I have to remind myself of that. My involvement doesn’t extend beyond professional obligation. She’s an asset. A responsibility.
Except that protective instinct has morphed into something I don’t want to identify when I imagine Syndicate interrogators getting their hands on her.
I stand abruptly and move away from the fire.
Need to clear my head. Need to scout the terrain and make sure we’re not easy targets for whoever’s hunting us.
The snow crunches under my boots as I climb higher along the ridge. Cold bites through my tactical vest despite the layers. Dawn arrives slowly, red bleeding into gray along the eastern horizon, thin light creeping between snow-heavy cliffs.
Beautiful in the way harsh things can be.
From the vantage point, I scan the valley. Forest rolls away in every direction, dark green broken by white and gray stone. The crash site is visible as a charred wound through the trees; black against white, thin smoke still rising.
Then I see it.
Movement.
I focus, drawing on the limited dragon sense that remains in me. Enhanced sight, sharper than human, even if I can’t fully shift.
Black figures. Six. Maybe seven. Moving through snow in tight formation.
Not rescuers. Rescuers move erratically, calling out, spreading wide to cover ground. These men move like military. Coordinated. Deliberate. Efficient.
Syndicate.
They’re already combing the grid, sweeping toward the crash site with precision that comes from training and resources. They’re not just looking for wreckage. They’re hunting survivors.
Mara’s already lost—dead or captured—either way, beyond help. If they find Ember…
Ice settles in my gut. Not panic. Calculation.
Not going to happen.
I commit their movements to memory. Patrol patterns. Spacing. Equipment visible even from this distance. There’s a row of snowmobiles near the treeline.
I retreat carefully, making sure not to dislodge loose rock or create sound that might carry.
Ember is awake when I return to camp.
She’s sitting with her back against the boulder, my coat pulled tight around her shoulders. She looks cold and small and defiant all at once, stubborn pride keeping her upright despite exhaustion written in every line of her body.
Her eyes find mine immediately. Direct. Unafraid.
“What’s wrong?”
Sharp. No pretense. I appreciate that more than I should.
“We’ve got company.” I keep my voice low and even. “Syndicate team. Combing the ridge.”
Her face tightens, but she doesn’t fall apart. Just nods once and starts to stand, testing the ankle with a wince she tries to hide.
My chest constricts watching her push through pain without complaint.
“How’s the ankle?” I cross to her, movements controlled despite the urge to close the distance faster.
“Functional.” She tests her weight, flinching but staying upright. “Where do we go?”
“East along the cliff line. There are caves—old tunnels from centuries back. We can lose them in there.”
