19. Ragon
RAGON
I leave before the desert decides whether it’s morning.
That’s the trick—move while the world is still undecided. Before shadows commit. Before people wake up and start asking questions they won’t like the answers to.
Sophie is asleep when I stand. Curled tight on her side, my jacket half-slipped off one shoulder, fingers still hooked into the fabric like she might lose it if she lets go. Her breathing is uneven—dreaming hard. The kind of sleep you earn by refusing to stop.
Jax is awake.
Of course he is.
He sits a little apart from the fire ring, rifle across his knees, chin dipped, eyes tracking nothing and everything. He doesn’t look at me when I move, but his posture shifts—subtle, predatory.
“Scouting?” he murmurs.
I pause just long enough to make it believable. “Habit.”
“Mm.” A beat. “Don’t wander.”
I smile faintly. “I’ll try not to get lost.”
He doesn’t smile back.
I take my blade and my hood and step away before either of them can decide to follow.
The ravine waits where it always does—broken teeth of stone, rubble scattered like someone lost an argument with gravity. The path is nonsense unless you know it. That’s the point.
I don’t rush. Rushing gets you watched.
I step where the stone is dull. Where the sand has settled instead of screaming underfoot. I count my breaths, not because I need to—but because it keeps my hands steady.
First marker: a split rock, clean and deliberate.
Second: a line of pebbles arranged wrong enough to be right.
Third: absence. No lizards. No birds. No wind.
I pull my hood up.
“About time,” a voice says from my left.
I don’t turn. “You’re early.”
“Figured you’d be late,” she replies, stepping into view.
Kera. Lean. Scar down her jaw like punctuation. Eyes that miss nothing and forgive less.
Behind her, four others materialize—no drama, no noise. They don’t crowd me. They don’t aim weapons.
They don’t have to.
“Report,” I say.
Kera flicks a finger, and one of the others tosses a slate at my feet.
“Eastern relay went dark,” she says. “Timed bleed. No civilian outages.”
“Good.”
“Supply convoy vanished south of the flats.”
“Bodies?”
“None.”
“Better.”
Another steps forward, younger, dirt still ground into his knuckles. “Citadel’s stirring.”
That gets my attention.
“How.”
“Scaffolding,” he says. “Broadcast pylons. Public-facing.”
“Ah,” I murmur. “He’s feeling dramatic.”
Kera’s mouth tightens. “He’s planning a show.”
“For who.”
“For everyone.”
The ravine feels smaller.
“When.”
“Days,” she says. “Maybe less.”
I tap the slate with my boot. “Patrol shifts?”
She swipes, holo-lines blooming in the air—routes tightening near the citadel, outer zones thinning.
“He’s drawing eyes inward,” she says. “Leaving his flanks quiet.”
“Because he thinks they’re clean,” I say.
“And they are,” she replies pointedly. “Because you told us to stop hitting them.”
“Yes.”
Some of the others exchange looks. Frustration simmers.
“You want us idle,” one says.
“I want you invisible,” I correct. “Delay attacks. No civilian bleed. No grand gestures.”
“That gives him time,” Kera says.
“It gives him confidence,” I reply. “Confidence makes men sloppy.”
A beat.
“And the gates?” she asks.
I point to a section on the projection. “These. Watch them. Don’t touch them. If he opens them early, I want to know who walks through first.”
Kera studies me. “You’re expecting guests.”
“I’m expecting mistakes.”
She nods slowly. “Orders?”
I meet her gaze. “Stay alive.”
That earns a few thin smiles.
They melt back into the ravine one by one, leaving dust and silence behind.
I turn?—
And Sophie is standing there.
No weapon. No shout.
Just her, arms crossed tight, eyes bright with a fury that could light cities.
“How long,” she says, very carefully, “were you planning to lie to me?”
I don’t reach for charm. That would be insulting.
Instead, I sigh. “You followed me.”
“I tracked you,” she snaps. “You’re not subtle when you don’t want to be.”
“I didn’t want you here.”
“And yet,” she says, stepping closer, “here I am. Watching people take orders from you like you’re?—”
“The Hooded One,” I say mildly.
The name lands like a dropped glass.
She recoils a half-step. “That’s not?—”
“Yes,” I say.
Her laugh is sharp, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”
“I don’t joke about titles,” I reply. “They tend to come with funerals.”
“You’ve been bleeding Dzu’s empire,” she says. “For years.”
“Yes.”
“While smiling. While joking. While letting me think you were just—what? A fixer?”
“A very good one.”
Her hands shake. “You didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Why.”
I tilt my head. “Because if you knew, you’d have been watched.”
“I already am!”
“Not like that.”
She stares at me, chest rising fast. “You don’t get to decide what risks I take.”
“I know.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Her voice breaks. “You don’t trust me.”
I step closer. “I trust you too much.”
Footsteps scrape stone.
Jax.
He takes one look at Sophie’s face, at my hood, at the empty ravine.
“What the hell is this.”
Sophie doesn’t answer.
I do.
“Everything you suspect,” I say. “And a few things you don’t.”
Jax’s jaw tightens. “You brought her into this.”
“She walked in.”
“You led her.”
“Toward the truth.”
His hand twitches. “You manipulated her.”
“No,” I say calmly. “I prepared her.”
“You endangered her!”
“I protected her better than ignorance ever could.”
Jax steps into my space. “You don’t get to play chess with people I care about.”
I smile thinly. “Neither do you.”
That does it.
He shoves me.
Hard.
I stumble back a step, more surprised than hurt.
Sophie moves instantly—between us, palms out.
“Stop. Both of you.”
Jax glares at me over her shoulder. “He’s using you.”
I meet her eyes. “I never forced your hand.”
She swallows. “You still should have told me.”
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I should have.”
Silence stretches.
Then Sophie straightens.
“I’m going to Dzu,” she says.
Jax and I speak at once.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
She looks at each of us in turn. “This is my father’s trail. Not yours. Not your rebellion. Not your war.”
Jax’s voice cracks. “You’ll die.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I won’t disappear.”
She steps back.
Away from both of us.
“I’m going alone.”
The ravine feels suddenly vast.
And empty.
She turns and walks away.