Page 115 of Born in Fire

We land on what’s left of the rooftop helipad, shifting back to human form in synchronized movements. The pain in my chest subsides to a dull ache but doesn’t disappear. Distance from Juno, I realize. It will only get worse.

“Security breach on multiple floors from the looks of it,” Caleb says. “Lydia’s will probably be down below.”

We take the executive elevator down, bypassing the destruction. The lobby is a disaster zone—shattered glass, overturned planters, dirt smeared across marble floors. The fewhumans present are being tended to by clan members disguised as medical personnel.

“This way,” Caleb leads us past the security desk to a private elevator requiring retinal scan. It descends beyond the parking levels, stopping at what should be a solid foundation.

The doors open to reveal a narrow corridor where Lydia waits, a nasty cut across her cheekbone, more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. Despite her injuries, she stands tall, every inch the elder.

“Report,” Caleb demands, striding forward.

“They hit us on our way to my place,” Lydia says, falling into step beside us. “I tried to fight back, but Serena turned on me. She took me completely by surprise, Caleb.” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known.”

She doesn’t look consoled. “They mentioned going underground, and when we got here, we found signs of an attack, confirming it,” she goes on. Caleb just nods as he keeps moving.

The corridor opens into a larger chamber where Luke and a dozen clan members wait, armed and ready. The space marks the transition between modern construction and Seattle’s buried history—concrete giving way to nineteenth-century stonework.

“They’re in the tunnels,” Luke says without preamble. “We’ve secured the main access points, but there are dozens of unmapped passages.”

“Serena knows most of them,” Lydia adds grimly. “And she wasn’t herself. Her eyes—” She hesitates. “I think she was being manipulated.”

“How is that possible?” I ask. “The Syndicate doesn’t have a way to control the Shard yet.”

“Perhaps they do,” Caleb says quietly. “Or perhaps they have something else with similar properties. Either way, we’re going in and knocking them hard.”

Luke steps forward, muscular frame tense with restrained action. “We should move as one unit. The tunnels are perfect for ambush.”

“And slow us down,” I counter. “We need to cover ground quickly.”

“Dorian’s right,” Caleb decides. “We split into teams. Luke, take the western passages. Lydia, coordinate from here. Dorian and I will take east and north.”

Luke looks ready to argue but nods curtly. Orders are given, teams assembled. Within minutes, we’re moving into the labyrinth beneath Seattle.

Caleb and I separate at the first major junction, our twin bond allowing silent communication if needed. The tunnel I follow bears ancient claw marks on stone walls—dragons were here long before humans built their city.

The passage narrows, ceiling dropping until I’m forced to duck. Water trickles down one wall, filling the air with an earthy scent. My dragon senses pick up traces of recent movement—disturbed dust, a footprint in damp soil.

The ache in my chest intensifies with each step away from the entrance, away from Juno. Daniel should have her safely at the rendezvous point by now.

Time trickles slowly. One minute becomes five, and then ten, and then longer; my nerves are stretched taut, buzzing.

Just when I’m certain that this is going to lead to another dead end, a new scent stops me cold. Elena’s perfume—subtle but distinctive. I follow it deeper, around a bend where the tunnel opens into what was once a storefront, buried after the Great Fire. The wooden facade remains partially intact, ghost letters spelling “MERCANTILE” across the lintel.

“Elena?” I call softly, knowing Caleb should be the one finding her, not me. Something feels wrong.

“Dorian?” Her voice echoes from a back room. “Help me!”

Fuck! She’s here!

My first thought is to rush forward, but then I hesitate. Elena wouldn’t call for me—she’d call for Caleb. This is—

Too late. Shadows peel from walls, taking form. Five dragons in partial shift—human shapes with scaled skin, elongated jaws, clawed hands. And stepping from behind the ancient counter, Serena Maze.

She’s transformed from the elegant elder I’ve known for decades. Her delicate features have hardened, blonde hair wild around her face. But it’s her eyes that stop my breath—glowing with unnatural light.

Lydia was right. There’s something wrong with this picture.

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