That were claws minutes ago.
“The attackers…” I say.
“Are gone. Our men will check the outskirts to be sure.”
I nod, not quite content, but too overwhelmed to push further on it.
“You have questions,” Dragana says. Not asking.
I tear my gaze from my hands. Meet her wizened eyes.
“What am I?”
She studies me. Then: “What do you think you are?”
The word sticks in my throat. Impossible. Insane.
But undeniable.
“Dragon,” I force out.
“Yes.” She nods once. Satisfied. “Gold dragon. The old blood. The strongest line.” Her gaze drops to Mara. “You shifted to protect her.”
Not a question. An observation.
I look down at Mara. At the woman who ran from me because I called her another woman’s name.
The woman I just killed for.
The woman whose fear I felt in my chest like it was my own.
“I don’t understand,” I say quietly. “Any of this.”
“You will.” Dragana moves toward the door. Pauses. “Sleep now. Tomorrow, you remember more.”
She leaves before I can ask what that means.
I’m alone with Mara and questions that have no answers.
I settle onto the floor beside her pallet. Too wired to sleep. Too overwhelmed to think clearly.
My hand finds hers automatically. Her fingers small and warm against my palm.
I stare at our joined hands. Human hands.
But mine were claws tonight.
Wings.
The memory floods back—wind beneath scales, the power of flight, the absolute certainty of what I was in that moment.
Dragon.
I’m a dragon.
The truth should terrify me.
Instead, it feels like the first solid ground I’ve stood on since waking in these mountains.
