Blinding white.
I throw up an arm, spots exploding across my vision. Luke’s hand leaves my wrist and finds my shoulder instead, pulling me back hard against the tunnel wall. His body shifts in front of mine—blocking, protecting—as footsteps echo from the other side.
Right in front of us. Multiple sets, moving fast.
“Look what just crawled out of the hole!” A voice cuts through the darkness. Male, triumphant, edged with something cruel.
My blood turns to ice.
The Syndicate.
Chapter 15
Luke
Light hits us instantly, stealing my sight for a second. My eyes water, adjusting too slowly to immediately see what’s in front of me. I shield my face with one arm, blood dripping from my torn palm, and reach for Ember with the other. Pull her behind me on pure instinct.
My vision clears in seconds. Dragon heritage compensating for the assault despite the suppression killing my power.
Fuck.
Syndicate operatives. Eight soldiers minimum, arranged in a perfect semicircle. Full combat gear: body armor, assault weapons, energy dampeners strapped to their thighs. Our only way out of here is blocked by the operatives.
Professional. Efficient. They know exactly what they’re doing.
Were they waiting for us here all along?
From behind them, a commander steps forward. Mid-forties, maybe. Graying at the temples. Confident posture: weightbalanced, hands relaxed at his sides, no weapon drawn. The kind of confidence that comes from having overwhelming force at your back.
“Two days we’ve been tracking your heat signatures.” His voice carries across the cave floor without him raising it. Practiced authority. “Every cave-in, every desperate scramble.” A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did you really think you could outrun us in our own mountains?”
My hand moves toward my sidearm. Muscle memory. Instinctive response to threat.
Three operatives shift aim instantly: center mass, professional spacing, fingers on triggers. They’ve done this before. They know how fast dragons move even without the shift.
The commander raises one hand. Casual. “Don’t. You’re exhausted, weak, and outnumbered. Be smart.”
My eyes cut back to Ember.
She’s frozen. Face pale in the harsh lights, eyes wide with the kind of fear that comes from recognizing you’ve walked into something you can’t fight your way out of. Her breathing comes too fast; shock setting in, cortisol crash hitting after hours of sustained terror.
I can smell her fear. Sharp and acrid beneath the stone dust coating both of us.
The decision crystallizes.
Get her out. Create an opening. Give her a chance to run.
I already lost Mara. I’m not losing Ember, too.
The thought still has guilt twisting in my gut. Mara died because I had to make a call. Because I knew that I couldn’t save them both, and Ember was the obvious choice.
Was she?
Of course she was, dammit.
If I could’ve gotten both women out of that flaming helicopter, I would have done it. Or died trying. Mara was unconscious,trapped in that twisted metal, and I had microseconds to make a decision.
I did the right thing.
