Page 75 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

A wet cough, then a rasping laugh leaves Valous.

“Have you tried a map?” Another brutal impact.

The walls tremble—another grunt escapes him.

A painting crashes to the ground in our room.

Nida catches her breath, fear filling her eyes as her hands curl over her mouth. Even my own heart jumps in my chest.

“I’m not here to play games, rat. Is he here?”

“Here?” Valous spits the word like a curse. “Please. That man has standards.” There’s a beat of silence. Then a choking groan rips from Valous’s throat.

“Shame your ears can’t get clipped more,” Berim mutters coldly. Heavy boots creak over the wood floor. Keys jangle at his belt, metal plates scrape as he moves. I press against the door, breath caught in my lungs, straining to make sense of what’s happening on the other side.

“We need to get out of here,” I whisper, turning to Nida. Her eyes stray to her leg. “I’ll carry you,” I say, dragging her close to me. “We can slip through the back door.”

“What about Valous?” Her voice shakes as her eyes dart toward the door. “We can’t just leave him. There’s people here.”

I grunt. For the first time, I don’t know what to do. I realize that to get out of this mess, I can’t come with her.

“Listen,” I say, cupping her face. “Get yourself through the back door. Find a place to lay low, then I’ll come find you.”

“But Zel—”

“Do as I say!” I snap. Without hesitation, she limps to the back door. I follow her, glancing behind the door, ensuring she’s using the shadows of the night to get herself out. She’s barely visible. Good.

I’ll find you.

I close the back door behind me, taking a breath—then the room’s entrance bursts open, Berim surging through.

“Found you,” he says, a wild grin on his mouth.

He dives for me. I twist, barely ducking his first swing, and drive my elbow toward his ribs.

He grunts but doesn’t stop. His hand grabs my shoulder, and before I can shake him off, he slams me into the wall.

The breath rushes out of me. I throw a punch—it lands, but it’s sloppy.

He catches my arm, yanks it behind my back, and kicks my legs out from under me.

In seconds, I’m facedown, his knee pinning me there.

His grip tightens like iron. Then Berim drags me to my feet.

A towering figure stands in the doorway. Grogol .

“I really thought you’d understand, Kazele.

” He sighs as he enters with slow, deliberate steps, disappointment edging every word.

“I tempered you like steel, honed you for the moment the world would kneel—and now you raise that blade against the very hand that forged it. I gave you purpose. Discipline . Power. You were never meant to stand in my way—you were meant to stand at my side.”

“I will never stand by your side,” I hiss, baring my teeth at him. Hoping. Praying that the power I have will rip through me once more. But it doesn’t come. It doesn’t come. Why doesn’t it?

Grogol’s eyes stray to the back door. Akylas emerges through it—with Nida held by her hair, a dagger gleaming beneath her throat.

My heart lurches, a sudden surging of adrenaline surges through my body as my eyes snap to Nida’s bleeding leg—the wound wide open.

I rip my arm from Berim’s grip, but he slams his boot into the back of my knee, sending me crashing down.

Before I can recover, he wraps his arm around my neck, hauling me back up as I claw uselessly at his arm, choking, gasping, thrashing.

Where the fuck is the power when I need it?

Nida lets out a soft whimper, and our eyes lock.

Grogol chuckles, a cruel sound that slithers down my spine.

The type of sound I never thought would ever come from him.

He casts a glance over his shoulder at Nida, then turns to me, eyes gleaming with mockery.

“This is hardly what I’ve trained you for,” he says with a low voice, laced with disappointment and disgust.

I snarl, fury flooding my veins. “Hard to lie your way to loyalty,” I spit, fingers digging into Berim’s arm until my knuckles go white.

One mistake. One tiny slip of Akylas’ and Berim’s guard, and I could kill all three of them on the spot.

I have no weapons on me, so I scan the room.

Nails, splintered pieces of wood from the table Valous’ was rammed in, broken shards from supposedly historical vases Cashmere adored so much.

All could be used to gouge Grogol’s eyes out and slit his throat.

Or I could just use my bare hands. But the squeezing sensation at my throat tells me otherwise. It tells me to calm down.

Grogol takes calculated steps toward me, his gaze not meeting mine until he’s close enough to pierce me with it. His gaze not meeting mine until he’s close enough to pierce me with his disappointment. Resentment.

He grabs my face, a low growl forming at his throat.

“Look at you,” he snarls, teeth clenched like he’s about to rip my throat out.

“Reduced to a mere soldier just like the rest of them.” He lets go, like touching me any longer might stain him.

Then he turns, not with fury, but with something colder—finality.

No yelling. No curse. Just that silence that says I expected more.

“No matter,” he mutters. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a vial and an injector.

I thrash, trying to break free of Berim’s grip, but it’s no use. Grogol’s either going to kill me, or that’s going to wipe everything that happened. And I’m not sure what it’ll do to my body the second time. I’m not going to let that fucking happen.

With a deep breath, I twist my wrist enough to free myself, pain surging through my entire arm.

I kick the vial out of Grogol’s hand. He grunts, roars, but I’m not going to let him get away with this.

I lunge for Grogol’s throat, but a sudden strike to the back of my head knocks me off balance.

I drop to my knees, and darkness swallows me.