I nodded once. I didn't owe him an explanation; he wasn't a friend. My only friend in this place died a few hundred feet above Berlin, years ago. Normal humans weren't my friends. Still, in an effort to keep it civil, I said, "Yeah. I am."
Carter stared at me like I'd confessed murder. "Jesus, man," he breathed. "You're serious."
I walked away. I didn't trust myself to stay.
I'd barely turned the next corner when a figure stepped out of an alleyway. The man in the gray suit. The CIA agent. He smiled like a wolf. Little did he know that my dragon would swallow him whole if he stood in my way. "Captain Griffin. Been looking for you."
A chill moved down my spine. "I'm off-duty."
"But your other half," he said quietly, "never is."
That froze me. He couldn't possibly know.
"What are you talking about?" I said carefully.
He stepped into my space, voice soft but razor-sharp. "The dragon, Captain. The one you're barely keeping leashed."
Said dragon tried its hardest to come through my chest and devour the man threatening us. Heat rippled under my skin. I scanned the street, empty except for dust and a distant jackhammer.
"You're out of your damn mind," I snarled.
He smirked. He stepped closer—too close—and lowered his voice. "You think we don't know what you are, Captain?"
My spine went rigid. "Back. Off."
His smile cut like a knife. "Saxony. April '45. Ring any bells?"
Ice slid down my ribs. "Don't," I warned, not liking the images creeping up inside me.
"Two German fighter aces filed identical reports about an American plane."
He tapped his temple. "Yourplane."
My breath locked.
"They swore—swore under oath—you leaned out your cockpit window and spewed fire at the Messerschmitt that shot yourfriend down."
My heart slammed against my ribs hard enough to bruise. I fought the urge to close my eyes. I could almost smell the smoke from Mark's plane as it spiraled down. Down, down, down. The cockpit was in flames; he never had a chance to get out.
"Funny thing?" the CIA man went on. "Your crew chief filed something similar. Said he saw your cockpit glow like a furnace. Said the heat coming off you warped metal."
"That's bullshit," I snapped, but I was sure my eyes flared.
He studied me with a predator's patience. "Is it?"
A pulse of heat shot up my throat, unwelcome, instinctive.
I swallowed it hard. "Those were combat hallucinations," I ground out. "Fog of war. Grief. People saw what they wanted to see."
He shook his head slowly. "No, Captain. People saw what theyfearedthey saw."
My hands curled into fists.
"Mark Avery died that day," he said softly. "You think we don't know how close you were? You think we don't track anomalies when soldiers snap?"
I stepped forward, barely keeping the dragon under my skin.
"Say his name again," I growled, "and see what happens."
