7. Sophie
SOPHIE
T he desert feels bigger without Jax.
That’s the first thing I notice once the noise fades and I’m alone with my own breathing, the seedlings strapped tight against my chest and the horizon stretching out like a dare.
When he was with me, the land felt hostile but navigable, like something brutal that still respected rules. Now it’s just vast. Empty. Watching.
I walk until my legs stop pretending this is a good idea.
Each step sinks slightly into heat-softened ground, boots scraping, dragging.
Sweat stings my eyes and dries there, crusting into salt that cracks when I blink.
The seedlings bump against my ribs with every breath, a steady reminder of why I’m still upright when my body has very reasonable objections.
“Just keep going,” I mutter. “Just keep going.”
The wind steals the words before they can mean anything.
I ration water the way Jax taught me, small, careful sips spaced far enough apart that thirst becomes a constant ache instead of a scream. My tongue feels swollen. My thoughts blur at the edges if I don’t grab them hard and hold on.
I keep looking back.
Half of me expects to see the crawler’s silhouette cresting a ridge, Jax leaning out like this was all some elaborate test. The desert offers nothing but glare and distance.
The ground ahead darkens, the sand smoother, almost glossy compared to the broken stone I’ve been grinding across for hours. My legs shake. My shoulders burn.
“A shortcut,” I whisper, hope flaring stupidly fast.
I step onto it.
The surface gives with a sick, yielding softness. My foot sinks halfway to the knee before my brain catches up.
“No. No no no?—”
I try to pull back. The sand clutches at my leg, dragging me down instead, cool and wet beneath the surface. Panic detonates hot and immediate, ripping up my spine.
I drop to my hands, spreading my weight the way Jax warned me, breath coming fast and shallow. The sand ripples under my palms, grains sliding away no matter how gently I move.
Quicksand.
Of course it is.
“Okay,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Okay, don’t panic. Don’t?—”
I shift too quickly.
The ground swallows me to the waist.
A sound tears out of me, raw and ugly. My heart slams hard enough to make my vision pulse. I thrash once on instinct, then freeze when the sand tightens around me in response, gripping like something alive.
I’m sinking. Slowly. Relentlessly.
The seedlings press against my chest as the sand creeps higher, grinding into my clothes, into my skin. It smells damp and metallic, wrong in a way that makes my stomach lurch.
“Jax,” I gasp, the name ripping out of me before I can stop it. “Jax?—”
The desert answers with nothing.
I force myself still, arms spread wide, breathing shallow to keep my chest buoyant. Seconds stretch until they feel like hours. The sun beats down, heat drilling straight into my skull.
My arms burn. My legs go numb.
This is it, a quiet, traitorous part of me whispers. This is how it ends. Not fighting. Not captured. Just… erased.
A shadow falls across me.
“Well,” a voice says mildly, cultured even, “this is a regrettably inefficient way to die.”
I choke on a breath and jerk my head up.
The figure standing at the edge of the sand is unmistakably not human.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, his posture relaxed in a way that feels deeply inappropriate given my circumstances.
His skin is scaled, not in heavy plates but in overlapping, iridescent ridges that catch the sunlight and throw it back in muted bronze and obsidian tones.
Heat shimmers faintly around him, as if the desert recognizes one of its own.
A crown of pronounced cranial ridges sweeps back over his skull, elegant and predatory, framing eyes that gleam with sharp, amused intelligence.
Vakutan.
Dragon guardian.
He regards me with an expression that reads as cheerful appraisal, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to suggest he’s enjoying himself.
“Try not to struggle,” he adds pleasantly. “You’re performing admirably already, all things considered.”
“Help me!” I shout, panic shredding whatever composure I had left. “Please!”
“Of course,” he says, as if I asked for directions.
He moves fast, dropping smoothly onto his scaled stomach and anchoring himself with a hooked pole I hadn’t noticed slung across his back. The motion is fluid, powerful, utterly controlled. He extends the pole toward me with casual precision.
“Take hold,” he instructs. “Slowly. I would prefer not to explain to Jax how I arrived seconds too late.”
My heart stutters. “You know Jax?”
The name sharpens his attention instantly.
“Intimately,” he says. “Now, if you would be so kind.”
I grab the pole with both hands, fingers shaking. He braces, muscles shifting visibly beneath his scales as he leans back, hauling me free inch by careful inch.
The sand resists, clinging greedily, but it loses ground. My hips clear. My knees follow. With one final, humiliating slurp, I spill onto solid stone.
I lie there gasping, cheek pressed to hot rock, lungs burning like I’ve been underwater too long.
“Ah,” the Vakutan says, rolling onto his side beside me. “Continued existence. Always a pleasure.”
I cough, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “I almost died.”
“Yes,” he agrees brightly. “You were progressing at a concerning rate.”
I push myself up onto one elbow and glare at him. “You’re insufferable.”
His throat rumbles with a pleased, draconic chuckle. “A common assessment.”
Up close, he’s unfairly striking in a way that has nothing to do with human standards. Broad chest. Powerful limbs. Scales etched with faint ceremonial markings that speak of rank and history. Confidence radiates off him like heat.
An intrusive thought crosses my mind.
Are all Dragon guardians built like this? Overpowered, overconfident, and painfully aware of both?
“Ragon,” he says, tapping a clawed finger against his breastplate. “Vakutan guardian. Occasional rescuer of catastrophically stubborn humans.”
“Sophie,” I reply. “Occasional disaster.”
His eyes brighten. “Oh. Jax is definitely fond of you.”
My stomach twists. “You were looking for him.”
“Yes,” Ragon says, amusement dimming just enough that I notice. “He failed to arrive at Sweetwater. With seedlings.”
My hand tightens instinctively over the straps across my chest. “He didn’t.”
“No,” Ragon says softly. “I see that.”
I swallow hard. “He stayed behind. Drew the raiders away so I could escape.”
Ragon’s ridged brow lowers. The cheer vanishes completely.
“They took him,” I continue. “Ace’s people. He knew they would.”
Ragon closes his eyes briefly, a slow breath rolling through his chest.
“That magnificent fool,” he murmurs. “That infuriatingly noble, idiotic friend.”
“You’re… worried,” I say, surprised.
He straightens, all humor replaced by something sharp and dangerous. “We are retrieving him.”
The certainty in his voice punches the air out of my lungs.
“You can’t just?—”
“Observe,” he says calmly.
I blink. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know Jax,” he replies. “That suffices.”
Something warm and painful blooms behind my ribs.
“I have ideas,” I say suddenly.
Ragon’s head tilts, interest piqued. “Proceed.”
I tell him what I saw. The camp. The pit. Ace’s obsession with spectacle.
Ragon listens. Truly listens. No dismissive smiles. No interruptions.
When I finish, he nods once. “That approach has merit.”
I stare. “You’re taking me seriously.”
“Of course,” he replies. “You survived Zhankar alone. You preserved the seedlings. You are standing.”
His smile returns, restrained but genuine. “Arrogance is useful. Disregard is lethal.”
I snort. “Don’t let that leak. You’ll ruin your image.”
He chuckles. “Unthinkable.”
I look down at the seedlings, then back at him. “I’m not leaving Jax.”
Ragon’s eyes sharpen with approval. “Good.”
Because Jax didn’t sacrifice himself for nothing.
I owe him more than survival.
I owe him a rescue.