Page 97 of Born in Fire

Coming back from the dead.

The words echo in my head. I sway slightly, my shoulder bumping the doorframe.

Three heads snap toward me.

“Juno.” Dorian moves immediately, crossing the space between us. His hand reaches for mine, warm and solid. “You should be resting.”

I look past him to the others. “You said I died.”

Silence falls. Dorian’s fingers tighten around mine.

“You did,” Elena says finally, ignoring Caleb’s warning look. “A few days ago. There was an attack on Craven Towers. The building collapsed. You were… killed.”

“We had a funeral,” Dorian says, voice rough. “I burned your body myself.”

I step fully into the room, drawing strength from some well inside me I didn’t know existed.

“Then how am I here?”

They exchange glances—Dorian desperate, Caleb suspicious, Elena thoughtful.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Elena says.

I move toward the center of the room, aware of Dorian hovering protectively. The space is typically male—no frills or fuss, but comfortable. Dark leather and brick walls dominate, with none of the decorative pillows or plants to soften it. But there’s something inviting about it—the way the furniture seems chosen for actual relaxation rather than appearance, the subtle scent of leather lingering in the air.

It reminds me of Dorian himself—straightforward and unpretentious, yet somehow more welcoming than I expected.Coffee mugs and half-eaten breakfast sit abandoned on the kitchen island.

“Tell me who I am,” I say, my voice growing stronger as I look around at them.

Dorian steps closer. “Your name is Juno Ashford. You worked at a coffee shop called Grind & Bean. You were an artist. You…” His voice breaks slightly. “You died saving my life.”

The words stir something—flashes of memory. Espresso machines. Canvas and paint. Dorian’s smile across a counter.

“You were caught in the crossfire of our war,” Caleb says, more clinical. “A human casualty.”

“War?” I look between them.

“It’s complicated,” Elena says. “There are… factions. Supernatural beings. They’ve been fighting for control.”

“Supernatural,” I repeat. The word should sound ridiculous. It doesn’t.

Caleb flashes her a look. “She doesn’t need to know everything, Elena.”

Elena rolls her eyes. “What? I can’t acknowledge the obvious? The woman is literally back from the dead. I’d say that she’s quite aware this is no ordinary situation.”

Caleb huffs a breath but doesn’t argue. “The point,” he continues, “is that your apparent resurrection creates complications. If our enemies discover—”

“Your enemies,” I correct, surprising myself with my firmness. “Not mine.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “You died in our war. That makes you part of it.” His face darkens. “And now you’re a problem we’re going to have to add to our already long list.”

Dorian growls; an honest-to-God growl. The sound should be frightening, but I like it. It makes something stir in me. Yet another thing I don’t understand.

“I don’t remember dying,” I say. “I don’t remember any war. I remember waking up in a forest. I remember a logger finding me. I remember a hospital. And then traveling here and…” I trail off as I remember what happened when I reached the Towers.

“This doesn’t help your case,” Caleb says. “Even if you’re not part of some sort of Syndicate trick, we still have to take care of you.”

“I will take care of her,” Dorian growls, making that small sensation stir inside me again.

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