Page 87 of Fated By Fire

We find Dorian in the rubble, cradling a woman’s body.

Juno.

Her café apron is soaked in blood, the cheerful polka dots grotesque against the crimson. A massive pillar lies shattered beside them, its granite veined with cracks. Dorian’s arms wrap around her. He’s trembling. His skin is still darkened by scales that are streaked with ash. His face is a mask of anguish.

“She pushed me,” he chokes out, his voice shattered. “I was—I was shifting to reach her, and shesawit. The pillar—” He breaks off, his fingers curling gently around her limp hand. “She shoved me out of the way. How did she even…?”

Elena kneels beside him, her fingers brushing Juno’s wrist. She looks at me and shakes her head before turning back to him.

“I’m so sorry, Dorian.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her. His thumb traces the curve of Juno’s cheek, smudged with ash and blood.

“She said she’d beat my latte art. The coffee queen.” His laugh is a broken thing, raw and hollow. “Stupid. So stupid.”

I grip his shoulder, the words clotting in my throat. What do you say to a man who’s holding someone who just died for him? The lobby groans around us, the structural damage from the battle too severe. Somewhere above, a beam cracks.

“We need to move,” I say quietly.

Dorian doesn’t respond. He gathers Juno closer, shielding her from the falling dust. It’s Lydia who finally coaxes him up, her voice uncharacteristically soft. We make our way out of theruined building, silent as we observe the wreckage of the street outside.

The Syndicate is already retreating, their forces scattering like roaches in the light. I’m not sure what sends them off. Right now, I’m too exhausted to care.

The city is left scarred but standing. Tomorrow, we’ll deal with the inevitable consequences. It’s going to take everything we have to suppress this story.

“Mr. Craven?”

I swivel my head to see Sloane picking her way through the rubble. A strand of hair clings to her cheek, and there’s a streak of ash across the front of her pristine white shirt. Aside from that, she’s as immaculate as ever.

Thank fuck.

“I’m assuming you’ll want PR on this asap?” she asks.

I stifle the urge to laugh out loud.

“Yes. Thank you, Sloane.”

She gives a tight smile. “Gas leaks. Terrorist attacks. Mass hallucination. We’ll figure something out.”

“I have faith in your judgment.” I smile.

She nods and turns away, leaving Elena and me standing in the ruins of Craven Tower, the Heartstone between us. Its light is softer now, almost… watchful. The moonlight filters through the shattered windows, painting the debris in silver.

She threads her fingers through mine, her touch steadying. “Malakai’s still out there.”

“Let him come.” I kiss her temple, her skin warm with residual energy. “He doesn’t know what he’s up against.”

Her smile is tired but fierce. “We’ll need a bigger stone.”

A breeze stirs the ashes at our feet. Somewhere in the wreckage, a phone rings—a reporter, no doubt. I ignore it. Let the others handle the fallout. For now, there’s only this: Elena’shand in mine, the Heartstone’s hum, and the fragile hope kindling in my chest.

As day breaks, as grief and victory dance in the ashes, I almost believe it.

Almost.

Chapter 32

Elena

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