Page 18 of Lost in Fire

“Hands visible. Move slowly. Any sudden movements will be interpreted as hostile action.”

I comply, stepping out of my truck with deliberate care. They surround me efficiently, professionally. These aren’t the kind of operatives who make mistakes or show mercy.

“I’m unarmed,” I tell them.

“We’ll verify that.” One of them produces a scanner, running it over my body briskly. “Clean.”

They restrain my hands behind my back with steel cuffs—no pretense of courtesy here. I’m led to the second SUV, and settled into a seat between two guards who could probably break me in half without working up a sweat.

As we pull away from the truck stop, I feel the pressure of the choice I’ve made. Each mile takes me closer to the organization that would kill me without hesitation if they discover my true loyalties.

The hum of the SUV’s engine vibrates through my bones as we speed down the highway. The night air presses against the windows, and I watch the trees blur into shadows, wondering if this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

As the guards flanking me shift in their seats, I can feel their suspicion radiating from them. Each glance is a reminder that betrayal runs deeper than bloodlines in this world. They know me as a traitor—a handler who turned on his own. I brace for theconsequences, knowing all too well how ruthless the Syndicate can be.

But what else can I do? My daughter is out there somewhere, and she’s in danger.

I might be walking to my death. Right now, I don’t give a damn.

Chapter 7

Vanya

The oil painting of an ancient execution hangs behind my desk. A “traitor” burned alive a century ago for refusing to bow to purity edicts she deemed barbaric. The artist captured the exact moment before the flames consumed her—defiance blazing in golden eyes that almost mirror my own in dragon form.

I wonder if they’ll paint my death with such drama when this all ends.

“Elder Arrowvane, the quarterly reports require your approval.” The junior assistant’s voice is a discreet murmur. Marek Keller—twenty-three years old, descendant of a minor bloodline, assigned to my chambers because no one else volunteered for the honor.

Poor kid.

I don’t look up from the documents spread across my desk. Intelligence reports detailing Aurora Collective movements.Bloodline verification recommendations. Exile orders waiting for my signature. The bureaucracy of puritanical extremism, neatly organized in manila folders.

But my mind isn’t on the paperwork. It’s on Ember. Ember, who doesn’t know that the clock is ticking. That it’s been ticking since the Ivory League meeting. Since Vex announced the protocols that will sweep through our ranks like wildfire.

I need time. Time to find a way to get my daughter to safety before they discover what she is.

Think.

Safe houses are compromised. The network Cassia and I built is too exposed now that Vex has his eye on it. Any sudden disappearance will trigger investigations that lead straight back to me.

I keep coming up blank.

“The Kiasog recommendations,” I say, my voice carrying the authority that comes with being the most feared member of the Ivory League. “Strike the family in Sector Seven. Insufficient evidence.”

Marek shifts behind me. “But the initial report suggested—”

“The initial report was flawed.” I sign my name with decisive strokes. “I’ve reviewed the bloodline analysis personally. They’re clean.”

A lie. The Kiasog family is mixed-blood, third generation from a dragon-witch pairing. But their young drake is twelve years old, and I’ll be damned if I’ll sign execution orders for a child whose only crime is existing.

Besides, every family I save creates precedent. Documentation that some investigations yield negative results. Cover for when Ember’s inevitable testing comes back.

If I can even get her that far.

“Of course, Elder. I’ll have the file amended.”

Another family breathing because I wear this mask. Another small victory that feels hollow when my own daughter’s life hangs in the balance.

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