My heart stutters. I turn to find Luke standing there. There’s a small cut healing on his jawline that I don’t remember from our time together, and a bandage on his temple. His scent washesover me, triggering a cascade of sensory memories that I shove away.
He looks serious. Controlled. Every wall back in place. And still gorgeous in a way that makes my chest ache and my power surge. The lights in the hallway dim momentarily as my magic reaches for his, an unconscious reaction I can’t quite control.
Luke’s eyes widen slightly as he senses the fluctuation. He stands very still. The air between us feels electrified. But then, it always does.
“We need to talk.” Four simple words, but the weight behind them makes my stomach twist. His voice is deeper than usual, rougher. It resonates through me, stirring both my dragon and witch into greater awareness.
I force steadiness into my voice. “Sure. What’s up?”
He glances around the corridor; too public, too many eyes and ears. His gaze lingers on the security camera in the corner, then returns to mine with new intensity.
“Not here. My quarters. Twenty minutes?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Luke turns and walks away without another word. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t offer any reassurance or hint about what he wants to say. Just that serious expression and retreating back.
I watch him go, conflict roiling inside me. Part of me—the rational, self-protective part—screams to ignore his invitation, to avoid the pain that’s surely coming. He’s going to tell me it was a mistake. That we can’t do this. That his guilt or my mother or the age difference makes it impossible.
But another part of me, the part that felt alive in his arms in a way I never had before, can’t stay away.
The two sides war within me, my hybrid nature a perfect reflection of my divided heart. Dragon instinct urges me to claim what I want, consequences be damned. Witch caution warnsof binding myself to someone who might not fully want the connection.
I take a deep breath, attempting to center my magic as the hallway lights continue to respond to my turmoil. My future feels balanced on a knife’s edge, with forces pulling me in opposite directions: my mother’s protection, Luke’s hesitation, and my own desperate desire to make my own choices, however painful they might be.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to decide if I’m brave enough to face whatever truth he wants to tell me.
I square my shoulders and head toward my room. Whatever Luke has to say, I’ll face it with the same courage that got me through the Syndicate facility. Even if I can’t survive hearing it, I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try.
Chapter 27
Luke
My temporary quarters at Aurora HQ feel like a prison cell, and I can’t wait for things to normalize so I can return home to my clan. This is functional but soulless; standard issue for operatives without permanent residence. A single bed, desk, and attached bathroom. Through the window, the training yard below buzzes with activity: recruits running drills under the harsh fluorescent lights that Aurora uses everywhere. The artificial brightness makes my eyes ache in a way natural light never does, a reminder of how my immortal physiology differs from humans.
I check my watch. Five minutes since I asked Ember to meet me here. Five minutes that feel like a lifetime.
I pace the narrow confines, rehearsing what I want to say, but the words keep rearranging themselves. I’ve conducted briefings for operations that determined impossible situations. I’ve negotiated with entities older than recorded history. I’vemade life-or-death decisions that would haunt most men to their graves.
And I can’t figure out how to tell a twenty-one-year-old woman that I’m falling for her without sounding like exactly what Vanya thinks I am.
Desperate.
Delusional.
Too damn old.
The skin on my forearms prickles, my body’s warning system activating. Centuries of survival have honed my senses beyond human capability. Someone’s approaching. My heartbeat slows automatically, an ancient response preparing me for threat. But I know her footsteps, light but determined. The way her energy signature buzzes against my awareness, bright and chaotic—fire personified.
The knock comes, three soft taps that might as well be thunder.
I open the door. Ember stands in the hallway, showered, wearing clean Aurora-issue clothes that hang slightly too big on her small frame. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders. The bruise on her cheekbone has darkened; medics have put a butterfly bandage over the cut on her cheek.
She looks fragile and brave all at once, and something in my throat constricts at the sight of her. But her expression is guarded, braced for bad news. I see it immediately; she’s expecting rejection. The realization twists something sharp inside me.
“Come in. Please.”
She steps inside, and I close the door behind her. We stand awkwardly, two feet apart with oceans of uncertainty between us. The air between us vibrates—that strange magnetic pull that’s been there since the beginning, only stronger now.
