Page 96 of Born in Fire

I reach out, fingers finding the pulse point at her wrist. Strong. Steady. Real.

She’s alive.

The impossibility of it all crashes over me. I watched her burn. Stood vigil until there was nothing left but ash. Felt something fundamental break inside me.

Yet here she is.

I don’t know how. Don’t know why. Don’t care.

The universe gave her back to me, and I’m never letting go again.

Outside, night falls over Seattle. Lights flicker on across the skyline. The world continues its relentless spin.

But in this room, time stands still. I count her breaths, guard her sleep, and for the first time since I watched flames consume her body, I feel something like peace.

Whatever brought her back—miracle, magic, or something darker—I’ll face it. Whatever she needs to remember who she is, I’ll provide it. Whatever threatens her, I’ll destroy.

She’s mine. I’m hers.

Death couldn’t change that. Nothing will.

Chapter 30

Juno

I wake to unfamiliar surroundings, but for the first time since the forest, my mind isn’t a fog. The sheets beneath me are soft—luxurious—carrying a scent that resonates deep within me. Sandalwood, leather, something comforting.

Hisscent. Dorian’s.

The name comes easily now. Dorian. His face is clear in my mind—sharp angles, golden eyes that burn when they look at me. I know him. I don’t remember how or why, but my body remembers. My soul remembers.

Voices drift from beyond the bedroom—tense, urgent. I slide from the bed, surprised by my steadiness. Yesterday, each step felt like wading through quicksand. Today, my body responds with purpose.

I’m wearing his clothes—a black T-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh, soft boxer shorts cinched tight around my waist. I move toward the voices, bare feet silent against polished floors.

“—impossible, Dorian. We burned her body.” A voice like Dorian’s, but cooler, more controlled. “I was there. You were there. She was gone.”

“Tell that to the woman sleeping in my bed.” Dorian’s voice, rough with emotion. “She’s real. She’s here.”

“I’m not saying she isn’t.” A woman’s voice now, measured but kind. “I’m saying we need to understand how. People don’t just come back from the dead.”

I freeze in the hallway, one hand braced against the wall.Dead?Yesterday, they’d talked about fire and burning, but suddenly, this detail hits: I died. I fuckingdied!Memories flash—heat, crushing weight, darkness. Then nothing but ash and rebirth.

I reach the doorway, hidden in shadow. Three people stand in the open-concept living area. Dorian—tall, tense, radiating barely contained energy. Beside him, a man who could be him but for subtle differences—his stance more controlled, his expression more guarded. And a woman with dark hair and sharp, observant gray eyes that miss nothing.

“The attack was days ago,” the man says. “If this is some kind of trick—”

“It’s not a trick, Caleb.” Dorian cuts him off. “It’s her. I’d know her anywhere.”

“The timing is suspicious,” Caleb argues. “The Syndicate could be using her, manipulating us through your grief.”

“Fuck off with that theory.” Dorian’s hands clench. “You think I wouldn’t know? You think I wouldn’t sense it?”

“Your judgment is compromised,” Elena says. “You wanted her back so badly—”

“She recognized me,” Dorian insists. “She knew me without being told.”

Elena sighs. “Look, I’m not saying it’s not her. I’m saying coming back from the dead isn’t normal, even in our world. There has to be an explanation.”

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