Page 27 of Lost in Fire

My supposedly dead lover is the biggest intelligence prize in the hidden war between Aurora and the Syndicate.

“The Shadowhand, I presume.” The words come out steady despite the earthquake happening inside my chest. Training kicks in, the professional mask sliding into place. “Your reputation precedes you.”

She takes her seat across from me with movements that speak of lethal grace. She sets down the tablet she’s been holding, and I catch the tremor in her fingers before she hides her hands beneath the surface of the desk.

She’s shaking. The most feared woman in the Syndicate is shaking.

Who could blame her? I am too.

“Mr. Cole.” Her voice carries absolute authority, but underneath the cold tone, I hear something more. “You’ve caused quite a stir with your voluntary surrender. Aurora Collective agents don’t typically hand themselves over to Syndicate custody.”

Look at me.The thought burns behind my ribs.Really look at me and tell me you feel nothing.

“I’m not an Aurora agent.” I meet her gaze directly, searching for any flicker of recognition. Any sign that beneath the Shadowhand’s mask, Vanya still exists.

For just a moment—a heartbeat, a breath—something moves behind those ice-blue eyes. Something that recognizes the man who held her on cold nights when we’d found hope in each other’s arms. Who learned to read her silences better than most people read words.

Then her professional mask slams back into place.

“Indeed?” She leans back, projecting casual authority while I fight not to remember how she looked in my bed, hair spread across the pillow like spun moonlight. “Then what exactly are you, Mr. Cole? Because your file makes for interesting reading.”

The tablet comes alive under her touch; I suspect it’s displaying years of my life reduced to cold data points. Service records that don’t mention the nights I lay awake thinking about her. Psychological evaluations that never captured the way her death hollowed me out.

Handler assignments that started after she died because I needed something—anything—to fill the void she left behind.

It’s how I ended up taking on the assignment that led me to work with Lila for so long. A distraction from the pain.

“I’m a fool who allowed himself to be manipulated by someone he trusted.” The bitterness in my voice is real enough. Not the story Vex expects, but truth wrapped in deception. “Someone who convinced me that betraying everything I believed in was justified by love.”

The word hits the air between us like a bomb. Her fingers still against the tablet’s surface, and for a microsecond, her carefully controlled expression cracks.

Love.

I watch the word wound her, watch her struggle to maintain the Shadowhand’s cold authority while the woman I knew bleeds beneath the surface.

“The Rossewyn witch.” Her voice stays flat, clinical, but I hear the effort it costs her. “Your handler assignment for twenty years. A role that created significant… proximity. Tell me, Handler Cole, is this something you usually seek out?”

Proximity.

Such a sterile word for what we had. For stolen moments that felt like forever and nights when the world narrowed to just the two of us.

“Proximity.” I laugh bitterly. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“You developed feelings for your asset.” She tilts her head.

“I developed feelings for a woman who played me like a master musician.” Each word costs me, but I force them out. The surveillance equipment needs to hear a handler compromised by magical influence, not a lover reunited with the woman whose death destroyed him. “Who used magical influence so subtle I never recognized it was happening. Who turned my protective instincts into weapons against my own organization.”

I lock eyes with her, knowing that she understands. We both know that I’m not talking about Lila now. Lila, who never forced me to do anything.

But the listening devices want to hear about manipulation and betrayal. So that’s what I’ll give them.

Her face remains perfectly composed, but I know her tells. The slight tension around her eyes. The way her breathing has shifted to shallow, controlled breaths. She’s fighting not to react, fighting to maintain her cover while every word I speak cuts deep.

“And yet you helped her escape.” She leans forward slightly, and I catch a hint of her scent. Still the same after all these years—winter air and dangerous secrets. “Aided an Aurora operation against Syndicate interests.”

“I was compromised.” The admission comes out rough because it’s easier to say than the truth. That I’d do it again tomorrow if it meant keeping someone I cared about safe. “She was inside my head for months, maybe years. Making me believe things that weren’t true. Feel things that weren’t real. You know how that feels, surely?”

Something flickers across her expression—pain so sharp that I have a sudden surge of guilt. Because what I’m saying is exactly what she’d fear most. That what we had wasn’t real. That the love we risked everything for was all just a game.

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