Then he’s gone, disappearing into the treeline with that silent, confident ease.
I count to sixty after he vanishes, making sure he’s truly gone. Then I move.
I grab the small pack I’ve been carrying and check its contents: knife, compact first-aid kit, the stolen Syndicate radio Luke took from the transport. I leave most of the supplies behind; if things go well, I won’t need them. If they don’t— I’m not going to think about that.
I grab a scrap of paper and pen from the emergency kit and scrawl a quick note:
Luke—
I’m sorry. I can’t sit back while others die because I did nothing.
If I don’t make it back, tell my mother I love her.
And tell her you tried to stop me.
—E
I weigh the note in my hand, almost don’t leave it. But he deserves to know I chose this. That it’s not his failure. I set it on his pack where he’ll find it immediately.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, I look back once. Our supplies are arranged with military precision. Evidence of his care, his competence, his absolute refusal to let anything happen to me.
Part of me wants to stay. To be safe. To let him protect me the way he’s been trying to.
But the larger part—the part that’s Vanya’s daughter, the part that survived three days in hell—knows I have to do this.
He’ll be furious. Frantic. He might never forgive me.
But I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try.
I turn southwest and start jogging. I don’t look back again.
Navigating by memory and instinct, I retrace the route from clearing to lodge, then lodge to the facility. Without Luke, the forest feels different. Bigger. More hostile. Every snapped twig makes me freeze; every distant sound could be pursuit.
My dragon stirs weakly inside me, still suppressed, but the closer I get to the facility, the more I feel it trying to surface.
That’s when I realize the tomb’s power drain is directional, strongest near the source. Moving away from the heart of the mountains has my magic slowly returning. That might be why it sparked when I was being held in custody.
Not full strength, but enough to feel the difference. A tiny flame sparks between my fingers, flickers, holds for three seconds, dies.
Progress.
As I continue, I realize I’m getting stronger. Strong enough to use my magic. I weave a small masking spell, weak, but enough to hide me. It’ll keep Luke off my track if he’s following me, and maybe help me get into the facility.
As I move, I refine my approach.
I’ll start with reconnaissance. Get close enough to observe without being detected. The facility is built into the mountain. I remember steel buildings, concrete floors, exposed rock. The Syndicate’s focus will be on tomb operations; facility security might be lighter.
Then I’ll try to gain access. I heard from Elena and Caleb that my bloodline opened doors before when she accessed the Heartstone’s vault. Maybe Rossewyn heritage canbypass Syndicate security too…magical locks keyed to dragon bloodlines. It’s a gamble. But everything about this is a gamble.
Once I’m in—ifI get in—I’ll gather intelligence. I don’t need to sabotage anything or confront anyone. Just listen. Observe. Memorize. Get proof of what they’re planning. Dates, methods, targets. Then get out before anyone realizes I was there.
Which would lead to the final step: escape. Retrace my route back to the extraction point. Luke will be there. Furious, but there. And I’ll have intelligence that saves lives.
It has to be worth the risk. It has to be.
An hour of hard hiking brings me within sight of the compound. I crouch in the treeline, studying the layout. The place looks different in the light of day; a mound of steel and concrete jutting from the mountainside, utilitarian and cold.
The perimeter fence hums with magical reinforcement, but there are fewer guards than I expected; most personnel must be at the tomb site, or out searching for me, as I expected. Lights burn in only a few sections; the rest remain dark and quiet.
