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I see the moment Vharax commits. Fire spirals up from her throat, blasting straight into my arm. A month ago I would have screamed. I would have jumped right into the water.

Now I stand steadily. Stoically. I don’t blink as the fire washes over me, even as sweat breaks out on my brow from the intense heat. The rock behind us smolders before it starts to melt from the extreme temperature.

I feel no pain.

When the fire dies down, I already know what I’ll find. That doesn’t make it any less shocking to see my arm perfectly intact. Even Caelan’s hoodie remains untouched by the flame.

Vharax watches me until the final ember dies. When it does, she releases a soft trill deep in her throat and, without breaking eye contact, takes a single step back and bows her head. Her wings snap out, fully extended and so beautiful it still seems impossible she’s real.

Letting my arm drop, I step back as well and—because it feels like the right thing to do—bow my head in return. The air around us is thick with tension and heavy with importance, and I wish more than anything I understood what just happened.

“I think that dragon just became your best friend,” Branwen whispers. I spin around and find her standing far off to the side with her hands still covering her mouth and her eyes wide with shock. She exhales, bends over, and rests her shaking hands on her knees. The air fills with the scent of burnt cherry pie, and I suddenly feel terrible for scaring her.

“I thought you were dead, I swear to the Fates. I think I’ve aged thirty years in the last hour.”

Ignoring us, Vharax walks to the edge of the platform and jumps, gliding effortlessly across the water. She lands, spins around twice, folds her legs beneath her and curls up with her head tucked under a wing.

“What now?” Branwen asks. She tilts her head toward the ceiling, which is now nothing more than a gaping hole in the Earth. Dust motes float through the air above us like flakes of snow reflecting the moonlight. It’s easily five hundred feet to the surface, and the thought of getting up there somehow makes me want to take a page from Vharax’s book and sleep for a week straight.

Unfortunately, that’s not an option.

We’ve been stuck in this cave for far too long, but I know how to get us out.

The stars are shining down on us, glinting brightly in the night sky. It’s the same sky from five nights ago, but I’m no longer the same girl.

And I have a feeling this is just the start of all the changes to come.

With a sigh, I pull my gaze from the stars, turn to Branwen and give her my answer, hoping my voice doesn’t start shaking.

“Now we get out of here. It’s time to go home.”

Chapter 40

Daxen

It’s the middle of the night when my eyes snap open, and I shoot up in bed, wide awake. There’s a heavy, painful pressure in my chest, so sharp I almost think I’ve been stabbed at first.

I press my fist against my sternum, something I’ve been doing far too often lately. Not for the first time I've considered pulling Calder aside, but something tells me it would be pointless. This isn’t something a doctor can fix, anyway.

Not unless there’s a new prescription for guilt I don’t know about.

Sighing, I deflate, pressing my palms into my eyes and trying to get my bearings. It’s been years since I’ve startled awake from a deep sleep. The last time was…

When was the last time this happened?

Fuck… that’s right. When Vae’s curse activated in the middle of an overnight mission. Gods, that must have been, what? Thirty years ago?

Before that was when Caelan got caught in a rogue Severed attack; he and Ford were mid-stakeout, and the entire thing went up in flames. They both barely made it out.

That was one of Ford’s first missions… so early 80s, maybe?

Reaching over, I grab my phone from my nightstand and check my notifications, half expecting something from Gav or Calder about an emergency.

Nothing.

I spend the next five minutes debating whether I should get up and check on Caelan and Vae. Just to be sure. Knowing Caelan, he’s already up. I don’t think he’s slept more than a few hours since Idril left—and only when one of us made him.

And by that, I mean Soren. Because he’s sure as fuck not listening to his Pack.