Page 22 of Lost in Fire

“Will there be permanent effects?”

“Possible memory gaps. Emotional triggers tied to the manipulation period. Some difficulty distinguishing between genuine thoughts and implanted impulses.” She seals blood samples for additional testing. “Nothing that should impair your operational capabilities, assuming psychological evaluation confirms cognitive stability.”

Standard procedure. Standard lies wrapped in medical terminology.

“When can I return to active duty?”

“That determination sits above my clearance level.” Her tone dismisses the question entirely. “Command will review all analysis results before making personnel decisions.”

The debriefing comes next—three hours in a windowless chamber that reeks of industrial cleaning supplies and old fear. Two interrogators who’ve probably broken stronger minds than mine. Agent Marsh, whose smile looks pasted on. Agent Torres, who asks the same questions countless different ways and watches for microsecond variations in response.

They probe every aspect of the story Viktor helped me construct. When did the magical influence begin? How did it manifest? What specific compulsions overrode my judgment? How did I finally break free?

I stick to the rehearsed outline, letting controlled exhaustion bleed through professional answers.

“The witch was subtle about it,” I explain for what feels like the dozenth time. “The compulsions felt like natural thoughts. Like protective instincts that developed over years of handler protocols.”

“But you maintained awareness of operational requirements?” Marsh leans forward, his attention fixed like a laser. “Standard reporting. Intelligence gathering. Assessment procedures.”

“My memory remained intact. The magical influence affected judgment, not recall.” I meet his stare directly. “That’s why I can provide detailed intelligence on Aurora operations. The compulsion prevented me from acting on what I learned, but didn’t stop me from learning it.”

Torres consults her notes. “And you broke free how, exactly?”

“Distance. Physical separation from the witch weakened the magical bindings.” I let frustration color my tone. “Once I was away from her immediate presence, I could think clearly enough to recognize what had been done to me. To remember my actual loyalties.”

They want to believe me. The alternative—that an operative with my record genuinely turned against the Syndicate—raises uncomfortable questions about their other assets. About security protocols. About fundamental assumptions regarding loyalty and magical resistance training.

Much easier to accept my story of magical manipulation than face the possibility that experienced operatives might develop consciences.

“Your intelligence regarding Aurora Collective operations,” Torres says, shifting topics. “How current is this information?”

I slide back into my practiced narrative.

“Viktor Parlance isn’t building a resistance movement,” I warn them. “He’s constructing something far more sophisticated. A parallel power structure with backing from progressive dragon bloodlines who want integration with human society.”

“Integration how?”

“Public revelation. Complete exposure of dragon society within six months.” I lean forward, projecting genuine concern. “They believe they can force dialogue about coexistence. About accepting dragons as part of human civilization rather than hidden predators.”

Marsh and Torres exchange glances.

“Your recall of these details remained unaffected by the magical manipulation?”

Fuck. I’ve been asked the same damn questions a thousand different ways.

“Yes,” I say calmly instead of snapping impatiently. “The Rossewyn witch needed me functional as an intelligence asset. The compulsions affected my ability to report or act on information, but not my capacity to gather it.” I pause. “Which is why I can provide comprehensive details about Aurora’s command structure, operational capabilities, and strategic timeline.”

All carefully selected to serve Viktor’s purposes.

Finally, after hours of repetitive questioning and cross-verification, they reach a conclusion.

“You’ll be housed in secure quarters pending final evaluation,” Torres informs me. “Depending on those results, you may be cleared for reinstatement to active duty.”

“Final evaluation by whom?”

“Senior command authority. Someone with clearance to make personnel decisions regarding operatives with your background and access level.”

They escort me to quarters that feel more like a comfortable prison cell—bed, desk, basic amenities, no windows, comprehensive surveillance. I’m contained but not mistreated. The Syndicate wants me capable of dealing with whatever comes next.

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