Page 78 of Lost in Fire

Chapter 26

Vanya

I wake to darkness and pain. My head throbs with each heartbeat, a steady reminder that I’m still alive when I should be dead. My throat burns, parched and raw from screaming I don’t remember. The air smells of old stone and something metallic—blood, possibly mine.

Slowly, the darkness resolves into shapes. A cell. Windowless. Stark. Ancient runes etched into every surface glow with faint silver light, casting long shadows across the floor. I’ve seen rooms like this before—I’ve sent people to rooms like this—but I never expected to end up in one myself.

When I try to move, metal bites into my wrists. The weight is distinctive, the cold burn unmistakable.

Binding chains of dragon-forged steel.

They’re rare now, artifacts from an earlier age when our kind warred openly. Forged in dragon fire, quenched in witch blood, designed to suppress both shifting and magical connection. Thelast time I saw a set was in the Syndicate museum, displayed as a relic of more barbaric times.

Apparently, those times have returned.

I reach instinctively for the bond with Hargen, then Ember, finding only emptiness where their presence should be. Not distance—nothingness. A void where connection lived. The isolation hits harder than any physical pain, a yawning absence that threatens to swallow me whole.

Panic rises, sharp and immediate. I fight it down with a discipline forged over years, forcing my breathing to steady. Panic kills. Calm survives. I’ve said this to others a thousand times.

Time to follow my own advice.

I take stock of my situation with clinical detachment. Cell approximately twelve feet square. Single door, reinforced steel. Binding chains attached to a central floor anchor, allowing limited movement. No visible surveillance equipment, though the runes themselves likely serve that purpose. The chains prevent shifting, so escape in dragon form is impossible.

My clothes have been replaced with standard detention garments—gray fabric, no pockets, no potential weapons. They’ve even taken my hairpins. Professional. Thorough.

I expected nothing less from Vex.

The door opens with a metallic groan. Light spills into the cell, momentarily blinding. I blink away the spots in my vision as two guards position themselves at the entrance, weapons drawn. Between them stands Elder Vex.

He’s not wearing his mask.

In fifteen years of Ivory League meetings, I’ve never seen his actual face. The masks were symbolic as much as functional, representing bloodlines rather than individuals. Removing his now is a calculated message: the old rules no longer apply.

His features are surprisingly ordinary—thin lips, sharp cheekbones, eyes the color of mud. A face that might belong to any aging bureaucrat, not the zealot who’s orchestrated countless purification campaigns. The only hint of his true nature is the faint pattern of scales along his jawline, silver-gray against pale skin.

“Elder Arrowvane.” He steps inside, tablet in hand. “Though I suppose that title no longer applies.”

I say nothing. Conservation of energy is crucial now.

He moves closer, studying me with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. “I must admit, I’ve looked forward to this conversation for some time.”

“Have you?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears, echoing in the empty room.

“Oh,, yes.” He activates the tablet, displaying data: the results of yesterday’s procedure. “Your performance has been… remarkable. All this time, you’ve been right under our noses. I’m almost impressed.”

I watch him carefully, measuring his satisfaction. He wants me broken, desperate. I won’t give him that pleasure.

“Let’s discuss your hybrid child.” He swipes through images on his tablet—fragments pulled from my mind during verification. Ember at various ages, her features blurred but recognizable. “Age, abilities, location. Details, please.”

I remember the strategic decision I made before he ripped into my mind. Ember is safely beyond their reach, protected by Aurora resources and her father’s vigilance. The families in my network are not. If I focus Vex’s attention on my daughter, perhaps the others will remain hidden.

“She’s twenty years old,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Her abilities are still developing.”

“Location.”

“I don’t know.” This much is true. Hargen has her.

Vex’s expression hardens. He touches something on the tablet.

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