Chapter 19
Jericho
Two days in the cell.
Viktor came three times. The first visit was interrogation—verifying intelligence, pushing for details I wasn’t ready to give without a guarantee.
The second was tactical assessment—how I’d approach a raid on Vex’s facility, what defenses I’d anticipate.
The third was this morning, brief: “Council convenes tonight. Be ready.”
Tonight. Because Aurora accommodates all its members, including those who can’t tolerate sunlight.
Between Viktor’s visits: silence. Concrete walls. Suppression field weight pressing on my dragon like an invisible hand. I use the time the way I’ve used every other period of confinement I’ve survived—preparing.
The Council will grant sanctuary, or they won’t. They’ll find my intelligence valuable, or they won’t. I’ll walk out alive. Or I won’t.
All outcomes are possible. None in my control.
The door opens.
Two guards. Professional. Neutral.
“Council is convening,” the lead guard says. “You’re summoned.”
I stand. They cuff my hands in front of me this time—a small concession suggesting they’re shifting perception of me; no longer pure threat. Just a man answering questions that will determine if he survives.
We walk through Aurora’s corridors. The facility is built into the mountain—stone and steel and efficiency. Operatives pass us in the halls. Some stare. Some look away. Everyone knows who I am.
Enemy. Defector. War criminal seeking sanctuary.
The truth depends on perspective.
We ascend two levels. The corridors here are wider, better lit. Administrative levels where decisions get made.
The guard stops at heavy double doors. Biometric scan. They open silently.
“Inside.”
I walk into the Council chamber.
Large room. High ceilings. Stone walls unadorned except for Aurora’s insignia—phoenix rising from flames. A semicircular table dominates the space. Nine people sit behind it.
Viktor Parlance at the center. I recognize others from intelligence files: Kael Craven, dragon, former king of the Craven clan, still carries himself like royalty even after stepping back from active leadership.
Beside him, Caleb Craven, younger, sharper edges, the one who actually runs things now.
Vanya Arrowvane, dragon shifter, former Shadowhand who defected from the Ivory League years ago—her presence here is a mirror of what I’m attempting.
The others I don’t know, but read quickly: a vampire, pale and ancient-looking, observing with sinister stillness.
A massive man with bear energy in the set of his shoulders.
A female wolf with a territorial posture.
A woman with birdlike features and golden hair—sharp-eyed, assessing.
Another dragon, quieter, watching from the end—must be Dorian Craven, Caleb’s twin.
No Nadia.
I notice the absence immediately. Expected it. She’s not on the Council. But my dragon feels her absence.
Focus.
A single chair faces the table. Positioned to disadvantage—them elevated, me lower, all eyes on me.
Standard interrogation setup.
“Sit,” Viktor says.
I comply. Hands cuffed, resting on my thighs. Posture upright but not aggressive. Every detail calculated: cooperative, professional, contained threat.
Viktor studies me. “Jericho Allon. Former Syndicate Tactical Commander. Decades of service. Multiple operations resulting in Aurora casualties. War crimes that by themselves would justify execution.”
“Yes.” Factual. No point denying documented history.
“You requested sanctuary. Claimed to have critical intelligence. We’re here to determine if that intelligence justifies granting protection to someone with your record.”
“Understood.”
“Verification first,” Kael Craven says. His voice carries authority, even diminished by time. Dragon recognizing dragon but offering no kinship. “You provided Syndicate command structure. Ivory League membership. Operational details. All accurate according to our sources.”
I nod once.
“But that’s baseline intelligence,” Caleb adds. Younger voice, harder edge. “Information we might have obtained elsewhere. What makes you worth protecting?”
“Roland Vex,” I say. “And what he’s building.”
The room shifts. Subtle. Viktor’s eyes narrow fractionally. Vanya leans forward.
“Tell them what you told me,” Viktor says.
“Vex is conducting unauthorized hybrid shifter experiments. Has been for eighteen months. The Syndicate leadership knows but allows it because his research serves their long-term goals.”
“We know Vex conducts research,” the female wolf says. “That’s not new intelligence.”
“You don’t know he has an active facility on Aurora territory.”
Complete silence.
Caleb’s expression doesn’t change, but I see his jaw tighten. “Where?”
“First, I need a guarantee of sanctuary.”
“We expect guarantees, too; that your intel is sound.” The bear shifter’s voice is deep, final. “You’re asking us to protect a war criminal. Give us reason, or we vote for execution.” He pauses. “And right now, I’m leaning toward execution.”
Fair.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Torbjorn,” the golden-haired woman tells him. “I think it’s worth investigating.”
“I agree with Madame Zoya,” Kael interjects. “Let the man continue.”
“The facility is one hundred sixty miles southwest of this headquarters,” I say. “Hidden in the Cascade range. Built into a disused timber processing plant. Vex chose the location specifically because Aurora patrols don’t extend that far regularly.”
Viktor’s hands fold on the table. Controlled. Calculating.
“What kind of experiments?” Caleb asks.
“Forced transformation. Genetic manipulation. Combat enhancement. He’s trying to create hybrid soldiers who can be controlled. Subjects are taken from border territories. Missing persons Aurora probably has reports on, but couldn’t connect.”
Vanya’s expression hardens. She knows what I’m describing. Has seen Syndicate facilities before. “How many?”
“Forty-seven taken. Twenty-three alive when I defected. The rest didn’t survive procedures.”
The wolf shifter pulls up a tablet. Scans quickly. “We have forty-seven missing person reports from that region. Last eighteen months.”
“Verified,” I confirm.
“How do you know this?” The vampire speaks for the first time. Old voice. European accent I can’t place. “How do we know you’re not fabricating intelligence to buy sanctuary?”
“I commanded security oversight for Syndicate research divisions. Every facility, every project, every expenditure crossed my desk for approval. Including Vex’s.”
“And you approved this?” Vanya’s voice is sharp. She knows what those facilities do. “You knew hybrids were being tortured and authorized it?”
“I approved security protocols. Not the research. I didn’t have the authority to shut down Ivory League-sanctioned projects.”
“But you knew,” she presses.
“I learned while I was Syndicate,” I agree. Keep my voice level. “That’s why I’m here now. To stop it.”
Viktor cuts in. “You have documentation? Proof this facility exists?”
“Personnel rosters. Supply manifests. Security protocols. Facility schematics. Encrypted files I can access once sanctuary is confirmed.”
“Where are these files?”
“Secure location. Retrievable upon agreement.”
Viktor leans back. “You’re asking us to grant sanctuary based on intelligence we can’t verify until after we’ve committed.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not standard procedure.”
“It’s the only procedure that keeps me alive long enough to deliver.” I hold his gaze. “If I give you everything now, you have no incentive to protect me. You could take the intelligence, raid the facility, then execute me or turn me over to the Syndicate.”
Torbjorn makes a sound that might be respect. “You don’t trust us.”
“I don’t trust anyone.” Honest. “But I’m trusting you with this: the facility exists.
Twenty-three hybrids are there right now.
Vex uses them for experimentation that violates every treaty Aurora claims to uphold.
You can verify location independently—send scouts, satellite imagery, whatever you need.
You’ll find infrastructure. You’ll find evidence.
But you won’t breach successfully without my intelligence on security protocols. ”
“And if we try without your help?” Zoya asks. Her voice is measured, strategic.
“You’ll lose operatives to defenses you don’t anticipate. And Vex will destroy evidence before you succeed. He has contingencies. I know what they are.”
Silence. Council members exchange looks. Calculating.
“We need to discuss this,” Viktor says. “Commander Allon, wait outside.”
Guards escort me to the corridor. The door closes.
I lean against the wall. Breathe. The suppression cuffs are heavy. The field from the chamber—they have it active there too, probably to prevent any shifter from using abilities to intimidate—has made my head pound.
Time passes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. I count breaths. Stay centered.
The door opens.
“Inside.”
I walk back in. The Council’s expressions are carefully neutral.
Viktor speaks. “We’ve verified the location through satellite reconnaissance. There is a disused timber plant at the coordinates you provided. Recent activity detected—vehicles, heat signatures consistent with occupation.”
I wait.
“The Council has voted,” Viktor continues. “Six to three in favor of conditional sanctuary.”
Professional assessment: acceptable odds. Personal reaction: I’m alive.
“There are terms,” Viktor says. “You’re confined to Aurora territory. No leaving without explicit authorization. Daily debriefing with the intelligence division. All movements monitored. Any violation terminates sanctuary immediately.”
“Understood.”
“You provide all documentation within twenty-four hours. If intelligence proves false or incomplete, sanctuary is revoked.”
“It’s accurate.”
“You assist in planning and executing the raid on Vex’s facility. Your expertise on security protocols and Syndicate tactics will be utilized.”
“Agreed.”
Caleb leans forward. “And you’ll have no contact with Nadia Frost until further notice.”
That hits differently than expected. Not just restriction—specific prohibition.
“Why?” I ask. Carefully neutral.
“Because her judgment regarding you needs evaluation, and we need to maintain professional boundaries while you’re being assessed. Non-negotiable.”
My dragon stirs despite suppression. Frustrated. I force discipline.
“Understood.”
“You’ll be moved from detention to restricted quarters,” Viktor says. “Level two. Monitored but with more freedom. Consider this probationary. Prove that your intelligence is valuable. Prove you can be trusted.”
Viktor stands. Others follow. Kael reaches forward and unlocks my suppression cuffs himself, our eyes meeting as he does it. The weight lifts. My fire surges back—not fully, still dampened by whatever field they’re running in this room, but present. My dragon unfurls slightly, testing boundaries.
The relief is immediate and disorienting.
“Welcome to the Aurora Collective, Commander Allon,” Viktor says. Formal. Cold. “Conditional sanctuary granted. Don’t make us regret it.”
We leave the room, and the guards escort me away from detention. Toward residential levels.
They stop at a door marked 2-14. Unlock it. “Your quarters. Meals delivered. Intelligence debriefing starts tomorrow, first thing. Don’t leave this level without authorization.”
Then they’re gone.
I step inside. The door closes. Not locked. But monitored; there’s a camera in the corner, and a sensor on the door.
Still contained. Just a better cell.
The room is functional. Bed. Desk. Chair. Small bathroom. Window.
Window.
I cross to it. The mountain range stretches beyond Aurora’s walls. It’s the first real light I’ve seen since I got here. The stars are out—full darkness now. It must be past midnight.
I’m alive. The Council granted sanctuary, albeit conditional.
This should be enough.
My dragon pushes against the boundaries of my control. Not the suppression field—that’s gone. Just… pulling in ways I don’t recognize. Straining toward something I can’t identify.
Toward her.
Somewhere in this facility. Unreachable because of Viktor’s order.
The pull is irrational, makes no sense. I barely know her. Spent three days in survival mode, most of it trying not to get killed. But the encounters that we had… My body won’t stop remembering—her weight on me, her mouth, the sounds she made, how close we came before—
I cut the thought. Focus.
But my dragon doesn’t care about focus. Doesn’t care about any of it. He just wants—
Her.
The certainty of it disturbs me more than the Council meeting did. More than detention. More than facing possible execution.
I’ve built my entire existence on control. Precision. Emotional discipline. The ability to make hard decisions without hesitation or doubt.
This isn’t that.
This is my body responding without permission. My fire flaring when I think about her. My hands remembering the shape of her. The taste of her.
I don’t know what this is.
But my dragon seems certain.
Mate.
I shake my head to clear the thought. I’ve never let my dragon lead. I’m not starting now.
I turn away from the window. Sit on the bed. It’s soft after three days of concrete, but I barely notice.
Focus on what matters: I have twenty-four hours to retrieve the documentation that’s stored in the cloud. Have to prepare for debriefing. Have to prove my intelligence is worth Aurora’s risk. Have to survive probation.
That’s tactical. That’s controllable. That’s within my capacity to manage.
Nadia is none of those things.
I don’t know what she feels. Don’t know if her wolf is pulling at her the way my dragon pulls at me. Don’t know if she’s thinking about that motel room or if she’s relieved Viktor ordered separation.
Don’t know if she regrets what almost happened or wishes it had.
I have no data. No intelligence. No way to assess the situation because Viktor won’t let me near her.
So I do what I’ve always done: compartmentalize. Lock away what I can’t control. Focus on mission objectives.
But my dragon won’t settle. The discipline that carried me through my time at the Syndicate service feels insufficient against whatever this is.
And that—more than the Council, more than probation, more than the risk of execution if my intel proves false—that unsettles me.
I don’t lose control.
Yet, I’m losing control.
I sink back onto the bed. Stare at ceiling. Try to breathe through the pull that won’t quit, the heat that won’t fade, the certainty my dragon has that my mind refuses to accept.
I’m alive. Free. Sanctioned.
And completely unable to manage the one thing that matters.