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“That’s… not supposed to happen,” Hargen says, eyes wide.

“It’s magic,” I remind him with a smile before stepping into the vault.

The room beyond is smaller than I expected. Clinical. Sterile. At its center, suspended in a containment field much like the one at the Syndicate facility, pulses the Shard.

I move closer. The connection between us strengthens with proximity, warmth spreading through my veins, recognition humming in my blood.

“Be careful,” Hargen warns, following close behind.

“I’m fine.” I can’t tear my eyes from the Shard. It seems different here, away from the Syndicate’s influence. Cleaner somehow. More itself. “I need to touch it.”

“I’ll watch over you,” he says, positioning himself where he can catch me if I fall. “If it looks like you’re in trouble, I’m pulling you out.”

I nod, appreciating his concern without needing the protection. I’m done being monitored, measured, analyzed. This connection is mine. Natural. As it should be.

I hesitate, fingers hovering inches from the crystal, memories of forced extractions flashing through my mind. The pain. The violation. The helplessness.

“This is different,” I whisper, more to myself than to Hargen. “My terms.”

My fingers close around the crystal.

Power surges through me—not the violent invasion of the Syndicate’s sessions, but a warm flood like coming home after too long away. The Shard welcomes me. Belongs with me in ways the Syndicate never understood.

“How does it feel?” Hargen asks, watching my face intently.

“Warm. Alive.” I cradle the crystal in both hands, feeling its pulse. “There’s… knowledge in it. Memories. Not mine, but…”

“Blood memory,” Hargen supplies. “My grandmother spoke of it. The ancestral knowledge passed through Rossewyn blood.”

I close my eyes, surrendering to the gentle current of energy flowing between us. Images flicker behind my eyelids. Fragments at first, then clearer scenes. A woman with dark hair like mine, dressed in clothes from centuries past. A massive crystal heart pulsing with living fire, much larger than the Shard, suspended in a chamber deep beneath the earth.

“Lyria,” I breathe, the name rising from depths I didn’t know existed within me.

“The first Rossewyn witch to bond with a dragon,” Hargen says. “Your ancestor.”

The images sharpen. Lyria stands before the great crystal heart—the Heartstone in its complete form. Her hands caress its surface with familiarity.

“The Heartstone wasn’t meant for control,” I murmur, letting the knowledge flow through me. “It was a union. A covenant between dragon and witch. Lyria and Kael together.”

“The Dragon King and his witch,” Hargen confirms. “Before the betrayal.”

More images cascade: Kael’s death, Vaelric’s attempted theft, the Heartstone shattering. The Shard’s memory of being torn from its whole, carried away, hidden through centuries by those who understood its power. The Rossewyn witches, my ancestors, guarding the secret through generations.

As the memories flow, something else emerges—a deeper understanding of what happened between Lyria and Kael. Not just alliance, not just cooperation, but a bond so profound it changed them both. The dragon mark on her neck. The claiming. The completion.

“They’ve got it all wrong,” I say, opening my eyes to look at Hargen. “The Syndicate. Viktor. All of them. The Heartstone wasn’t a weapon. It was a bridge. A connection. When it broke…”

“Everything broke with it,” he finishes. “The factions. The endless fighting.”

The Shard pulses brighter in my hands, responding to this understanding.

And then—

Elena!

The vision slams into me so hard I stumble back a step. My daughter, no longer the child I lost but the woman I glimpsed during the Syndicate operation. She stands in what I recognize as Craven Towers, hands pressed against cool glass, looking out at the city below.

But it’s not just a vision of her. It’s her now. This moment. Her thoughts, her feelings ripple through the connection, shocking in their clarity.

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