Chapter 28
Ember
I stare at the ceiling of my assigned quarters, long past the stage of counting sheep.
The room is small but comfortable, a proper bed instead of a cave floor, a private bathroom with actual hot water, and even a small sitting area with two chairs.
The sheets beneath me are crisp and clean, almost too smooth against my skin after roughing it in the mountains.
My body should be grateful. I’ve showered away the grime of the ordeal, scrubbing until my skin turned pink under the steaming water.
I’ve eaten a real meal that didn’t come from a foil packet, savoring flavors that weren’t bland and processed.
The Aurora medical team cleared me, their gloved hands clinical and impersonal as they documented every bruise, every graze, every scrape left after clambering over rocks.
The doctor said I needed rest.
But sleep refuses to come.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there.
The mountains, with their brutal beauty and hidden dangers, the pine and snow, the bite of cold air in my lungs.
The Syndicate facility, with its sterile corridors and the stench of fear, antiseptic masking something rotten beneath.
Luke’s hands on my skin, gentle despite their strength, calloused fingertips leaving trails of heat wherever they touched.
Then, coming back to face the endless questions. My mother’s smothering suspicions. My father appearing in the doorway at the worst possible moment. The awkward silence. The promise to keep quiet about what he saw.
God, what a mess.
I throw off the blanket and pace the length of the room. Heat rises in my palms with each step, tiny embers glowing beneath the surface, my power responding to my agitation.
Everything feels fragile. Like we’re balancing on a knife-edge and the slightest wrong move will send it all crashing down.
A knock at my door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. The sharp, precise sound cuts through the hum of the air circulation system. I pause, wondering if it’s Luke. Or worse, my mother, ready for another round of “I know what’s best for you.”
I open the door to find neither.
Iris Asguard stands in the hallway, her copper-gold eyes sharp with concern.
The scent of wildflowers and something earthy—herbs, maybe—clings to her clothes.
Beside her is Kieran, her twin brother. The resemblance is uncanny and disorienting; same coloring, same eyes, though Kieran’s seem older somehow, shadowed by experiences I can only imagine.
“How’re you doing?” Iris says. “We wanted to check on you.”
I step aside, inviting them in, grateful for the distraction.
“I’m fine. Just… restless.” The word feels inadequate for the storm building inside me.
They settle into my small sitting area, Iris perching on the edge of one chair while Kieran takes the other. The cushions release a soft sigh under their weight. He watches me with an intensity that’s a little unnerving.
“How bad was it?” Iris asks softly, her question gentle, probing, but giving me space to share only what I’m comfortable with.
I take a breath, tasting the metallic tang of fear that rises in my throat whenever I think about the facility.
“The crash was the worst of it, but I’ll admit I was terrified when they got hold of us.”
“The Syndicate?”
I nod. “When they found out who I was…” I hesitate, suppressing a shudder, then go on, “They had plans for me. Bad ones.”
The memory of restraints biting into my wrists flashes hot and sharp. The burning pain when they tasered me…
I stop that train of thought in its tracks. That’s behind me now.
“Bastards,” Iris spits. “Don’t deserve to call themselves dragons.”
“What did you learn while you were there?” Kieran asks, his voice carefully neutral. “Viktor told me you gathered intel. Wants us to meet to go over it soon, but I thought I’d get a head start. Compare notes.”
“I imagine that a lot of what I learned will align with what you know,” I say to him. “Just more updated. I think they’ve changed some planning since their first attempts to wake the Sleeping King went pear-shaped.”
“Pear-shaped is an understatement,” Iris mutters. “I was there. They were totally unprepared for what they were about to unleash.”
“The Sleeping King,” I say. “Did you see him yourself?”
“I’m not sure what I saw,” she says. “You told us about the dreams, but I think they may have been symbolic. When we were in those chambers, the ritual was centered around a huge statue.”
“Not a person?” I say. “Or a dragon?”
She shakes her head. “No. I think the carvings were a representation of the Sleeping King. The legends we’ve been told are vivid and colorful, but I think the reality is more pragmatic. The last king was laid to rest in a place that gathered immense power.”
“That’s what they’re tapping into,” says Kieran. “That power source. It’s concentrated in that mountain.”
I gnaw on my lip. “I’ll admit, it feels alive. Like some sort of sentient force. I know that’s what helped me when I went into that place. Helped Luke too…when he saved me from…” I trail off. My fingers knot together as I speak, the skin around my nails still raw and torn from my escape attempts.
Kieran leans forward, tension visible in the set of his shoulders, in the way his knuckles whiten as he grips his knees.
“I lived with their bullshit for three years,” he says, his voice flat, controlled. “I know exactly what you went through.”
I see the shadows lurking behind his eyes. The same shadows I feel taking root in me. The air between us thickens with shared trauma.
He straightens and rolls his shoulders, as if shaking it off.
“They have a system—tracking bloodlines, monitoring power signatures, building genealogies.” He pulls a folded packet from his jacket, pages of cramped writing, diagrams, maps.
The paper is worn at the edges, as though he’s unfolded and refolded it countless times.
“I wrote down as much as I could. Guard rotations, facility layouts, command structure.”
His fingers trace the lines of a diagram that I recognize as the compound where they held me. The sight of it makes my stomach clench, a visceral reaction to seeing the space of my nightmares mapped out so precisely.
Iris watches him with a mixture of pride and worry. “Kieran’s been compiling it since we got him out. Obsessed with taking them down.”
“Can you blame me?” He glances at her. “I very nearly became part of their nightmare.”
I examine his notes, recognizing some of the same details I saw when I went in.
“This is really in-depth,” I tell him. “And a lot of it is the same as what I saw there. We’ll be able to corroborate details.”
“That’s what I was thinking too,” he agrees. “If we compare notes, we’ll be able to figure out exactly what to expect.”
“You think we can stop them?” I ask. It’s something that’s been nagging at me. The Aurora Collective is well-funded and organized, but it’s nowhere near as vast and entrenched as the Syndicate is.
“I know we can. If Aurora moves fast enough.” His certainty is contagious. “And with what you’ve come back with, I’m pretty sure it’s going to give Viktor and his team the incentive they need to get on this as soon as possible. What you’ve given us could turn the tide.”
I feel it then, a shift inside me; I’m not just some sheltered girl anymore, hidden away for my own protection.
I’m part of something larger, something vital.
My risk, my pain, my capture—it mattered.
For the first time, the fire inside me feels less like a curse and more like a weapon I was meant to wield.
Kieran stands, his expression softening slightly. “Thank you. For being brave enough to go back there.”
His words settle on my skin like a balm, acknowledgment of what I endured, what I risked. Not as Vanya’s daughter, but as myself. As Ember.
After they leave, I sit alone again, turning over Kieran’s words. His acknowledgment feels strangely validating, like the first real breath after being underwater too long. For the first time since my return, I feel stronger. More certain.
The feeling lasts until the next knock comes, sharper, more commanding. The sound resonates through the room, too loud.
“Ember, we need to finalize the San Juan arrangements.” My mother’s voice, cool and controlled. I fight down a frustrated sigh.
“Coming, Mom.” I open the door to find my mother flanked by Hargen. The two people who’ve decided my life is too precious to risk, too valuable to leave in my own hands.
My mother strides in without waiting for an invitation. Hargen follows more hesitantly, his gaze skittering away from mine when our eyes meet. My mother’s posture is perfect, as always, her pale hair swept into its customary sleek style, her expression brisk but not unkind.
“I’ve secured the location,” she says. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
Her tone tells me she’s not here to argue. It’s the same tone she’s used my entire life, when deciding where we’d live, when I’d train, what powers were safe to develop. The sound of it sends a familiar chill across my skin, a conditioned response to years of obedience.
I’m suddenly, intensely tired of it.
“I’m not going,” I say. Power stirs within me, heat pooling in my palms. I clasp them behind my back, not trusting myself to control the fire simmering just beneath my skin.
My mother stops, turning to face me fully. “Excuse me?”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m not a child who needs to be sent away.”
My mother’s eyes narrow, and I sense a sudden chill. I resist the urge to shiver, standing my ground as frost practically forms in the air between us.
“You watched a friend die. You were captured and tortured,” she says, each word precise. “You need time to—”
“I need to be treated like the adult I am.” The strength of my voice surprises me.
Her eyes flash; that dangerous gleam I’ve seen directed at others but rarely at me. The air around her shimmers slightly, the way it does when she’s keeping her power in check. “An adult would recognize when she needs help.”
“An adult gets to make her own decisions.” I cross my arms, refusing to back down.
My mother’s patience visibly thins. Her breath mists slightly when she speaks, though the room isn’t cold. “This isn’t a discussion. You’re going.”
“No. I’m not.”
Silence falls, ice meeting fire. Neither of us willing to yield. The tension between us is alive, pressing against my skin, making it hard to breathe. I can almost taste the ozone charge of magic: hers winter-sharp and clean, mine smoky and volatile.
With a sharp exhale, she turns to Hargen, her expression tightly controlled.
“Talk some sense into her.”
My father shifts uncomfortably, glancing between us. The scent of his discomfort hangs in the air. “My love, maybe we should give her some space to—”
“We’ll discuss this tomorrow when you’re thinking more clearly,” my mother cuts him off, addressing me with finality.
She leaves, the door closing behind her with controlled force. Not a slam—the Shadowhand would never be so undisciplined—but the message is clear. The sound reverberates through me like a closing cell door.
Hargen lingers, his expression sympathetic. The warm brown of his eyes softened with concern.
“She’s just worried,” he says quietly. “She nearly lost you.”
“I know.” I sigh, the fight draining from me, leaving exhaustion in its wake. My shoulders sag as the fire inside me dims. “But I can’t let her run my life anymore.”
“Choose your battles carefully, Ember,” he advises, gentle but firm. “She’s only trying to protect you.”
He leaves, too, and I’m alone again with my thoughts.
The rush from the confrontation still sings through my veins, making my fingertips tingle.
I press my palms against the cool wall, watching as the paint bubbles slightly beneath my touch before I pull away.
I just stood up to Vanya Arrowvane—the Shadowhand—and didn’t back down.
For the first time in my life, I chose my own decision over my mother’s.
The realization washes away years of careful compliance.
I’m done letting other people decide what’s best for me.
Done hiding what I want because it makes them uncomfortable.
I want Luke. And I’m going to tell him.
The decision settles into my bones, warm and certain. It feels right in a way few things in my life ever have.
I check the time on the small clock beside my bed. Late, but not impossibly so. He might still be up, dealing with the aftermath of our mission.
Without giving myself time to reconsider, I leave my quarters with purpose.
Each step carries me closer to what I want.
To who I want. My heart drums a steady rhythm in my ears, courage and fear and anticipation all tangled together.
The scent of smoke trails behind me, subtle but distinct as emotion builds and stirs my power.
For once, I don’t try to contain it.
I let it rise. Let it burn.
I’m done hiding.