Page 6

Chapter 6

L ila

The extraction chamber reeks of antiseptic, the air heavy with fear. My fear, mostly. My body still betrays me with trembling hands and a racing pulse whenever they strap me to this chair.

Hargen works silently beside me, attaching electrodes, running through checks. Behind him, Creed paces, checking his watch every thirty seconds as if time might cheat him personally.

“Where is he?” Creed snaps, his impatience a tangible force in the room.

“Security chiefs can’t be rushed,” I mutter before I can stop myself. “All those doors to glower at on the way.”

Creed’s head whips toward me, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Careful, witch.”

I hold his gaze for three heartbeats before looking away. Showing him he can’t tame me. That’s all I have left.

The door hisses open. I don’t turn my head—dignity requires at least the pretense of disinterest—but every nerve in my body snaps to attention.

I feel him enter.

“Reeve.” Creed’s voice shifts, professional respect overlaying the perpetual disdain. “Right on time.”

“I make it a point to be.” The voice is a controlled tenor that vibrates through my bones like distant thunder.

Footsteps approach from behind, deliberate and measured. I keep my eyes fixed on the wall ahead, refusing to show curiosity. Let him look first. Let him see what they’re about to do.

“Asset 4-A,” Creed says, as if I’m equipment to be cataloged. “Our greatest coup.”

Coup, my ass. I walked into his fucking clutches.

“The Rossewyn witch.” The newcomer steps into my peripheral vision.

I turn my head.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He’s nothing like I expected.

Tall and lean—six-two at least—with an athletic build that his fitted tactical shirt and cargo pants can’t quite disguise. It’s complemented by rugged combat boots and a disciplined bearing that hints at his military background. Golden brown hair falls slightly across his forehead, longer on top than Syndicate standard. His rugged features bear the subtle weathering of experience rather than age, with a thin pale scar tracing his left jawline that speaks of violence survived.

Holy shit.

I swallow hard, unsettled by this visceral reaction. I’ve been here so long that I’ve forgotten what physical attraction feels like.

Oh, get a grip, Lila. This isn’t attraction.

Apprehension, maybe. I’ll probably hate him as much as Creed in a week.

Yet I can’t help watching him. He moves with unnerving grace, each step deliberate yet fluid, economy of motion; like someone who doesn’t waste energy but knows how to use it. But it’s his eyes that knock the air from my lungs. Emerald green that shifts in intensity like sunlight through a forest canopy. Dragon eyes, yes, but these hold something I haven’t seen in my years inside this place.

Surprise.

It’s there for only a microsecond, quickly masked by professional detachment, but I saw it. My gift, even dampened, has always made me observant.

This dragon—Reeve—is surprised at the sight of me. Why? Was he expecting something else? Or did he just feel that strange sensation, too? Like being weak at the knees.

Of course not. We’re not in high school, you idiot.

“Lila Ross.” He says my name like he’s testing the weight of it. Not “asset.” My actual name.

I lift my chin. “Looking forward to the show, Mr. Reeve?”

His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in those green eyes—surprise that I’d speak directly to him, perhaps. Most assets know better.

“I’m here to observe security protocols,” he replies, his tone emotionless but lacking the dismissive edge I’ve come to expect from Syndicate operatives. He circles the chair, inspecting the restraints with clinical precision, his posture rigid and authoritative. “Continue your preparations.”

The order snaps Hargen back into motion, though his eyes flick between Reeve and me with subtle wariness.

“Then you’re in for a disappointing afternoon.” My lips pull into a smile edged with ice. “Nothing secure about ripping visions from an unwilling mind.”

“Enough,” Creed snaps. “Cole, proceed with the procedure.”

Hargen’s hands pause briefly on the equipment. I feel his hesitation, his silent apology for what comes next.

“Full or partial?” he asks, his tone professionally bland.

“Full.” Creed’s eyes gleam with anticipation. “I want Reeve to see what she can do.”

My stomach drops. Full extraction means pain. Means vulnerability. Means they’ll push until something breaks.

“Sir,” Hargen begins, “considering yesterday’s session—”

“Full extraction,” Creed repeats, voice sharp enough to cut. “Focused on the energy signatures near Craven territory.”

Reeve steps closer, his shadow falling across me. “Are the restraints sufficient?” He reaches down, adjusting the strap on my right wrist. His fingers brush against my pulse point, and a jolt of electricity races up my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I jerk involuntarily, more from the unexpected contact than discomfort. Our eyes meet, and for a split second, something passes between us—a silent communication I can’t decipher. His touch lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary, firm but not cruel like others before him.

“Secure,” he pronounces, voice colder now, all business as he turns to Creed. “Proceed.”

Hargen administers the serum. Cold fire races through my veins, burning away resistance. I grit my teeth against the scream building in me. The magic activates—my own power turned against me, amplified and corrupted by dragon blood in the serum.

The room blurs. Reality splits open.

Visions crash over me like ocean waves—disjointed, chaotic. Mountains. Fire that isn’t dragon fire. Crystal pulsing with heartbeat rhythm. Elena’s face, older now, pinched with concern. A woman with phoenix wings erupting from her back. Blood dripping onto stone.

“What do you see?” Creed demands, leaning closer.

I struggle against the restraints, against the magic forcing its way through my defenses.

“Mountains,” I gasp. “Cave entrance. Water.” I give him fragments, half-truths. Enough to satisfy without revealing what matters. Without revealing my daughter.

“Deeper,” Creed orders Hargen. “Push her deeper.”

Hargen increases the dosage. The pain sharpens, white-hot needles behind my eyes. A whimper escapes before I can stop it.

Through tear-blurred vision, I see Reeve watching, his posture stiff and hands clasped behind his back. His expression is a perfect mask of detached observation, yet something about the way he monitors the equipment rather than my suffering feels deliberate.

The magic twists, digging deeper, hunting for prophecy. I arch against the restraints, a hoarse cry tearing from my throat as my mind fractures around the intrusion.

More images flood through the cracks. A dragon with moonlight scales—Caleb Craven? The Heartstone, glowing with inner fire. My daughter’s hands intertwined with his. And beneath it all, a shadow growing, spreading like ink through water.

“The Cravens,” I manage through gritted teeth, choosing my revelations carefully. “They’ve found something… powerful. Old magic. Dangerous.”

“What magic?” Creed presses. “What exactly have they found?”

I shake my head, pretending confusion. “Can’t see clearly. Something about… fire. Rebirth.”

“Not good enough.” He gestures to Hargen. “Increase potency.”

“Sir,” Hargen cautions, “her vitals are already—”

“I don’t care about her comfort,” Creed snaps. “I care about results.”

“I believe Hargen’s concern is functionality, not comfort.” Reeve’s voice cuts through the tension, his tenor dropping to something quieter yet somehow more commanding.

He moves to the monitors, studying the numbers with calculated indifference. “Pushing assets beyond their physiological limits yields diminishing returns.” He taps the screen showing my heart rate spiking into dangerous territory. “The data becomes unreliable at these levels. Hallucinations, false positives.”

My eyes snap to his face, surprise momentarily overriding pain.

Did he just… defend me?

Creed looks equally startled. “Your expertise is security, Reeve, not extraction methodology.”

“My expertise is asset management,” Reeve counters smoothly. “Which includes maximizing long-term viability.” His gaze meets mine briefly, emerald eyes intensifying. “Especially for rare resources.” He steps back, resuming his rigid posture. “Of course, the final decision is yours, sir.”

The room falls silent except for my ragged breathing and the steady beep of monitoring equipment. Creed’s face darkens with barely contained fury at being challenged, especially in front of me.

“Fine,” he finally concedes. “Maintain current levels, Cole. But I expect results.”

The extraction continues. Throughout it all, I feel Reeve’s eyes on me. Watching. Assessing. Not with the cold calculation I’ve come to expect, but with something more complex. More human. Which is odd, considering he’s part animal.

By the time they release me from the restraints, I’m trembling with exhaustion, sweat plastering my hair to my face. Blood trickles from my nose, as it always does. Hargen helps me sit up, his hand steady on my arm.

“Get her cleaned up,” Creed orders, already turning away. “I want feedback. Make sure it’s good this time.”

He stalks from the room, leaving me with Hargen and Reeve. An uncomfortable silence fills the space between us.

“Does this always happen?” Reeve asks, nodding toward the blood on my face.

“Only on good days,” I reply, voice hoarse from screaming.

His expression remains impassive, but I catch the slight tightening of his jaw.

“I’ll need a full briefing on extraction protocols, Cole. Including recovery procedures and maintenance schedules.” He inspects the equipment with meticulous attention. “Syndicate assets represent significant investment. Efficiency requires optimal conditions.”

His words are cold, but his eyes, when they briefly meet mine, are not.

“Yes, sir,” Hargen nods. “After Ms. Ross is returned to her quarters.”

Reeve nods once, crisp and professional. “Carry on, then. I’ll inspect the containment systems while you settle her.”

He turns to leave, his movements fluid and graceful. Just before he reaches the door, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. Our eyes meet again, and in that brief contact, something electric passes between us—a current of recognition that makes no sense.

Then he’s gone, leaving me with questions I can’t afford to ask aloud.

Back in my quarters, Hargen helps me to the small couch.

“You should rest,” he says, checking the injection site on my arm.

I close my eyes, feigning greater exhaustion than I feel. “New security chief seems thorough,” I murmur, keeping my tone casual. “More by-the-book than Matthews.”

Hargen’s hands pause momentarily. “He comes highly recommended. Military background.”

“Figured that much from the stick up his ass,” I say with just enough bite to sound dismissive. “Though he seemed concerned about damaging the goods.”

“Asset preservation is standard protocol,” Hargen replies carefully, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s noticed something, too.

“Well, as long as he keeps Creed from frying my brain, I suppose he can stick around.” I turn my face toward the window, watching Hargen’s reflection rather than looking at him directly. “Didn’t expect the hands-on approach, though.”

Hargen follows my gaze. “How do you mean?”

“The restraint check.” I shrug as if it’s nothing. “Matthews never bothered.”

“Different methods, different dragons.” Hargen’s voice is level, but I catch the subtle tension in his shoulders. “Try not to read too much into it, Lila. Change isn’t always significant.”

But we both know it is. Especially here.

“I’m tired,” I say instead of pushing further. No need to make Hargen suspicious of my interest. “That extraction took more out of me than usual.”

“Rest,” he agrees, professional distance returning as he moves toward the door. “I’ll check in on you later.”

After he leaves, I move to the window, pressing my cheek against the cool glass. My body aches, but my mind races with possibilities.

Allard Reeve. Security specialist. Dragon. Different.

My skin still tingles where his fingers brushed my wrist. That momentary connection—like a current passing between two live wires. Impossible, yet unmistakable.

I close my eyes, focusing past the pain to the tiny spark of something I’d almost forgotten.

Hope.

Dangerous, yes. Foolish, absolutely. Hope has no place in a cage like this.

But as I touch the hollow panel behind my bed, feeling the stored secrets of my prophecies, I can’t help wondering if the game has finally changed.

If Allard Reeve might be the catalyst I’ve been waiting for.

Or just another disappointment.

Only time will tell. And time, at least, is something I have plenty of.