The hardware store clerk eyed my cart like I was planning a heist. To be fair, I’d stacked two dozen high-def outdoor cams, a tangle of Cat6 cable, two rolls of weatherproof conduit, enough IR lights to run a small airstrip, and a six-pack of the expensive wire splices. I topped it off with a bag of zip ties and a box of pop rivets.
He rang me up, pausing only once to ask, "Big project?"
"Family property," I said. Well. Wasn't it nice to say that?
He grinned. "Smart move. I got a cousin who works at the animal shelter, she says the foxes in this county are getting bolder every year."
"You're cousin's right," I said, smiling enough to end the conversation, "never know what’s out there."
On the drive back, the boxes rattled in the bed of the truck. I made good time and parked as close as I could get, unloading the gear in one trip.
The install took all afternoon. First, I mapped the property line, marching the perimeter with a notepad, checking every angle the way I’d learned many years ago. I mounted the cameras high, out of reach for anything without a ladder or wings and pointedhalf of them right at Bryce’s window. If anyone or anything wanted to get close, I’d see them coming three towns away.
I ran cable through the crawl space, ducking old insulation and spiderwebs. Each time I hit a joist or snag, I let out a string of curses, but the rhythm was meditative, almost calming. I was building something. I was doing something.
Krystal poked her head out the back door once, holding a mug of coffee. "Need a break?" she called, but the look on her face said she knew the answer.
"I’m good," I called back, and meant it.
By the time dusk fell, the yard looked the same as it always had, normal, almost boring, but every square inch was covered. I tested the cameras from my phone, then Krystal’s, making sure the feeds updated in real time. No lags. No blackouts. No more excuses.
I checked the angles on Bryce’s window again, watching as the room’s interior flickered from the soft gold of a reading lamp to the blue flash of a game console screen. He was in there, safe, playing a racing game with the focus of a fighter pilot. The mate bond vibrated, like a tuning fork that never stopped ringing.
As I packed up the leftover hardware, my phone buzzed. A text from Aurelia.
Training session at Beck Manor, need you here. Vivienne has new data.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, tucked the last coil of cable into the shed, and headed out. The drive was short, but the mountain road was slick with dew. By the time I pulled up, theManor’s windows were all alight, candles and electric lamps in every room.
Inside, the ritual room was crammed with books and printouts. Vivienne presided over the table, each finger curled around a different sheet of vellum or photocopy. Aurelia was perched on the arm of a sofa, arms crossed, watching with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. Eleanor stood by the window, arms folded.
Vivienne didn’t look up as I entered, but she addressed me immediately. "Take a seat."
I ignored the chair and stood by the door, arms folded, doing my best to look unimpressed.
Vivienne spread her hands. "We’re discussing the anomaly of Bryce. Male dragon witch, a true hybrid. Rare. Almost statistically impossible."
Eleanor scoffed. "You said that last week."
Vivienne smiled, predatory. "But now I have numbers." She tapped a sheaf of papers. "I’ve run energy signatures from the last two siphonings. Compared to baseline, he’s tracking three times the output of a normal juvenile witch. And…" she slid a diagram toward Aurelia, "the composition isn’t just witch resonance. It’s a new variant. It reacts, it adapts."
I leaned against the wall, my impatience bleeding through. "What’s the punchline, Vivienne?"
She steepled her fingers. "The punchline is, we’re running out of time. If you want to keep this contained, you can’t train him like a human child, or even a wolf. You need protocols, supervision, boundaries."
"Boundaries are our specialty," I said flatly.
She shrugged. "Then you’ll need to apply them aggressively. I recommend daily siphonings, guided meditation, runes on the bedding, and a ban on digital screens for at least twelve hours a day. Light sensitivity is a hallmark of this transition."
Aurelia frowned, flipping the diagram. "He’ll hate that."
Vivienne nodded, insufferable. "Better than the alternative. The power will find a release, whether you like it or not."
I stared her down, the dragon in me flaring. "We appreciate your concern. But all decisions about Bryce’s training go through Krystal and me. You don’t make calls about my son."
She cocked her head, amused. "Of course. I’m just the consultant. But I fear you underestimate the urgency. The transition window is brief. If you miss it, his power might turn inward."
I bit back the retort. Aurelia caught my eye, her own expression loaded with warning and a dash of amusement.
