Page 112 of Born in Fire

I stop at the edge of the circle, swaying slightly. Beneath my feet, I swear I can feel energy pulsing through the floorboards. Whispers brush against my consciousness—not words exactly, but impressions. Heat. Power. Anticipation.

“Juno?”

Dorian’s voice breaks through my trance. He’s watching me with concern, having noticed my fixation.

“There’s something here,” I say, gesturing to the circle. “Something… important.”

Caleb approaches, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” I struggle to articulate the sensation. “It feels… alive somehow. Like it’s waiting.”

The brothers exchange a look I can’t interpret.

“They performed a ritual here,” Dorian says finally. “That would explain the precise burn pattern.”

“But what kind?” Caleb crouches, examining the charred wood. “And to what purpose?”

I step back, suddenly uncomfortable with the energy emanating from the circle. “Whatever it was, it’s not finished.”

The pair move around the space, examining the marks and scenting the air, but they find nothing else. As minutes drag by, I can practically feel the impatience radiating from them.

Caleb stands, brushing dust from his immaculate trousers. “This is getting us nowhere. They’re clearly not here anymore, and God only knows where they’ve gone.”

“Goddammit,” Dorian mutters, looking around the space once more, hands on lean hips.

“We should get back to Elena,” Caleb continues. “She might have found something new about the Shard’s location.”

Relief washes through me at the thought of leaving this place, though part of me remains oddly fascinated by it. As we turn to go, Dorian’s phone rings—the sound discordant in the cavernous space.

“Lydia,” he answers, putting it on speaker. “What’s—”

“They’ve taken Elena.” Lydia’s voice, strained with pain. “Serena betrayed us. She helped them.”

The atmosphere shifts instantly. Caleb freezes, his body going rigid.

“When?” he demands, voice deadly calm.

“Twenty minutes ago. I tried to stop them.” Lydia’s breath catches. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I couldn’t—”

“Are you hurt?” Dorian interrupts.

“Nothing fatal,” she replies grimly. “But Serena… something was wrong with her. Her eyes were glowing; red like the Heartstone, Caleb.”

“Fuck!” he barks, his composure fracturing. “Where did they take her?”

“Underground, I think,” Lydia says. “I heard someone mention the tunnels.”

“The Seattle Underground,” Dorian murmurs, understanding dawning. “Of course.”

“What’s the Seattle Underground?” I ask.

Caleb paces, energy emanating from him in almost visible waves. “After the Great Fire of 1889, the city rebuilt on top of the ruins. Created a network of tunnels and buried storefronts.”

“What they don’t teach in history books,” Dorian adds, “is that the fire wasn’t an accident. It was a dragon conflict—one of the last great battles.”

“The tunnels became a haven,” Caleb continues. “Natural chambers, limited access points, hidden from human eyes.”

Something flickers in my mind—dark passageways, the scent of earth, a sense of security. Not a memory, exactly, but a feeling of recognition.

---