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Chapter 1

Lila…20yearsago

Blood. Smoke. Screams. Horror…

The nightmare hits like a freight train. No warning. No mercy.

I sit bolt upright, the sheets sticking to my sweat-drenched skin. The vision clings to me, refusing to dissolve like normal dreams.

Elena, my little girl, her body contorted in pain. Dragon fire melting flesh from bone as she screams and writhes. Her gray eyes wide with accusation:Why didn’t you stop this?

My teeth chatter as I try to cry out, but no sound comes. Third night this week. Same vision. More detailed each time. My power holds me prisoner to this moment, forcing me to witness every detail of my daughter’s death.

Again. Again. Again.

I stumble from bed, barely making it to the bathroom before my stomach empties itself. Gripping the sink’s edge, I splash cold water on my face, but it does nothing to wash away whatI’ve seen. My hands won’t stop shaking. In all my days, I’ve never had a vision this vivid, thiscertain.

“Imagination,” I whisper to myself. “It’s just your imagination, Lila.” Yet it feels so real. That’s because itisreal. Or it will be, if I don’t do something about it. Sometimes, the gift of foresight doesn’t feel like such a gift.

I wipe my mouth and head back to my bedroom. Through the thin apartment walls, someone’s TV murmurs—late-night infomercials promising better lives in three easy payments.

Pulling on my threadbare robe, I pad across the worn carpet to Elena’s doorway. She sleeps sprawled across mismatched sheets, one arm flung over her head, dark curls tangled against her pillow. Her math homework is still spread on the nightstand—she got every problem right.

My brilliant girl.

Eight years old and blissfully unaware of what hunts us.

What huntsme. The dragons don’t know about her yet. I’m certain of it. I’ve used every skill in my magical arsenal to make sure that doesn’t happen. But they’re close. I’ve felt their energy twice this week, probing at the edges of my wards. Hunting the last full-blooded Rossewyn witch.

Except I’m not the last.

I press my fingertips against the door frame, tracing the hidden sigils carved there. Protection spells weakening with each passing day.

Time’s running out.

In the kitchen, I flip on the dim light above the stove and fill a glass with tap water. My hands shake. The vision replays: Elena’s screams, the smell of charred flesh, the greedy flicker of dragon fire claiming her.

I empty the glass and fill it again. The options tick through my mind for the hundredth time:

Run again. A new city, new identities. How many times have we done that? Five cities in eight years. Elena deserves stability.

Fight. Against multiple dragon operatives? Suicide.

Hide. The wards are failing. They’ll find us within days.

Or—

My stomach twists at the thought that’s been growing since the visions started. The thought I’ve been avoiding.

Go to them. Offer my services. Make a deal.

I have something they want: the ancient Rossewyn knowledge of the Heartstone. My grandmother passed down certain secrets before she died. Information about the crystal heart of dragonkind that could shift the balance of their eternal power struggles. My trump card.

If they have me—the seer, the witch, the bloodline they’ve been hunting—maybe they’ll stop looking. Maybe Elena stays off their radar.

“Maybe I’m being a fool,” I mutter, setting down the glass sharply.

Not a fool. Pragmatic. It would be a business deal.

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