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Allard Reeve. Elite dragon forces specialist. Expert in magical containment. Ruthless and efficient. A true believer in the Syndicate cause.

Everything I despise. Everything I used to be.

The memories surface as I drive toward the facility checkpoint. London, sixty years ago. The purge of neutrals—dragons who refused to choose sides in the escalating conflict between the Syndicate and the Circle of Fire.

I’d been rising through the ranks of the dragon forces then, a true believer in the Syndicate’s vision of order. Of control. My commanding officer had given me the order personally: eliminate the neutral enclave in East London. Dragons who refused to ally with Syndicate forces had to be eradicated.

For the greater good. For the survival of our kind.

I’d almost done it. Had stood in the warehouse where they’d gathered, my scales already breaking through my skin, fire building in my lungs as I prepared to unleash hell.

Then I’d seen her. Becca. My mate of thirty years. The woman I’d thought was visiting family in Edinburgh.

Standing among the neutrals. Her eyes meeting mine across the room. The betrayal in them cutting deeper than any blade.

I didn’t complete the mission. Couldn’t. But I was too late to stop what I’d set in motion. The backup team had already been deployed. All I could do was watch as dragon fire consumed the warehouse. As Becca burned alongside the others, her eyes never leaving mine.

The Syndicate thinks I died in the blaze with them. Just ashes among ashes.

Only Viktor knows the truth. That I survived, torn between worlds. Neither Syndicate nor Circle. A dragon without a clan. Without purpose.

Until Viktor found me in a dive bar in Prague, haunted by memories no amount of alcohol could dull—dragon metabolism ensures we keep our demons intact, no matter how much we drink. Until he showed me there was a third path. A way to atone.

I grip the steering wheel tighter as I approach the checkpoint, shoving the memories down. Allard Reeve wouldn’t have such weakness. Wouldn’t carry such guilt.

Allard Reeve is a loyal Syndicate operative who believes in the cause. Who sees witches as assets to be used, not people to be saved.

The guard at the gate steps forward, hand raised. I lower the window, offering my credentials with practiced boredom.

“Allard Reeve. Expected.”

He scans the badge, eyes moving between it and my face. “Purpose of visit?”

“Not a visit. Transfer. Security detail.” My tone conveys irritation at having to explain what should be obvious. “I’m your new team leader, you idiot.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Sir. Yes, sir. You’re, uh, expected in Administration.”

The gate rises with a mechanical whine. As I drive through, I let Talon sink deeper beneath Allard’s skin. Let the cold, calculated ruthlessness rise to the surface.

For the next weeks or months, I must become what I hunt, or I won’t survive. Neither will the witch.

The facility is larger than it appeared from the viewpoint. Three visible levels above ground, but I know from the blueprints there are at least four below. The real work happens underground, away from prying eyes and satellite surveillance.

A young woman in a Syndicate uniform meets me at the entrance. “Mr. Reeve? I’m Daniels. Mr. Creed’s assistant. If you’ll follow me?”

I give her a curt nod, falling into step behind her. My senses catalog everything automatically. Twenty-three visible cameras in the lobby alone. Armed guards at each access point. The subtle magical hum of containment wards woven into the building’s structure.

A fortress designed to keep threats out and assets in.

Daniels leads me through a maze of corridors, each requiring biometric authentication. Finally, we reach a sleek conference room where Alastair Creed waits.

I’ve never met him personally, but his reputation precedes him. One of the Syndicate’s most ruthless operators. Responsible for at least three massacres I know of. A true believer in dragon superiority.

“Reeve.” He doesn’t stand, doesn’t offer a hand. Just assesses me with cold eyes. “Your record is impressive.”

“I get results.” I remain standing, matching his stare. Showing deference would ring false for someone with Allard Reeve’s background.

“So I’ve heard.” He gestures to a chair. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

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