Page 95 of Lost in Fire

Vanya enters.

Oh, thank God!

The sight of her unharmed sends relief surging through my chest.

They’ve changed her clothes. Scaled armor gleams like molten silver. A ritual headdress marks her Arrowvane nobility. She moves with her head high, eyes sweeping the assembly without acknowledging me. Something’s shifted. Changed in her. She’s cold as ice.

“Vanya?”

What happened?

She begins the ritual procession around the circle. Still doesn’t look at me. When her gaze finally finds mine—when those icy eyes lock onto me—they’re empty. No recognition. No emotion.

The woman I held in my arms is gone.

“What did they do to you?” There’s a pleading edge to my voice. Not because of fear, but because it tears me apart to think they’ve broken her spirit somehow.

Vex steps onto the raised platform, arms spread wide. He’s dressed in a gray tunic with silver insignia embroidered along the borders. Ornate. Symbolic.

“Honored members of the Syndicate.” His voice carries to every corner. “Today, we witness justice for the most sacred laws of our kind.”

The crowd stays silent. Tension hums through the air.

“Before you stands Hargen Cole—witch, manipulator, corruptor of noble bloodlines.” Vex’s words ring with theatrical righteousness. “Twenty-one years ago, he seduced the heir to the ancient Arrowvane line. The result threatens our very foundation.”

He turns to Vanya, who remains as still and cold as if she’s carved from a glacier.

“Lady Arrowvane has chosen to demonstrate her renewed loyalty.” A pause for effect. “She will purify her lineage by eliminating the source of contamination.”

What the fuck?

I stare from one to the other in horror before my eyes lock onto her face. There’s no expression there.

Vanya wouldn’t—she can’t—

But this isn’t Vanya. This is the Shadowhand. The one who spent years carrying out the Ivory League’s insane agenda. She said she had no choice. She did it to save Ember.

But was that true? How do you work in a position like that for so long without it coloring you? How do you do those things if there isn’t at least a part of you that’s corrupted?

She steps forward. Each step measured.

Ancient dragon words roll from her lips. Ritual phrases. Sacred mandate. I don’t understand them but I sense the meaning.

I’m fucked.

I twist against the chains on my wrists. Pointless. So damned pointless.

Vanya takes a position directly opposite me, and for one moment, her expression shifts. Something flickers in her eyes. Pain? A warning?

Then the transformation begins. The air around her distorts as ancient magic pulses outward in visible waves. Her eyes change first—ice-blue warming to molten gold, pupils narrowing to reptilian slits that fix on me with unmistakable intelligence.

Her skin changes to scales in a seamless cascade from head to toe, each one a perfect disc of platinum that catches torchlight and throws it back brighter.

Bones shift and realign with deep, resonant sounds that vibrate through the chamber. Her frame expands as her neck elongates, graceful and serpentine. Fingers extend into gleaming talons that scrape against stone when she flexes them.

Her shoulders bulge, then split as wings emerge. They unfold in one smooth motion, membrane stretching between elongated digits. Fully extended, they span half the platform, casting the execution ground into shadow.

Her face transforms last. Cheekbones sharpen as her jaw extends forward, teeth multiplying into precise rows of gleaming white daggers. A crown of silver spines rises along her skull and spine, catching light from every angle.

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