“I imagine that a lot of what I learned will align with what you know,” I say to him. “Just more updated. I think they’ve changed some planning since their first attempts to wake the Sleeping King went pear-shaped.”
“Pear-shaped is an understatement,” Iris mutters. “I was there. They were totally unprepared for what they were about to unleash.”
“The Sleeping King,” I say. “Did you see him yourself?”
“I’m not sure what I saw,” she says. “You told us about the dreams, but I think they may have been symbolic. When we were in those chambers, the ritual was centered around a huge statue.”
“Not a person?” I say. “Or a dragon?”
She shakes her head. “No. I think the carvings were a representation of the Sleeping King. The legends we’ve been told are vivid and colorful, but I think the reality is more pragmatic. The last king was laid to rest in a place that gathered immense power.”
“That’s what they’re tapping into,” says Kieran. “That power source. It’s concentrated in that mountain.”
I gnaw on my lip. “I’ll admit, it feels alive. Like some sort of sentient force. I know that’s what helped me when I went into that place. Helped Luke too…when he saved me from…” I trail off. My fingers knot together as I speak, the skin around my nails still raw and torn from my escape attempts.
Kieran leans forward, tension visible in the set of his shoulders, in the way his knuckles whiten as he grips his knees.
“I lived with their bullshit for three years,” he says, his voice flat, controlled. “I know exactly what you went through.”
I see the shadows lurking behind his eyes. The same shadows I feel taking root in me. The air between us thickens with shared trauma.
He straightens and rolls his shoulders, as if shaking it off.
“They have a system—tracking bloodlines, monitoring power signatures, building genealogies.” He pulls a folded packet from his jacket, pages of cramped writing, diagrams, maps. The paper is worn at the edges, as though he’s unfolded and refolded it countless times. “I wrote down as much as I could. Guard rotations, facility layouts, command structure.”
His fingers trace the lines of a diagram that I recognize as the compound where they held me. The sight of it makes mystomach clench, a visceral reaction to seeing the space of my nightmares mapped out so precisely.
Iris watches him with a mixture of pride and worry. “Kieran’s been compiling it since we got him out. Obsessed with taking them down.”
“Can you blame me?” He glances at her. “I very nearly became part of their nightmare.”
I examine his notes, recognizing some of the same details I saw when I went in.
“This is really in-depth,” I tell him. “And a lot of it is the same as what I saw there. We’ll be able to corroborate details.”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” he agrees. “If we compare notes, we’ll be able to figure out exactly what to expect.”
“You think we can stop them?” I ask. It’s something that’s been nagging at me. The Aurora Collective is well-funded and organized, but it’s nowhere near as vast and entrenched as the Syndicate is.
“I know we can. If Aurora moves fast enough.” His certainty is contagious. “And with what you’ve come back with, I’m pretty sure it’s going to give Viktor and his team the incentive they need to get on this as soon as possible. What you’ve given us could turn the tide.”
I feel it then, a shift inside me; I’m not just some sheltered girl anymore, hidden away for my own protection. I’m part of something larger, something vital. My risk, my pain, my capture—it mattered. For the first time, the fire inside me feels less like a curse and more like a weapon I was meant to wield.
Kieran stands, his expression softening slightly. “Thank you. For being brave enough to go back there.”
His words settle on my skin like a balm, acknowledgment of what I endured, what I risked. Not as Vanya’s daughter, but as myself. As Ember.
After they leave, I sit alone again, turning over Kieran’s words. His acknowledgment feels strangely validating, like the first real breath after being underwater too long. For the first time since my return, I feel stronger. More certain.
The feeling lasts until the next knock comes, sharper, more commanding. The sound resonates through the room, too loud.
“Ember, we need to finalize the San Juan arrangements.” My mother’s voice, cool and controlled. I fight down a frustrated sigh.
“Coming, Mom.” I open the door to find my mother flanked by Hargen. The two people who’ve decided my life is too precious to risk, too valuable to leave in my own hands.
My mother strides in without waiting for an invitation. Hargen follows more hesitantly, his gaze skittering away from mine when our eyes meet. My mother’s posture is perfect, as always, her pale hair swept into its customary sleek style, her expression brisk but not unkind.
“I’ve secured the location,” she says. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
