The math is brutal and simple.
Logical.
Sound.
But Ember’s face—the way she looked at me in the caves when I said I’d get her out, when she trusted me to keep her alive despite every reason not to—that’s not simple at all.
That’s three days of her following my lead without hesitation. Of her sleeping pressed against my chest because I told her she needed the warmth. Three days of fire in her eyes, even when her magic was gone and everything was falling apart.
Three days of me failing her anyway.
Mara trusted me too. Followed my orders. Believed I’d keep her safe.
She died on my watch.
Because I let go of her.
My hand’s still on the door mechanism. Still hovering. Still wanting to choose wrong because choosing right means walking away from the first person in decades who looked at me like I was more than a weapon that councils point at problems.
But once again, I can see exactly how it would go.
Break the lock—thirty seconds, maybe forty without proper tools. The cuffs need to be disabled—another two minutes minimum, and that’s if I can figure out Syndicate suppression tech without a manual. Then we run. Through unfamiliar corridors. Past guards I haven’t counted. Toward exits I’m not sure exist.
We’d make it maybe three corridors before alarms scream through every level.
Maybe four if luck exists and decides to care.
Then it’s over. Both of us in restraints. Both of us dead by dawn. Just two corpses in an incinerator and Vanya getting notification that her daughter’s dead.
Because of me.
Alternative: I leave now. Find a safe place to wait until a better opportunity presents itself at a time when I’m prepared for it.
Give her a real chance instead of a desperate gamble.
Logic says wait.
But every part of me that isn’t logic says,“Save her. Take her with you now.”
My forehead drops against the cold glass. Breath fogging the surface.
She still hasn’t looked up. Still doesn’t know I’m here. Doesn’t know I’m free.
Doesn’t know I’m about to walk away and leave her here alone.
My dragon—if he were still here—would be roaring. Demanding I break through this door and damn the consequences. Fire doesn’t calculate odds. Fire just burns.
But I’m only human now.
And humans can’t fight through fortified facilities on willpower and broken ribs.
It makes perfect sense.
My chest is splitting open anyway.
One more second. One more look at her through reinforced glass.
I memorize everything: the exact angle of her shoulders, the way her hands are positioned in those cuffs, the number on the door, the corridor configuration. Every detail I’ll need to find her again when I come back.
