Another beat. “And you’re young. Early twenties at most.”
The commander catches on, excitement bleeding into his voice: “The defection. When the Shadowhand defected to the Aurora Collective—”
“She took her daughter with her,” the senior officer finishes. “A daughter born years before, kept secret from the Ivory League.”
He leans close now, voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Vanya Arrowvane didn’t just betray the Syndicate. She protected you.” A pause that feels like falling. “Her forbidden child.”
My throat closes. I can’t speak. Can’t deny. Can’t do anything but sit here while they dissect my entire life.
“The Shadowhand had a lover,” he continues, almost conversational. “Someone outside her bloodline, her race. Someone with Rossewyn heritage.”
The commander’s realization comes fast: “Hargen Cole. The Rossewyn male.”
The senior officer nods, satisfaction radiating from him. “Dragon mother. Rossewyn-descended father. Hidden for twenty-one years.”
The commander starts to laugh. “Ember fucking Arrowvane.”
“Elder Vex is going to want a reunion with you, pretty freak.”
My breath catches. The last time I saw the man, he was crawling through flames I’d just unleashed at him. I doubt I’m going to receive a warm welcome.
His smile widens. “The Ivory League has been hunting hybrids. Purification Protocol. And you…” He gestures at me like I’m a prize. “You’re practically their queen.”
Ice floods my system. Every nightmare my mother warned me about, every reason she kept me hidden. It’s all coming true.
They’ll display me. Torture me. Execute me. Proof that hybrids must be purged.
But I don’t let them see my fear. I lean back in the chair, forcing mockery into my tone.
“Congratulations. You figured out I have complicated parents. Want a medal?” I meet his eyes directly. “My mother will burn this facility to the ground for touching me.”
His cold smile doesn’t waver. “Your mother is a fugitive with a price on her head. She has no power here.”
My composure cracks. “Where’s Luke?”
The commander answers dismissively: “The dragon is in holding. For now.”
“What does that mean?”
The senior officer’s tone is matter-of-fact, clinical: “It means he’s served his purpose. Once we’ve confirmed your transfer to headquarters, he’ll be disposed of.”
A pause that crushes my chest. “We have no use for yet another rogue dragon. Execution is scheduled for dawn.”
The words send me reeling. Not interrogation. Not leverage.
Execution.
Luke—who saved me, protected me, fought for me—will die at dawn and I can’t do a damned thing to help him.
“You can’t—” My voice cracks.
“We can. And we will.” The senior officer straightens, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “You, however, will be transported to Syndicate headquarters within the hour. The Ivory League will be eager to meet you.”
The commander adds, almost pleased: “Your mother caused a lot of trouble for the Syndicate. I imagine she’ll be interested to know that we have you.”
Then they’re gone. The door slams shut with a finality that echoes in my bones.
Guards outside. I hear their boots, their low voices. The cuffs hum louder, suppression tightening like a vise around whatever power remains.
