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Rhyven looks toward the empty claw marks. Then the grey grass. Then Vyrael. His expression becomes terrifyingly calm. "Get the Council." Professor Vayne nods. Rhyven turns toward a senior wardkeeper. "Lock every dragon sector."

"Chief—"

"Every one."

"Flight patrols?"

"Paired Riders only."

"We'll lose coverage."

"Then use ground wards." The wardkeeper hesitates.

Rhyven steps closer. "I am not losing another dragon tonight." The man leaves. Immediately. Rhyven looks toward Eddy. "You're staying with me." Eddy nods.

Then his eyes find mine. And for one second— I feel Rhyven again. Fear. Anger. Resolve. And something else. Something tightening around the knowledge that Theryn may still be alive. That all of them may be. Not bodies. Not deaths. Taken. Somewhere.

The general alarm continues across Varethia. Students are awake. The Council is coming. The sixth disappearance has happened. And this time we were ready. We saw the warning. We arrived within minutes. We preserved the evidence. We found the trace. We even saw what happened. It changed nothing. A dragon still vanished.

I look toward the place Theryn stood. Four enormous claw marks. Grey grass. A cracked wardstone. Nothing else. Six disappearances. Thirty days until the historical attack. Maybe. And for the first time since this began we have something more frightening than the possibility that the missing are dead. They might be alive. Somewhere we cannot reach.

The Council arrives in pieces. Not ceremonially. Not together. One by one, then three at once, then another group behind them. Boots on wet grass. Coats half-fastened. Weapons visible. Faces stripped of sleep. My father is among the first. Professor Neris beside him. The Headmaster follows with two ward specialists and a healer. No one asks what happened. They can see. The empty dragon marks. The grey grass. Eddy. Vyrael. Rhyven. That's enough.

"Report." My father says. Rhyven gives it. Clean. Precise. No emotion. Time. Depletion level. Location. Witnesses. Bond disruption. Blood Echo findings. Possible survival. Possible magical displacement. Pale distortion near the western trees. Hunger. The word lands differently when Rhyven says it. Colder. More dangerous. No one interrupts him. Not once.

When he finishes, Professor Neris looks toward me. "You experienced no death event?"

"No."

"Any loss of donor memory coherence?"

"No."

"Any interruption consistent with shock?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what?"

I try again. "Distance."

She frowns. "Physical?"

"I don't know."

"Magical?"

"Maybe."

"Dimensional?"

The word makes something uncomfortable move through the group. I hesitate. "I don't know." Professor Neris nods. Good. No guessing.

Eddy stands several feet away. Still. Someone offered him a chair. He refused. Someone offered him a sedative. He refused that too. His eyes remain fixed on the place Theryn stood. Every few seconds, his hand closes over the center of his chest. Like he can force the bond back into reach if he presses hard enough. I can't stop looking at him. Neither can Rhyven.

My father walks toward the cracked wardstone. Stops outside containment. "Thirty-eight percent."

The ward specialist nods. "At peak."