Page 49 of Lost in Fire

Ember nods, processing this information with the clinical interest she applies to all her research. But there’s something else in her expression—a hunger for family history, for the story of her own origins.

“What was it like?” she asks. “When you first met?”

Hargen sets down his fork. “Your mother was arguing with her supervisor about protocol modifications. She had this way of speaking that made everyone in the room stop and listen.”

“She still does that,” Ember says with a grin. “Gets all formal and precise when she’s making a point. I call it her ‘lecture voice.’“

“I do not have a lecture voice,” I protest.

“You absolutely do.” Ember turns to Hargen. “She used it yesterday when she was explaining why I couldn’t leave the house. Very authoritative. Very ‘I am your mother and you will listen to me.’“

Hargen’s lips twitch. “I remember that voice. She used it on me once when I questioned her strategic assessment of a Syndicate compound. Made me feel like a naughty kid.”

“See?” Ember gestures with her fork. “Lecture voice.”

The easy teasing between them catches me off guard. This glimpse of what we could be—the three of us sharing meals and stories and gentle mockery. A family.

“I was right about that compound,” I say, deflecting the sudden tightness in my chest. “If you’d listened to my ‘lecture voice,’ you wouldn’t have walked into that ambush.”

It’s so strange to be talking about events that happened so long ago as if they were yesterday. But somehow, that’s how it feels.

“You were completely right,” Hargen agrees. “I still have the scar from ignoring your advice.”

“Where?” Ember asks with immediate interest.

Hargen pushes up his left sleeve, revealing a jagged line across his forearm. “Defensive ward. Designed to mark intruders so they could be tracked later.”

Ember reaches out instinctively, her fingers hovering over the raised skin without quite touching. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore. But it serves as a good reminder to listen when your mother gives strategic advice.”

The warmth in his voice when he says “your mother” sends heat through my chest. As if the three of us sitting here together is the most natural thing in the world.

As if we’re already a family instead of strangers learning to navigate each other.

“More pasta?” I ask, reaching for the serving bowl.

“Please.” Ember holds out her plate. “This is really good, Mom. Better than your usual cooking.”

“My usual cooking?”

“You know. Those protein bars you call dinner when you’re distracted. Or that soup that’s definitely just heated canned goods with extra salt.”

Hargen chokes on his water. “She still does that?”

“Does what?”

“Forgets to eat when she’s focused on something important. I used to find her in the research library at two in the morning, surrounded by case files and empty coffee cups.”

“That’s exactly what she does!” Ember’s face lights up with recognition.

“Some things never change,” Hargen says, his eyes finding mine across the table.

But everything has changed. We all know it, even if we’re pretending otherwise for these stolen moments of normalcy.

I serve Ember another portion, watching her animated discussion of dragon research with Hargen. She’s hungry for this connection, for someone who understands her intellectual curiosity and can match her knowledge. For a father who looks at her like she’s the most fascinating person in the world.

The ache in my chest grows sharper with each passing minute.

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