“Stop vibrating,” Mara says without looking up. “You’re making the cabin anxious.”
“I’m not vibrating.”
“You’reabsolutelyvibrating. I can feel your excitement from here. It’s like sitting next to a hummingbird that shotgunned three Red Bulls.”
I force myself to sit back, but my knee won’t stop bouncing.
“Sorry. It’s just… this is huge. I mean, I’ve spent most of my life reading textbooks and going through simulation drills. And now we’re flying toRomaniato—”
“To clean up a mess,” Mara interrupts, finally glancing at me. Her bright eyes sparkle with something between amusement and sympathy. “Don’t get too starry-eyed, Nancy Drew. We’re basically paranormal janitors. ThinkMen in BlackmeetsThe Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Except instead of Will Smith, you get Captain Broody McScowl up there.” She jerks her thumb toward the front of the cabin.
“But it’simportantjanitorial service.”
“True.” She grins and tugs her headphones down around her neck. “Okay, crash course since His Frostiness won’t explain anything unless you submit a formal request in triplicate. Your job is to sweep the Carpathian foothills for residual magical signatures—Syndicate and the Sleeping King, specifically. After the skirmish in the caves, I’ve picked up chatter on the local news sites, so that will be where I focus my attention.”
“What type of chatter?” I frown.
“Mainly ‘unexplained forest fires’ and ‘strange lights and noises.’” Mara shrugs. “It hasn’t spread beyond that yet, but it’s only a matter of time before someone starts digging deeper and asks why there are dragon etchings in the rock formations. If it comes to that, I’ll spin it as an extension of the film setup we used in Seattle. Caleb’s given me carte blanche with the budget, so I can bring in some famous faces to give it more clout if I need to.”
“You really think people will buy that?”
“People will buy anything if you say it convincingly, and then repeat it enough times.” She waves a hand as if it’s no big deal.
“You mean like propaganda?”
“I prefer to think of it as damage control. To defend the greater good.” Mara makes woo-woo hands because clearly she’s not good at letting conversations get too serious. “The survival of dragons relies on keeping their existence a secret.”
My stomach tightens with excitement. “We’re protecting the secret.”
“Exactly.” She nods. “So, back to the mission: I’ll coordinate with local assets—humans who know just enough to be useful but not enough to be dangerous. When you’re not being a magical bloodhound, you’ll help me manage the digital footprint, make sure no drone footage or satellite images slip through the cracks.”
“Got it,” I say firmly, before slanting a look in the direction of our traveling companion. “And what about um… him?”
“Commander Personality will handle any physical traces and liaise with the European Council’s cleanup teams.” She pauses, her expression turning sly. “Fair warning: Luke doesn’t do small talk. Or medium talk. Or really any talk that isn’t mission-critical.”
I glance toward the front of the cabin again. Luke sits ramrod straight in practical workwear: black cargo pants, fitted long-sleeve shirt that does nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders, combat boots laced snugly. His sandy-blond hair catches the dim overhead light as he leans forward, studying something on a secure tablet. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his chin.
A glacier in tactical gear.
Except glaciers don’t have that kind of coiled energy, don’t hold themselves like they’re one wrong word away fromsnapping. There’s something about him that feels less like ice and more like fire locked behind steel.
“You’ve worked with him before, right?” I ask Mara, keeping my voice low. “What’s he like in the field?”
Her grin turns wicked. “You mean, is he as much of a hardass as he seems?”
“I mean, does he ever… lighten up?”
“Not that I’ve seen. But I’ve watched him work in ways that would make your jaw hit the floor.” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Two weeks ago, during the Seattle cleanup, we had a situation. News helicopter got footage of scaled wings against the skyline. Could’ve been a disaster. Luke didn’t just scrub the digital trail. He tracked down the journo who’d been on the chopper, spent three hours talking to her. I don’t know what he said, but she walked into her station the next morning and convinced her entire team the footage was a hoax. Deleted it herself.”
My breath catches. “How?”
“No idea. He won’t say. But whatever he did, it was surgical; no threats, no manipulation, just… persuasion.” She taps her temple. “There’s more going on in that icy brain than he lets on. Problem is, good luck getting him to show it. I’ve been trying to crack that shell for the past few weeks. Zero progress.”
“Maybe he charmed her?” I offer.
Mara snorts. “Hah! You’re not serious, right?”
I study him again, curiosity sparking hot in my chest. What does it take to convince someone to bury a story that could make their career? What kind of control—or charisma—does that require?
