicate dragons who saw too much corruption, a hedge witch with burn scars crawling up her neck, an older dragon who claims neutrality in all clan conflicts, and a pair of tech specialists who’ve seen too much to ever sleep soundly again.

Then there’s me. The weapon they point at problems. Another dragon who’s chosen a different path, though the fire in my blood never lets me forget what I am.

“Heard about the attack in Vancouver?” Zoe asks, scrolling through something on her tablet. The blue light makes the witch look even more ghostly than usual.

I grunt in response. “Three dead. Two missing. Same signature as Portland.”

“Syndicate’s getting bolder,” says Davis, the older of the two defected Syndicate operatives. Centuries of life haven’t softened his face—just carved deeper lines into it. “Moving into major cities now.”

“It’s not just boldness,” I counter, leaning forward. “It’s desperation.”

Heads turn my way. I don’t speak often at these meetings, but when I do, they listen. Perks of having a reputation.

Pity it’s a reputation that came at a cost.

“The Syndicate is losing control,” I continue, tapping my finger against the table. “They’ve been stuck in a stalemate, and now everything’s shifting at once. They wouldn’t risk exposure unless something big was at stake.”

“The Heartstone,” Zoe murmurs.

The word hangs in the air like smoke. Ancient dragon magic. A crystal that can bind dragon will and power. The nuclear option in their eternal cold war.

“Rumors,” Davis dismisses, but his eyes betray him. Fear doesn’t sit well on a dragon’s face, even a former Syndicate one.

The door finally swings open. Viktor strides in, his white hair pulled back in a tight knot, his blind eye milky against his dark skin. Despite being centuries old, he moves like a man in his prime. For a dragon who’s lived through five centuries of clan wars, he carries the hope of peace like a torch in darkness—the reason he founded the Aurora Collective just twelve years ago.

“Sorry for the delay,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I was confirming some intelligence.”

He tosses a file onto the table. Photos spill out—satellite images of a facility nestled in the mountains. Surveillance shots of men and women in suits entering and exiting. Thermal imaging showing strange heat signatures beneath the complex.

“Syndicate stronghold?” Davis asks, examining the nearest photo.

“More than that.” Viktor takes his seat at the head of the table. “We believe it’s one of their primary research facilities. And we have reason to think they’re holding a high-value magical asset there.”

Zoe leans forward, her interest piqued. “What kind of asset?”

“A witch. And not just any witch.” Viktor’s gaze finds mine. “Rossewyn blood.”

The room goes silent. I keep my face expressionless despite the jolt that runs through me.

Rossewyn. The name carries weight. An ancient bloodline of witches tied to the original dragon kings through magic and blood pacts. Seers with the power to glimpse the future. A lineage thought extinct.

“You’re sure?” I ask, voice deliberately flat.

Viktor nods. “Our source is reliable. The Syndicate has had her for two decades.”

“Impossible,” Davis says. “The Rossewyn line died out. The Syndicate hunted them to extinction.”

“Apparently not.” Viktor pushes a grainy photo across the table to me. A woman with long dark hair streaked with a single band of silver, visible through a reinforced window. “This was taken three weeks ago.”

I study the image, cataloging details. High cheekbones, broad forehead with a determined set to her jaw. Like many of her kind, it’s impossible to tell her age, although she looks to be in her late twenties—a fact that’s unlikely, if she’s been in captivity for two decades. Slender to the point of frailty. Eyes that seem to look beyond the camera, beyond the present.

Beautiful. Not that it’s relevant.

“What’s your play?” I ask Viktor, already knowing the answer. Already knowing why his gaze hasn’t left my face since he entered.

“We need confirmation and recovery. If she truly is Rossewyn, and if the visions attributed to her are accurate, she’s too valuable to leave in Syndicate hands.” Viktor folds his hands on the table. “Especially with the current… instabilities.”

I drop the photo, leaning back in my chair. “You’re thinking about the rumors. The unexplained energy signatures near the Craven territory.”

“Among other things.”

A tense silence falls. Reports of strange magical disturbances have been filtering in for months. Something powerful awakening. Something the old texts barely mention. Connected to the Craven clan, if intelligence is believed. Another piece on the chessboard that’s suddenly been overturned.

“You want me to infiltrate a Syndicate black site on the chance this woman is what you think she is?” I keep my tone even, though my mind is already calculating angles, approaches, weaknesses.

Viktor smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. “I want you to do what you do best, Talon. Get in where others can’t. Find the truth. And if the truth warrants it, create an exit strategy.”

I feel the weight of the other eyes around the table. They know my history with the Syndicate. Know why I broke with traditional dragon hierarchies after centuries of service. Know about the mate I lost during the London Purge when the Syndicate decided neutrality wasn’t an option anymore. The price I’ve paid for choosing freedom over blind allegiance.

The scales beneath my skin itch at the memory, my dragon nature responding to the old rage I keep carefully banked.

“The security will be unprecedented,” I point out, not a refusal but an acknowledgment.

“Which is why we’ve been laying groundwork.” Viktor nods to Zoe, who slides a slim folder toward me. “Identity’s already in place. Allard Reeve, former elite dragon forces, specializing in magical containment. Security consultant with references the Syndicate won’t question because they come from their own subsidiaries.”

I flip open the folder, scanning the fabricated history. Impressive work, down to the doctored footage of me in dragon force regalia.

“Timeline?” I ask.

“You start in three days.” Viktor leans forward, his voice dropping. “We need to know what they’re planning, Talon. The attacks are escalating. The Craven situation grows more volatile by the day. Something’s coming—something big—and I believe this woman knows what it is. The Aurora Collective can’t afford to be blindsided if we’re going to offer a real alternative to the old ways.”

The old ways…

Fire. Brimstone. Dragons raining death. An unthinkable dream shared by some of our older brethren.

A dream that can’t be allowed to become a reality.

It’s been twelve years since Viktor gathered those of us who believed dragons and humans could find better paths than domination or war. Twelve years of building networks, of proving there was another way besides the Syndicate’s power grabs or the Circle of Fire’s dreams of returning to the days when our kind ruled through fear and flame.

Twelve years is barely a dot on the roadmap of a history that spans millennia. Some think we’re fools for thinking we can make a difference. The way I see it, nobody will ever make any kind of difference if they never try. And the world is not ready to be ruled by fire. Certainly not the fragile humans roaming the planet.

I close the folder with a decisive snap. “I’ll need specs on the facility. Personnel files. Security protocols.”

“Already compiled.” Zoe taps her tablet. “I’ll transfer everything to your secure server.”

I stand, tucking the folder under my arm. “Anything else I should know?”

Viktor’s expression turns grim. “Our intelligence suggests they’re pushing her abilities to the breaking point. Whatever they’re looking for, they’re getting desperate to find it.”

“Desperate dragons make mistakes,” I observe.

“They also get careless with collateral damage,” Viktor counters.

The unspoken truth hangs between us. If this woman is as valuable as Viktor believes, the Syndicate will burn the world down before letting anyone else get their hands on her.

Good thing fire doesn’t scare me anymore. Not when I can call it to my own veins when needed, my dragon shifting abilities the one part of my heritage I couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon.

“I’ll make contact when I’m in,” I tell them, already moving toward the door. Meetings make my skin twitch, and I need space to process what I’ve learned.

“Talon.” Viktor’s voice stops me at the threshold. “We need her alive and functional. Whatever’s coming, we need her insight.”

I give him a look that makes others in the room shift uncomfortably. “I know how to do my job, Viktor.”

Unspoken between us is the last retrieval I performed—the daughter of a Circle of Fire elder, held by the Syndicate as leverage. I got her out, but not before they’d broken something essential inside her. The failure still burns in my gut, fuels my determination that it won’t happen again.

The Syndicate may not care about collateral damage, but I do.

The door clicks shut behind me, cutting off whatever response he might have made.

In the dimly lit corridor, I allow myself a moment of stillness, sorting through implications. A Rossewyn witch, alive. Strange energy disturbances. The Syndicate growing desperate. The equations shift with each new variable, recalculating risks and rewards.

My phone vibrates—a message from Zoe:

Files uploaded. Also included everything we have on Rossewyn bloodline history. Thought you might want context.

Always efficient, that one. I pocket the phone and head for the exit, plans already forming. Three days to prepare for deep cover in the dragon’s den.

The irony doesn’t escape me. After a century of fighting against the Syndicate’s version of what dragons should be, I’m walking straight back into their midst. But this time, I’m not their weapon.

This time, I’m the knife at their throat.

And if this woman truly is what Viktor believes—a Rossewyn seer with knowledge of what’s coming—then the balance of power is about to shift dramatically. A new piece on the board that could change everything. Maybe even vindicate what the Aurora Collective stands for: a world where dragons find their place without domination.

The elevator hums as it carries me to street level. My reflection in the polished doors shows a man with hard edges and harder eyes. A dragon who’s learned to hide his fire until it’s needed. A man built for exactly this kind of mission.

Three days to become Allard Reeve. To become one of them again, at least on the surface.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the scales beneath my skin shift with anticipation, the old familiar weight of purpose settling into place. My dragon nature stirs, sensing the hunt ahead.

Time to do what I do best.