Page 47 of Moth to Her Flame

Two owl calls pierce the night—patrol pattern confirmed. Dante’s claws click against his tablet, then he holds up three fingers. Three minutes until the security loop begins.

The guard rotation is regimented like clockwork. All we have to do is wait.

A high-pitched whine cuts through the air, making Riven’s antennae flatten. Coming from the east, moving fast. Everyone freezes as the drone passes overhead, its sensors sweeping patterns we can barely dodge. Dante warned us Apex’s tech had improved. If his hypothesis is correct, this is one of their new toys, designed specifically to detect cryptid energy signatures.

Riven’s wings dim to nothing and I can see the effort in his expression as he uses whatever power he has to obscure our energy signatures. This ability is why his species was first on the list of “acquisition targets.” I imagine it would be a tactical boon in a warfare situation. He’s panting; that effort cost him dearly.

“Thirty seconds,” Dante’s whisper barely carries. “Maintenance door.”

Riven’s gaze meets mine, then we sprint across open ground, every step measured to match Cypher’s infiltration pattern. The door’s electronic lock clicks open under Dante’s careful hacking.

Inside, the familiar scents of hospital and laboratory mingle with something else—something that makes my stomach turn. The antiseptic can’t quite mask the metallic undertone of blood.

Riven grips my wrist, his wings still dull, with no light emanating from them. Without thinking, I press closer, letting my fingers brush his antennae. The brief flare of gold confirms he needed the energy boost.

“Left,” Dante breathes. “Research servers first.”

We’ve memorized the layout—a twisted maze of underground tunnels, laboratory equipment, and monitoring stations. And something worse behind the heavy doors we pass—agonized sounds no human or cryptid should ever make.

Revulsion, fear, and compassion flare through me at the sounds, but I force that to the back of my mind. I can’t be of help to anyone if I’m distracted and compromise the mission.

The server room’s keypad yields to the Jersey Devil’s expertise. Inside, rows of computers hum with deadly secrets. While Dante works his magic on the main terminal, I scan file headers on a secondary screen. Project Chrysalis. Test Subject Protocols. Ability Extraction Methodology, all written as casually as if they were cataloging tax forms.

A muffled scream echoes from somewhere deeper in the facility and terror bolts through my body even though I’d tried to prepare myself for this.

“Dr. Andrews.” The name escapes before I can catch it.

Riven’s wings snap tight. “That’s coming from a direction that wasn’t in the blueprints.”

“Got it.” Dante’s claws fly across keys. “Everything they have. But that scream…”

“Could be a trap.” Cypher’s tail lashes.

“That sound was gut wrenching… torture….” My mind can’t make complete sentences. “We have to—”

The lights cut out.

Emergency strobes paint everything in harsh red pulses. That high-pitched whine returns—closer, inside the building now. Coming straight for us.

“Move!” Dante grabs his equipment as Cypher melts into darkness.

The drone bursts through the doorway—sleek, deadly, and armed. Riven’s wings dim almost to black as he shoves me behind him.

“Run,” he gasps. Cypher appears beside us, urging us toward the secondary exit.

Too late.

The drone fires.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chelsea

The world explodes in blinding light. Through watering eyes, I see Riven’s wings snap outward, taking the brunt of whatever the drone fired. He staggers but stays upright, shielding me even as his antennae and wings lose all muscle control and hang limply.

“Dante, get her out!” His voice sounds wrong, strained, wrenched from somewhere inside him that most of us are lucky enough to never have to find.

“No!” But Cypher is already dragging me backward as more drones pour through the doorway. Each one emits that high-pitched frequency that’s clearly designed to incapacitatecryptids. Dante’s staggering too, his usually graceful movements turning clumsy.

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