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My gut says the latter. You don’t survive with the Syndicate by being broken. You survive by making them think you are.

“What else should I know about her?”

Zoe hesitates, unusual for her. “She’s… not what you’d expect. The file says she volunteered.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s the official record. Walked right into their arms. Practically no resistance.”

That doesn’t track. Rossewyn witches were hunted nearly to extinction for their abilities. None would willingly serve the Syndicate.

“Why?”

“Unknown.” Zoe’s voice hardens. “Classic Syndicate manipulation. Whatever her reasons, I’m sure they twisted them.”

The wind shifts, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. Something about this isn’t adding up.

“What does Creed want from her?”

“The usual. Prophecies. Intel on rival factions. But lately, it’s been focused on something specific—energy signatures near Craven territory.”

The Cravens. Oldest remaining dragon bloodline, direct descendants of Kael, the last Dragon King. Powerful and mostly isolationist.

“Connected to those disturbances Viktor mentioned?”

“Possibly.”

“Maybe it’s the Heartstone. God knows everyone’s been looking for it for long enough.”

“Wherever the Cravens are keeping it, they’re holding that card close to their chest.” Zoe hands me an earpiece, so small it’s nearly invisible. “Quantum encrypted. Emergency only. You know the drill.”

I tuck it into my pocket. “Recovery timeline?”

“As soon as safely possible. Primary objective is confirmation of her abilities, then immediate extraction. Viktor was clear; she’s too valuable to leave in Syndicate hands, especially with whatever’s brewing with the Cravens.”

I nod, understanding the urgency. The Aurora Collective needs her insights, and every day in Syndicate custody puts her at risk.

“Any questions?” Zoe asks, already backing toward her car.

“Her name. The witch.”

“Lila Ross. Though she’s confirmed Rossewyn bloodline.” She tosses a small flash drive my way. “Everything else is on there. Memorize, then destroy.”

As she turns to leave, I call after her. “Zoe. The odds?”

She pauses, hand on the car door. “Of success? Low. Of survival?” She shrugs. “Lower.”

“Good thing I like a challenge.”

Her laugh is sharp and brief. “That’s why Viktor picked you. You’re too stubborn to die.”

After she’s gone, I stand alone at the viewpoint, staring down at the facility that will be my prison for the foreseeable future. The sun catches on the glass and steel, making it gleam in a way that seems sinister.

I’ve infiltrated Syndicate operations before. Recovery missions. Intelligence gathering. Occasionally, elimination of specific threats. But never something this deep, this sustained.

Never as Allard Reeve.

Becoming someone else isn’t just about memorizing details. It’s about inhabiting them. Breathing them. Shaping yourself into a vessel that can contain a different kind of fire.

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