Page 8 of Ashes to Ashes

“Enter,” he commands without looking up.

Davis pushes through the door, containment bag in hand. “Sir, the artifact from the Litvak site.” He places the sealed bag on Graves’ desk with reverent care, the small stone visible through the transparent material.

The stone pulses through its containment. My arm answers with matching throbs. Graves watches the synchronization with satisfaction.

“Excellent work, Agent Davis.” His steel-blue eyes flick to the stone. Genuine satisfaction for the first time since I entered. “You may go.”

“Sir.” Davis nods, throwing me a concerned glance before exiting.

The moment the door clicks shut, Graves reaches for the bag with his prosthetic hand—metal fingers showing no reaction to whatever energy the stone radiates.

“Artifact 7-Alpha,” he says. “It’s calling to you, isn’t it?”

Not a question.

“The stone key represents more than stolen intelligence. One of the few human-compatible objects capable of breaching Fae territorial wards without triggering their boundary hunters.” His prosthetic fingers trace the containment seal with deliberate precision. “Litvak’s theft gave us the key to infiltrating their most protected sanctuaries.”

I watch him handle the stone through its protective barrier. He looks up at me, his eyes cold and knowing.

“You made direct contact with the artifact.”

Again. Not a question.

“Yes, sir.” The words emerge steady, but my heart flutters a sick rhythm.

“And the subject spoke to you. In a language you didn’t recognize.”

I hesitate. “Correct.”

His eyes flick up, steel-blue and unnervingly cold. A gaze that penetrates skin to the trembling mess beneath. Stripping away pretense. “Explain why you responded to him.”

My pulse gallops. “I didn’t—I didn’t respond.” My tongue feels swollen. Clumsy. Foreign in my own mouth.

The lie forms on my tongue. Dies there. Throat locks up. Can’t force the words out.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Specialist Morgan.” He slides a tablet across the desk. The screen shows thermal imaging from the mission—Litvak speaking, and my body temperature spiking unnaturally in response. Bright reds and yellows blooming across my chest and face.

A physiological scream of recognition I couldn’t control. Fuck.

“Your response indicates recognition. What we’ve been preparing for since you were a child.” His voice drops to silk oversteel. Twenty-five years of tests disguised as training. Building a weapon he could finally use.

I force my face neutral despite alarm bells shrieking in my skull.

“And what exactly have you always known?” The question emerges sharper than intended.

“That you’re exactly what I’ve been waiting twenty-five years to deploy.”

“Deploy.” I let the word hang between us. “Interesting word choice.”

“Would you preferunleash?” His smile is winter-cold. “Because that’s what’s happening to you, isn’t it? Something’s being unleashed.”

For once, absolute truth. I can’t explain what’s happening to me, but unleashed feels accurate in a way that makes my bones ache.

He studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Gaze dissecting me like I’m a specimen pinned to a cork. I fight the urge to squirm. To look away. To run.

The air between us thickens with unspoken history. Twenty-five years of observation disguised as mentorship.

“Show me your arm, Specialist.”

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