Page 68 of Lost in Fire

On my nightstand sits a single object I’ve allowed myself to keep—a smooth river stone Ember collected on a rare vacation when she was eight. Nothing incriminating, nothing that would raise questions if discovered. Just a simple stone that connects me to her.

I touch it gently, drawing comfort from its cool surface. Somewhere beyond the Syndicate’s reach, my daughter sleeps under different stars, protected by her father. Learning who she truly is. Becoming the woman she was always meant to be.

It has to be enough.

It has to be worth this aching emptiness.

As sleep finally takes me, I allow myself one final thought of Hargen—not the desperate passion of our last night together, but a quieter moment. His hand covering mine across the safe house table. The simple words that carried impossible weight:“I’ll find a way back to you.”

A promise neither of us knew how to keep, but one I’ll hold on to, anyway.

Tomorrow I’ll be the Shadowhand again. Tonight, I allow myself to be simply a woman who misses her family with every breath.

I turn my face into my pillow to muffle the sobs.

Chapter 23

Hargen

The training arena erupts with light as Ember releases another burst of raw magic. The energy pulses across the room, scorching the reinforced walls and leaving trails of frost in its wake—fire and ice in impossible combination.

Holy fuck.

The thought hits me every time I watch her work. After all the time I spent handling magical assets for the Syndicate, I’ve never seen anything like what my daughter can do.

“Again,” I say, circling her with careful steps. “But this time, focus on direction, not just power.”

Ember glares at me, sweat beading on her forehead, hair sticking to her temples. We’ve been at this for hours, pushing her abilities to their limits. One week at the Aurora Collective, and already she’s outpacing their expectations. The kid’s got more raw talent in her pinky finger than most dragons manage in a lifetime.

“I’m tired,” she says, but raises her hands again, nonetheless. The determination in her eyes never wavers.

“Your mother trained like this for days without rest.” The words slip out before I can stop them. We’ve developed an unspoken agreement to limit mentions of Vanya, but sometimes the parallels are too strong to ignore. Sometimes I can’t help but see echoes of the woman I lost in every gesture our daughter makes.

Ember’s concentration breaks, the magic fizzling between her fingertips. “Did she? You’ve never mentioned that before.”

I lower my defensive stance, recognizing that the training session has effectively ended. “She was relentless when learning new techniques. Wouldn’t stop until she mastered them completely.”

Stubborn as hell, just like you.

“Even the dangerous ones?” Ember moves to the bench along the wall, reaching for a water bottle. As she does so, she pats her top pocket where a faint bulge marks the outline of Vanya’s folded letter to her. She’s kept it there since I gave it to her after we arrived. I never learned what she wrote there. Probably goodbye. Maybe a plea for understanding.

“Especially those.” I join her, watching as she gulps down water with the thirst of someone who’s just expelled significant magical energy. “She was the strongest dragon I ever knew.”

“Stronger than me?” There’s something playful in Ember’s voice, but underneath, I catch the hint of scales along her jawline—barely visible, but there. Her dragon nature bleeding through when her emotions run high.

“Different kind of strength.” I study her face, noting how quickly the scales fade. “You’re still learning what you’re capable of.”

Ember studies me with that penetrating gaze she inherited from Vanya. “You still love her.”

Not a question. An observation delivered with the unvarnished directness of youth. No point in dancing around the truth—the kid’s too smart for that bullshit.

“Yes.”

“Then why did we leave her behind?” The hurt in her voice is raw, unprocessed. “Why aren’t we doing something to help her?”

Because I’m a fucking coward.

I’ve asked myself the same question every night since we arrived. Each time I think about what she’s facing back there, alone, the guilt threatens to overwhelm me. She’s out there risking everything, and when push comes to shove, I run like a scared dog with my tail between my legs.

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