Page 33 of Born in Fire

I lean against the elevator wall. “There’s the factory in Tacoma, but it’s too exposed. The hunting lodge near Mount Rainier could work—isolated, defensible. Then there’s that old refurbished military bunker on Vashon Island.”

“The bunker.” Caleb’s eyes narrow. “That’s where I’d take someone if I didn’t want them found.”

“Makes sense. Concrete walls three feet thick, no cell service, remote.” I straighten up. “I can have the chopper ready for us in twenty minutes.”

Caleb shakes his head. “No. I’m going alone.”

“The hell you are.” I step in front of him as the elevator reaches the parking garage. “Malakai’s seven centuries old and built like a freight train. Even with the missing leg, he’s dangerous.”

“Exactly why you’re staying here.” Caleb’s expression hardens. “This could get ugly. Dragon ugly.”

“So we both shift. Problem solved.”

“And if someone sees two dragons over the Puget Sound? The fallout would be catastrophic.” He moves past me toward his dark blue Range Rover. “One dragon can be explained away as a private aircraft, a military exercise. Two is a pattern.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t about exposure.” I follow him, anger rising. “This is you doing what you always do—handlingeverything yourself because you don’t trust anyone else to get it right.”

Caleb whirls on me. “She’s in dangerright now, Dorian. I don’t have time to argue.”

“Then don’t argue. Let me come with you.”

“I need you here.” He unlocks his car. “Coordinating from Craven Towers. Monitoring security feeds. Making sure no one else gets suspicious about what’s happening.”

“Playing second fiddle. Again.” The words taste bitter. “Just like always.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? Five minutes, Caleb. Five fucking minutes is all that separates us, but somehow that translates to you getting all the responsibility while I get the scraps.”

For a moment, real emotion flashes across my brother’s face—frustration, maybe even hurt. But it’s gone just as quickly, buried under the weight of duty.

“I don’t have time for this.” He opens his car door. “Malakai has Elena. Every minute we waste could be—”

“Fine,” I cut him off, raising my hands in surrender. “Go be the hero. Save the girl. I’ll handle the cleanup. But I want to knoweverythingthat happens. No filtering, no editing for my delicate sensibilities.”

His posture relaxes slightly. “Deal.”

“And if you’re not back in three hours, or I don’t hear from you, I’m coming after you, anyway. Dragon sightings be damned.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I’d expect nothing less.” He pauses. “Double down on security for the Heartstone. If anyone gets their hands on it—”

“Yeah, I know. They get control of the clan. I don’t need another history lesson.”

As he slides into the driver’s seat, I lean down to the window. “Hey.”

He looks up.

“Don’t get killed. I hate boardroom politics, and if you die, I’m stuck with your job.”

It’s our version of “be careful”—wrapped in sarcasm and deflection. He nods once, then the engine roars to life, and he’s gone, tires squealing against concrete.

I stand there for a moment, frustration and concern warring inside me. Caleb and I have our issues, but he’s still my brother. Still the only constant in my centuries-long existence.

And he’s driving straight toward an ancient dragon with anger management issues and a vendetta against him.

Fuck.

I stalk back into the building, calling Sloane on the way and rattling off a string of instructions. Two hours later, I’m back in my apartment, having overseen a security briefing that left more questions than answers. How did Elena get into the vault? Why did Malakai take her? What’s their connection? The speculation ranges from corporate espionage to magical interference, neither of which explains the whole picture. Whichever way I look at it, this Elena Ross is no ordinary woman.

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