Page 10 of Taken

“The Heartstone,” Zoe murmurs.

The word hangs in the air like smoke. Ancient dragon magic. A crystal that can bind dragon will and power. The nuclear option in their eternal cold war.

“Rumors,” Davis dismisses, but his eyes betray him. Fear doesn’t sit well on a dragon’s face, even a former Syndicate one.

The door finally swings open. Viktor strides in, his white hair pulled back in a tight knot, his blind eye milky against his dark skin. Despite being centuries old, he moves like a man in his prime. For a dragon who’s lived through five centuries of clan wars, he carries the hope of peace like a torch in darkness—the reason he founded the Aurora Collective just twelve years ago.

“Sorry for the delay,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I was confirming some intelligence.”

He tosses a file onto the table. Photos spill out—satellite images of a facility nestled in the mountains. Surveillance shots of men and women in suits entering and exiting. Thermal imaging showing strange heat signatures beneath the complex.

“Syndicate stronghold?” Davis asks, examining the nearest photo.

“More than that.” Viktor takes his seat at the head of the table. “We believe it’s one of their primary research facilities. And we have reason to think they’re holding a high-value magical asset there.”

Zoe leans forward, her interest piqued. “What kind of asset?”

“A witch. And not just any witch.” Viktor’s gaze finds mine. “Rossewyn blood.”

The room goes silent. I keep my face expressionless despite the jolt that runs through me.

Rossewyn. The name carries weight. An ancient bloodline of witches tied to the original dragon kings through magic and blood pacts. Seers with the power to glimpse the future. A lineage thought extinct.

“You’re sure?” I ask, voice deliberately flat.

Viktor nods. “Our source is reliable. The Syndicate has had her for two decades.”

“Impossible,” Davis says. “The Rossewyn line died out. The Syndicate hunted them to extinction.”

“Apparently not.” Viktor pushes a grainy photo across the table to me. A woman with long dark hair streaked with a single band of silver, visible through a reinforced window. “This was taken three weeks ago.”

I study the image, cataloging details. High cheekbones, broad forehead with a determined set to her jaw. Like many of her kind, it’s impossible to tell her age, although she looks to be in her late twenties—a fact that’s unlikely, if she’s been in captivityfor two decades. Slender to the point of frailty. Eyes that seem to look beyond the camera, beyond the present.

Beautiful. Not that it’s relevant.

“What’s your play?” I ask Viktor, already knowing the answer. Already knowing why his gaze hasn’t left my face since he entered.

“We need confirmation and recovery. If she truly is Rossewyn, and if the visions attributed to her are accurate, she’s too valuable to leave in Syndicate hands.” Viktor folds his hands on the table. “Especially with the current… instabilities.”

I drop the photo, leaning back in my chair. “You’re thinking about the rumors. The unexplained energy signatures near the Craven territory.”

“Among other things.”

A tense silence falls. Reports of strange magical disturbances have been filtering in for months. Something powerful awakening. Something the old texts barely mention. Connected to the Craven clan, if intelligence is believed. Another piece on the chessboard that’s suddenly been overturned.

“You want me to infiltrate a Syndicate black site on the chance this woman is what you think she is?” I keep my tone even, though my mind is already calculating angles, approaches, weaknesses.

Viktor smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. “I want you to do what you do best, Talon. Get in where others can’t. Find the truth. And if the truth warrants it, create an exit strategy.”

I feel the weight of the other eyes around the table. They know my history with the Syndicate. Know why I broke with traditional dragon hierarchies after centuries of service. Know about the mate I lost during the London Purge when the Syndicate decided neutrality wasn’t an option anymore. The price I’ve paid for choosing freedom over blind allegiance.

The scales beneath my skin itch at the memory, my dragon nature responding to the old rage I keep carefully banked.

“The security will be unprecedented,” I point out, not a refusal but an acknowledgment.

“Which is why we’ve been laying groundwork.” Viktor nods to Zoe, who slides a slim folder toward me. “Identity’s already in place. Allard Reeve, former elite dragon forces, specializing in magical containment. Security consultant with references the Syndicate won’t question because they come from their own subsidiaries.”

I flip open the folder, scanning the fabricated history. Impressive work, down to the doctored footage of me in dragon force regalia.

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