Healers.
We’re somewhere safe, then. Aurora territory, most likely. The relief hits me as I realize that we’re out, that we made it. But I have to fight to stay conscious.
I want to ask about Ember. About what happened after the fire, after everything fell apart. But my body betrays me, dragging me back into darkness before I can form the words.
***
Dreams crash over me in violent waves. Vanya in dragon form, scales gleaming like hammered steel as she tears through Syndicate forces with devastating grace. Ember emerging from flames, blazing like a newborn star, power radiating from her in waves that make the air shimmer.
Battle scenes slam against quieter memories. Vanya making coffee in the safe house, morning light catching in her hair. Ember asleep, her face peaceful and young. The three of us around the small kitchen table, sharing dinner like an actual family.
Voices filter through the storm of images. Medical terms I recognize from my Syndicate training. Worried discussions about infection rates and magical healing interactions. Viktor’s voice, measured but concerned. Lila’s softer tones, reassuring someone nearby.
I float between worlds, caught between memory and nightmare, until consciousness pulls me back to the surface like hands dragging me from deep water.
This time, I surface slowly. The transition feels less violent, though every nerve ending still screams in agony. Sunlight streams through windows I don’t recognize, casting everythingin golden warmth that finally doesn’t hurt to look at. The persistent beeping of monitors has been replaced by softer sounds—birds outside, distant conversations, the whisper of air through vents.
Vanya sleeps in a chair beside me, her head resting on the edge of my bed. She’s changed clothes since my last moment of consciousness—now wearing simple jeans and a sweater that makes her look more like the woman I fell in love with all those years ago. Her face, slack in sleep, shows the strain of the last few days. How long has she been keeping vigil?
I shift slightly, testing my body’s response. Pain flares, but it’s manageable now—a dull burn instead of the previous inferno. Healing. My magic must be working overtime, aided by whatever the Aurora healers have done.
The small movement wakes her. Her eyes snap open, immediately alert in a way that speaks to decades of dangerous living.
“Hargen.” She sits up quickly, reaching for my hand. Her fingers are cold. “Oh, my God! You’re awake. How do you feel?”
My throat still burns, but I manage to croak out, “Like I got barbecued by a dragon.”
The joke falls flat. Her expression twists, pain etched deep in every line.
“How long?” I try again.
“Four days.” Her fingers tighten around mine like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You’re at the Aurora Collective headquarters. Lila worked her magic and Viktor brought in his best healers, but your injuries… they weren’t sure.”
Four days. No wonder my body feels like it’s been disassembled and put back together wrong. Four days of her sitting here, waiting.
“You should have rested,” I tell her.
“I couldn’t.” The words come out sharp, defensive. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you burning. The fire. I thought—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together.
The door opens before I can respond, and Ember appears in the doorway. When she sees me awake and talking, her whole face transforms with joy so pure it makes my chest tight.
“Dad!” She crosses to the bed in quick steps, her eyes bright, tears brimming. “You scared us.”
The word hits me square in the chest.
Dad.
Not Hargen. Not Cole.Dad.From the daughter I never knew I had, never got to raise, never thought I’d meet.
“Takes more than a few Syndicate thugs to put me down,” I manage, wishing my voice was stronger.
She laughs, but the sound is watery. “Viktor said if you weren’t part Rossewyn, you’d be dead three times over.”
“Good thing I have tough blood, then.”
She perches carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful of the equipment surrounding me. Up close, I can see Vanya’s bone structure in her face, but her eyes… it’s like looking into a mirror.
She’s mine. My little girl.