“They were potato crisps,” I call back. “In a fallout bag. You were making a noise.”
“And yet we all survived. Funny how that can happen when you’re not actually working in awar zone.”
“Everything is a war zone,” I mutter. She hasn’t lived in my world long enough to know this is a fact.
The sound of heels on concrete cuts through our conversation. Sharp. Deliberate. Moving fast.
I know that stride.
Vanya Arrowvane rounds the hangar like winter personified. Platinum blonde hair pulled back severe, long coat sweeping behind her, ice-blue eyes locked on me with dangerous focus.
Shit.
Mara mumbles something that definitely isn’t polite, echoing my thoughts.
Vanya stops three feet away. The temperature drops.
“Kenan.”
“Elder Arrowvane.” I keep my tone low. Deferential. The woman may no longer hold the position of the Ivory League’s most feared enforcer, but there’s more than a hint of theShadowhand in her bearing. She’d cut me a new smile below my chin if I looked at her wrong.
Her gaze slides past me to where Ember stands, then snaps back. When she speaks, her voice is soft. Controlled. That’s worse than shouting.
“My daughter is twenty-one years old. She has been training since childhood, but she’s never left North America, never seen real combat, never watched someone die.” One step closer. I force myself not to move. “If anything happens to her—if she comes home with so much as ascratchthat could have been prevented—you and I will have a conversation you won’t enjoy.”
“Mom!” Ember objects. Neither of us acknowledges her.
I hold Vanya’s stare. “Understood.”
“I don’t think you do.” Her smile is all teeth. “I have buried friends. I have burned enemies. But nothing I’ve done in my entire life would compare to what I’d do to protect my child. Are we clear?”
My dragon wants to bristle at the threat. I keep it leashed. The woman deserves my respect. “Crystal.”
Something passes behind her eyes—assessment, maybe approval—then she nods once and walks past me.
I’ve fought warlords and rogue dragons. I’ve bled in a dozen countries and killed things that live between nightmares.
But mothers are a different kind of terrifying.
“Well,” Mara says quietly. “That was fun. Feel adequately threatened?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She drains her coffee. “Keeps you sharp.”
“Seriously, Mom,” Ember huffs. “I’m not a child.”
“I know, darling. But you will always be my little girl,” her mother responds.
I watch Vanya pull Ember into a fierce embrace, catching fragments of low words—warnings mixed with endearments.Ember’s arms wrap tight around her mother, face buried against her shoulder. Something about the picture makes my chest ache.
I look away.
My own family is long gone. Clan wars took a high toll over the years. Something I’ve come to terms with. Still, watching displays like this leaves a pang.
When Vanya finally releases Ember, she says something that makes her laugh—watery but genuine. Then she turns and strides off without looking back.
Ember wipes her eyes and rejoins us, cheeks still flushed. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”
