Chapter 26
Ember
I follow my mother down the corridor, Hargen falling silently into step beside us.
Before the elevator doors close, I catch a glimpse of Luke still standing in the conference room, his eyes following me.
The intensity in them sends a pulse of heat through my veins, awakening the dragonfire that’s been simmering too close to my skin since we returned.
Then Caleb says something that pulls Luke’s attention away, and the doors slide shut, cutting off my view.
The moment he’s gone from sight, my magic settles; a telling reaction I’m not ready to examine too closely.
After days of being cut off from my powers in the mountains, they’ve returned with unsettling intensity.
Every emotion threatens to manifest in flame or frost, the dual nature of my heritage responding to the slightest provocation.
Neither my mother nor Hargen speaks as we ride the elevator to the residential level. The tension radiates from her, her back rigid, her movements precise. I catch the familiar scent of winter pine that always clings to her, a dragon marker I’ve inherited in a softer form.
My father’s presence feels steadier, calmer—a counterbalance to her barely controlled worry. My witch senses pick up on the magical bond between them, thrumming beneath the surface, invisible to normal perception but glowing like a beacon to my hybrid awareness.
“Here we are,” my mother says as we reach a door along the corridor.
Their quarters are nicer than the temporary room I’ve been assigned; larger windows overlooking the mountains, actual furniture rather than just functional necessities.
My mother closes the door behind us with a soft click that feels oddly final.
The room temperature drops several degrees as her control slips momentarily.
Hargen settles into a chair by the window, his presence a quiet support. He’s letting her take the lead, but I appreciate that he’s here. Whatever storm is brewing, he’ll help moderate it.
“Sit. Please.” My mother’s voice isn’t cold, just heavy with concern.
I perch on the edge of an armchair, keeping my back straight despite the exhaustion pulling at my limbs.
If I show any weakness now, they’ll use it as evidence that I can’t handle myself.
The cushion beneath me warms in response to my agitation, and I concentrate on drawing the heat back into my core before it can scorch the fabric.
She studies me for a long moment, her icy eyes missing nothing: the shadows under my eyes, the way I favor my right side where the Syndicate guard landed a solid hit, the tightness in my shoulders.
“You’ve been through hell,” she finally says. “Watched Mara die, survived without power, were captured and interrogated.” Her voice softens fractionally. “That kind of trauma doesn’t just disappear because you’re safe now.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.” The words come automatically, a defense I’ve been using since I was a child.
“You’re not fine,” she counters. “You’re exhausted and hurt and trying to be brave.”
“It’s okay to admit you need time to recover,” my father adds gently from his position by the window. His expression holds none of my mother’s intensity, just genuine concern.
My fingers curl into the armrest, and I feel my nails sharpen involuntarily into dragon claws, the tips pressing into the upholstery.
I close my eyes briefly, concentrating on pulling back the transformation.
This unpredictable shifting is new, my emotions triggering physical changes without conscious intent.
Another unsettling development since returning from the mountains.
Mom paces to the window, then back again. A faint trail of frost marks her path across the hardwood floor, crystallizing and then melting with each step. She’s seriously agitated. “I’m arranging for you to take leave. There’s a secure location in the San Juans. Quiet, isolated, fully protected.”
My heart sinks. “Mom, I don’t need—”
She continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “Hargen and I will accompany you. Two weeks minimum, away from all the stress of this place.”
The frustration that’s been building since the meeting breaks free. The air around me crackles with static as my witch magic responds.
“I don’t need to be sent away like a traumatized child.”
“But you are my child.” Her voice hardens. “And you nearly died.”
“Yet I didn’t.” I stand, unable to remain still under her scrutiny. Heat pulses from my palms, and I feel the familiar tingle of fire waiting to be called. I embrace it now, letting the warmth counter her chill. “I survived. I succeeded.”
“You were lucky,” she replies.
“It wasn’t luck.” I think of Luke’s calm under pressure, his survival expertise, the way we worked together.
The current of energy that passed between us with every touch.
The way he looked at me in that clearing, like I was something precious and dangerous all at once.
The heat inside me builds, no longer just dragonfire but something deeper, more visceral.
“Luke and I beat incredible odds together. I’m stronger now. Better.”
Something shifts in my mother’s expression, a subtle narrowing of her eyes that makes my heart stutter.
“Something happened out there.” It’s not a question. “Something you’re not telling me.”
My heart kicks against my ribs. “We were just trying to stay alive, Mom. That’s all.”
She steps closer. The air between us shimmers with conflicting temperatures; her cold, my heat.
“With Kenan. Alone. For three days.”
There’s a heaviness to the words that tells me exactly what she’s thinking, and heat crawls up my neck. A wave of inappropriate memories floods back with vivid clarity. My dragonfire responds, coursing through me in a wave that makes my fingertips glow faintly with suppressed flame.
“Did he behave appropriately?” My mother’s question interrupts my thoughts, her voice sharp as ice.
I bristle at the implication. “He saved my life. Multiple times.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Vanya,” my father intervenes, his tone diplomatic. I notice a faint amber light in his eyes, his own power rising in response to the tension. “She’s been through enough. Perhaps we should—”
“I need to know if he took advantage—” My mother’s voice turns sharp.
“He didn’t take anything!” I snap, standing abruptly.
The accusation ignites something fierce in my chest. The potted plant beside my chair withers as I inadvertently draw energy from it, my witch abilities pulling from the nearest living source.
“I’m not some helpless girl. I’m a woman and I wanted—”
I stop myself, breathing hard. The words that nearly tumbled out—that I wanted him, that I was the one who kissed him first, that when his hands explored my body, it felt like coming home to a place I’d never been, that his pulling away hurt more than anything the Syndicate did to me—would only make things worse.
Mom and Hargen exchange a look that speaks volumes. They’ve confirmed something without my saying a word.
“Regardless,” my mother’s voice firms, “you’re taking leave. That’s not negotiable.”
“I’m an adult.” I hear the desperate edge in my voice. “You can’t just—”
“I can. And I will.” Her eyes flash, pupils narrowing to dragon-like slits for a fraction of a second. “Until I’m satisfied you’ve recovered.”
Hargen shifts, clearly trying to ease the tension. “It’s just precautionary, Ember. Give yourself time to process everything.”
I stare at them both, the realization settling cold and heavy in my stomach. They’ve already decided. The discussion isn’t a discussion at all. It’s a notification. I’m not being consulted. I’m being managed.
My frustration peaks, hot and bitter in my throat. “I infiltrated a Syndicate facility. Got intelligence that’s going to save lives. Proved I can handle myself in the field.” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. “And you’re still treating me like I need to be protected from the world!”
“Because you’re my daughter.” My mother’s voice remains calm but absolute. “And I will always protect you. Whether you think you need it or not.”
Godammit, Mom!
I see it in her eyes—I won’t win this argument. Not now. Not while emotions are running this high, and certainly not when they’re both convinced I’m too traumatized to know what’s best for myself.
I exhale a deep breath, resignation making my limbs feel heavy. “Fine.” There’s no point in arguing anymore about this right now.
“Hargen will help coordinate and pack—” my mother begins.
“I can pack my own bag, Mom.” I cut her off, unable to bear another moment of their protective concern. I have no intention of packing anything, but she doesn’t need to know that.
I leave before she can respond, striding through Aurora’s corridors, blinking back furious tears.
The magic inside me churns, dragon and witch power intertwining in chaotic response to my emotional state.
Small objects tremble on shelves as I pass, the lights dim, and the air pressure changes subtly in my wake.
Every step forward I take gets yanked two steps back. Every time I prove myself, they find a new reason to shelter me. To hide me away from the dangers that I’ve already shown I can face.
I’m almost to my temporary quarters when a familiar presence brushes against my magical senses. My heartbeat accelerates instantly, my body recognizing him before my mind does. Footsteps approach from behind.
“Ember.”
My heart stutters. I turn to find Luke standing there. There’s a small cut healing on his jawline that I don’t remember from our time together, and a bandage on his temple. His scent washes over me, triggering a cascade of sensory memories that I shove away.
He looks serious. Controlled. Every wall back in place. And still gorgeous in a way that makes my chest ache and my power surge. The lights in the hallway dim momentarily as my magic reaches for his, an unconscious reaction I can’t quite control.
Luke’s eyes widen slightly as he senses the fluctuation. He stands very still. The air between us feels electrified. But then, it always does.
“We need to talk.” Four simple words, but the weight behind them makes my stomach twist. His voice is deeper than usual, rougher. It resonates through me, stirring both my dragon and witch into greater awareness.
I force steadiness into my voice. “Sure. What’s up?”
He glances around the corridor; too public, too many eyes and ears. His gaze lingers on the security camera in the corner, then returns to mine with new intensity.
“Not here. My quarters. Twenty minutes?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Luke turns and walks away without another word. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t offer any reassurance or hint about what he wants to say. Just that serious expression and retreating back.
I watch him go, conflict roiling inside me. Part of me—the rational, self-protective part—screams to ignore his invitation, to avoid the pain that’s surely coming. He’s going to tell me it was a mistake. That we can’t do this. That his guilt or my mother or the age difference makes it impossible.
But another part of me, the part that felt alive in his arms in a way I never had before, can’t stay away.
The two sides war within me, my hybrid nature a perfect reflection of my divided heart. Dragon instinct urges me to claim what I want, consequences be damned. Witch caution warns of binding myself to someone who might not fully want the connection.
I take a deep breath, attempting to center my magic as the hallway lights continue to respond to my turmoil.
My future feels balanced on a knife’s edge, with forces pulling me in opposite directions: my mother’s protection, Luke’s hesitation, and my own desperate desire to make my own choices, however painful they might be.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to decide if I’m brave enough to face whatever truth he wants to tell me.
I square my shoulders and head toward my room. Whatever Luke has to say, I’ll face it with the same courage that got me through the Syndicate facility. Even if I can’t survive hearing it, I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try.