High on the ridge, partially hidden behind snow-burdened branches.
A wolf.
Silver-gray fur dusted with ice. Compact build, powerful shoulders. Eyes reflecting pale light even at this distance.
Watching the convoy.
Watching me.
The world stops.
Everything—the convoy’s motion, the guards’ breathing, my own carefully controlled existence—grinds to a halt.
My body knows something my mind refuses to accept.
The heat in my chest detonates outward, unstoppable as wildfire. My dragonfire roars to life, no longer content to simmer beneath discipline. It wants freedom. Wants to burn until nothing exists except this connection searing itself into place.
No.
This can’t be happening. Whatever this is—whatever biological trigger my dragon half is responding to—it’s wrong. Mistaken. Some evolutionary misfire.
But my body doesn’t care about logic. It only knows that something on that ridge has locked onto me with the same intensity I feel burning through my veins.
As quickly as it appeared, the wolf vanishes.
One moment it’s there, eyes fixed on the convoy. The next—gone, melted back into shadow and snow like it was never real.
But the heat remains. Branded into my bones. A connection I can’t sever even as I try to reason it away.
Matthew is staring at me. So is the young guard. Both have their hands on their weapons.
“What the hell was that?” the young guard asks.
“Nothing.” I force my breathing to steady. Force the fire back down through sheer will.
“Your eyes—” He stops. Swallows. “They were glowing.”
“Dragon physiology.” I keep my voice level despite the inferno still raging beneath my skin. “Stress response. It’s under control.”
It’s not under control.
Nothing about this is under control.
Matthew studies me for a moment, then signals the young guard to lower his rifle. “We’ll report it at the next checkpoint.”
“Understood.”
They don’t relax. Smart. I wouldn’t either.
I turn back to the window and watch my breath fog against the glass.
Something’s changed. Some variable I didn’t account for. A wolf on the ridge shouldn’t register as anything more than wildlife. Shouldn’t make my dragonfire react like it’s encountered something it recognizes.
Shouldn’t make me feel like I’ve just found something I didn’t know I was missing.
The sensation settles—reluctant, restless—back to warmth beneath my skin.
But it waits.
