“I can’t talk about it right now, Mom.”
“Of course.” She squeezes my hand. “I don’t blame you. You must be shattered.” Her lips pinch together. “I know I am. When we thought we’d lost you…”
Hargen squeezes her shoulder when her voice breaks. “It’s all over now, angel,” he tells her. “She’s back. She’s safe.”
My mom nods. “It just took so long.” She glances at me. “We got here the day after you went down, sent search parties, but it’s been a nightmare.” Her voice rises, and she catches herself. “The Syndicate presence made it impossible to scout the mountains properly. And for some reason, none of us was able to harness our powers.”
I glance at her sharply. “You couldn’t reach your dragons?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “We were practically human.”
“It happened to us, too,” I tell her. “We’d hoped to shift that first night, but we couldn’t.”
“Really?” She cocks her head.
“Yes. It was like the mountain drained us.”
“Interesting,” says my father. “I think it’s something we should raise with Parlance and the others when we get back to Aurora.”
“I agree,” says my mother. “But for now, I think our daughter needs to rest.”
I manage a wan smile. “You’re right. I could use the world’s longest nap,” I say. But my eyes keep drifting to the back of thehelicopter, seeking Luke across the cabin, drawn by a pull I can’t explain or resist.
Mid-flight, his gaze finally lifts, finds mine through the dim interior. Our eyes lock for three heartbeats. Everything we can’t say passes in that look:What now? What happens when we land?The connection between us hums, almost visible—at least to me. Something more than physical, more than emotional. Something that feels like destiny, though I’ve never believed in such things.
Then Caleb says something; Luke’s attention breaks away, back to the conversation I can’t hear.
My chest aches with a loss I have no right to feel. My dragon half stirs restlessly beneath my skin, missing his proximity, his touch.
When the helicopter lands in Bucharest, a medical team checks me over quickly, confirming what I already know: sprained ankle, minor injuries, nothing serious, cleared for transport.
Across the landing zone, Luke boards the waiting plane with Caleb and Dorian. He doesn’t look back at me, not once, as he climbs the steps. But I see the way his hand pauses momentarily on the railing, as if fighting the urge to turn.
On the flight to Seattle, Mom insists I sit with her and Hargen in the main cabin. Luke, Caleb, and Dorian take the rear seats, separated by a bulkhead, just out of earshot. I strain to hear their conversation but catch only fragments: mission parameters, intelligence assessment, extraction protocols.
Hargen distracts me with gentle questions about the caves, the Syndicate facility, my injuries. But my attention keeps drifting to the partition separating me from Luke, wondering what he’s saying. Wondering if he’s thinking about me at all. Wondering if he feels this strange connection, too, or if it was just another mission parameter for him.
When we finally land in Seattle, we transfer to waiting vehicles. My mother guides me toward one SUV with a firm hand on my elbow. Across the tarmac, Luke is directed to another vehicle with the Cravens.
Our eyes meet one last time—brief, loaded with everything unsaid. A thousand questions neither of us can ask here. His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they had in the mountains. For a moment, I see scales at his throat—his dragon reacting to mine; our powers are slowly returning. Then the car doors close, and he’s gone from view.
Three days ago, being separated from him wouldn’t have mattered.
Now it feels like missing a piece of my soul.
Chapter 24
Luke
I sit across from Caleb and Dorian in the main cabin of the Aurora private jet. The sleek interior, with its leather seats and low lighting, should feel like relief after days on the run. But the hum of engines can’t drown out the tension humming between us.
They’ve given me clean clothes, medical attention, an energy drink to combat the exhaustion. All the comforts of civilization that should make me feel human again.
Instead, I feel exposed. Raw. Like my scales have been peeled back one by one, leaving nothing but vulnerable flesh beneath.
The dragon inside me—dormant for days under the Syndicate’s suppression field—now stirs restlessly. His presence brings physical relief but emotional complication. Because dragons don’t forget. Dragons don’t rationalize. Dragons recognize their mates with an instinct older than civilization.
And mine recognizes Ember.
