Kieran blinks. “Wait. You—”
I guess not everyone knows that I threw a fit and stormed out.
“Everyone knows she brought him in,” Luke says carefully. His dragon senses are reading me like a book. “That’s what matters.”
“Must have been difficult,” Ember adds. The witch side of her hybrid heritage makes her sensitive to emotional currents, and right now mine are probably screaming. She’s giving me space to deflect or answer honestly.
“It was a survival situation,” I say, keeping my voice level. Professional. “There was a Syndicate attack on the convoy he was in. I got him out, we found shelter, then I brought him in.”
My wolf paces. She doesn’t like the clinical summary. Doesn’t like reducing our experience to an emotionless report.
She wants more.
I ignore her.
“And now the Council has granted him sanctuary,” Ember says. There’s understanding in her tone. Her mother defectedfrom the Syndicate not long ago; she knows what it means to believe someone can change sides.
Kieran’s fork clatters against his plate. “I can’t believe they actually did it. Granted sanctuary to one ofthem.”
The table goes quiet.
“They torture people,” Kieran continues. His voice is low but intense. “Brainwash them. Turn them into weapons. I spent years—” He stops. Swallows hard. “He’s Syndicate. That doesn’t just go away.”
“Some people realize they’re on the wrong side,” Ember says gently. “My mother did. She defected. Brought me with her. Aurora welcomed us too.”
“That’s different.” Kieran meets her eyes. “She had a child. A reason to leave. What’s his reason? Convenience? Got caught doing something and needs protection?”
“He has intelligence on Vex’s hybrid experiments.” The words come out clipped. Too defensive. I dial it back. “That’s what formed the Council’s decision.”
Kieran’s expression shutters. He knows about Vex’s experiments. Probably feels guilty about that too.
“I’m sorry,” I add quietly. “I know this is difficult for you.”
He nods once. Doesn’t speak. Goes back to pushing food around his plate.
My wolf won’t settle. She’s agitated now. Protective. She doesn’t like Kieran’s pain, but also doesn’t like defending Jericho to people who matter.
Mara breaks the tension. “So what’s he like? Tall, dark, and brooding? Does he do that thing where he stares into the distance, looking tortured by his past?”
“Mara,” I say. Warning.
“I’m just curious! You spent days with the guy. Longest interaction any of us has had with a Syndicate commander. What’s your read?”
Everyone’s watching me now. Waiting.
What’s my read? That he’s dangerous and controlled and centuries of discipline barely contains what’s underneath? That his fire feels like coming home? That when he kissed me, I forgot every reason I should hate him?
I realize I’m pressing my thighs together. Muscle memory. The phantom taste of dragon and want.
I shift in my seat. Keep my breathing even.
“He’s…” I search for words that aren’t lies but aren’t the whole truth. “Professional. Military. Follows protocol. If his intelligence is accurate, then he’s a valuable asset.”
Luke is still watching me. Reading something in my expression that I’m trying to hide.
“But do you trust him?” Kieran asks. Direct. Challenging.
Do I trust Jericho? I don’t know. I barely know him. Shared survival doesn’t build trust. It builds something else. Something complicated and messy and utterly inappropriate given everything he’s done.
