Page 42 of Moth to Her Flame

Her answering smile is filled with determination. “Let’s go collect our whistleblower.”

As we head out, my wings vibrate with the lingering warmth of her touch. It’ll have to be enough to get us through whatever waits in those mountains.

Time is running out—for Dr. Andrews, for the investigation, and for my own fading strength.

At least I won’t face any of it alone.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chelsea

The ATV’s headlights cut through mountain mist as Dante navigates toward the old mining entrance. Every bump sends shockwaves through Riven’s wings where they curve protectively around me from the backseat. His grip on my waist has grown weaker during the ride, though he’s trying to hide it.

Cypher’s trail markers—subtle scratches that look like natural wear to the untrained eye—guide our approach. A single owl’s hoot cuts through the night—the signal from Volt that he’s spotted something ahead. The old ways may seem primitive, but they’re harder to intercept than modern tech.

Dante kills the engine, and we coast the last few yards and lurch to a stop behind a stand of pines. The mine’s entrance gapeslike an open wound in the mountainside, partially obscured by decades of overgrowth. Modern security cameras peek through the vegetation—new tech trying to look old.

Two quick owl hoots—Volt’s warning of movement. A figure bursts from the shadows. It’s a female, her white lab coat flapping behind her, terror written in every line of her body. As she gets closer it’s obviously Dr. Andrews. She looks just like her picture on LinkedIn.

She takes three steps before dropping something small that glints in the moonlight.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Black-clad security forces materialize from the treeline. Dr. Andrews changes direction, heading for the steep embankment. A flash of light, a muffled sound like thunder underwater, and she crumples mid-stride.

“Chelsea, stay—” Riven starts, but I’m already moving.

Using the chaos as cover, I belly-crawl through wet leaves toward where she dropped the object. My fingers close around something small and hard—a thumb drive.

“Got it,” I whisper, knowing my teammates can read my thumb’s-up even if they can’t hear me.

Three rapid owl calls—Volt’s urgent warning. Through the trees, I watch security forces grab Dr. Andrews’ limp form and load it into a waiting vehicle. No blood that I can see, but she’s not moving.

“Please be unconscious,” I breathe. “Just unconscious.”

The plastic drive digs into my palm as I army-crawl toward the ATV. Every rustle of leaves sounds deafening. Every shadow could hide another security team.

Riven meets me halfway, his expression showing the strain even this minor exertion is costing him. Together we retreat to where Dante waits with the ATV’s electric motor idling quietly. After Riven and I pile in the backseat, the vehicle moves as soundlessly as possible through undergrowth that seems determined to announce our presence at every turn.

A screech owl’s cry interrupts the quiet night. Different from Volt’s signals, it’s Cypher, warning of approaching patrols. Dante responds with a perfect imitation of a nighthawk’s call—acknowledged.

“Go!” Riven’s urgent whisper coincides with approaching footsteps.

Dante floors it as search beams cut through the trees behind us. Riven’s wings wrap around me, but they’re trembling now, his strength clearly fading.

“Stay with me,” I murmur, holding his arms more securely around my waist as Dante navigates the treacherous trail. “Just a little longer.”

His response is a weak press of lips against my neck. The contact sends tiny sparks down my spine, but there’s no answering glow from his wings. Although it helps us avoid detection, the lack of his natural response telegraphs just how fatigued he is.

The thumb drive sits like a lead weight in my pocket as Dante guides us through the darkness. Whatever secrets it contains cost Dr. Andrews dearly. The question is—was it information worth dying for? My heart gives a lurch at the thought that she’s dead and not merely unconscious.

Riven’s grip loosens suddenly as he slumps against me after losing all muscle tone.

“How’s he doing?” Dante asks, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Completely out,” I grit. After only running a few steps to meet me and then accompany me back to the ATV he’s unconscious. His mating sickness is at DEFCON 1 even considering what we shared in bed last night.

“Hey. Stay with me. Look at me,” I croon desperately, more terrified of what’s happening to Riven than of the small army looking for us in the woods.

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