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None ideal for extracting a prisoner who might be weakened from these “routine” procedures.

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. This was always going to be complicated, but what I witnessed today changes the stakes. I need time—time to understand the rhythms of this place, to identify the true threats and potential allies, to gauge Lila’s condition between extractions.

Rushing means mistakes. Mistakes mean failure. Failure means death—for both of us.

I pull up a secure file, begin drafting contingency plans. Three variations for different scenarios. I mark Hargen Cole as a question mark—his loyalty to Lila evident but not yet something I can reliably use to my advantage.

The face of the woman in that bed haunts me as I work. The unexpected vulnerability that contrasted so sharply with her earlier defiance. The electric jolt when our skin connected briefly. The way her sleeping form awoke something in me that transcends the mission parameters.

I close the tablet and move to the window, staring out at the mountains beyond the facility. Somewhere out there, the world continues turning, oblivious to the woman being tortured for glimpses of its future. Oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface of dragon politics.

Whatever Lila sees in her visions has Creed desperate. Desperate enough to risk damaging her. That alone confirms Viktor’s suspicions—something significant is shifting in the balance of power.

And Lila Ross is at the center of it.

I press my palm against the cool glass, feeling the beast stir beneath my skin in response to my heightened emotions. My admiration for her resilience mixes dangerously withthe attraction that caught me off guard at her bedside—a complication I didn’t anticipate and can’t afford.

I take a steadying breath, tamping down the fire building in my chest. She doesn’t need another dragon’s misplaced emotions complicating things. She needs careful planning. Sound strategy. Security from those who would use her.

The mission remains clear: confirm her abilities, assess her value to the Aurora Collective, and extract when the time is right. But now there’s a personal element I can’t deny—I want to see her free. Want to know who Lila Ross is beyond the defiant prisoner, beyond the powerful witch.

For now, I’ll watch. Learn. Build trust where possible. Understand what makes Cole protect her despite his role in her torment. Find the leverage points in this facility’s security.

And when the time comes, I’ll be ready to act.

But not yet. Not until I’m certain I can get her out alive.

Chapter 8

Lila

I know something’s wrong the moment Simpson appears at my door without Hargen. My handler’s absence sets off alarm bells louder than any facility siren.

“Security assessment, Ms. Ross.” Her voice is coldly professional, as always. “The new security head has requested your presence.”

“Has he?” I keep my tone flat, uninterested, while my mind races through possibilities. “And where’s Mr. Cole?”

“Occupied with other duties.” She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Mr. Reeve insisted this assessment be conducted without handler supervision.”

“Really?” I cock my head. This is interesting. And potentially dangerous.

She doesn’t respond, simply turning to leave the room. I follow her through corridors I’ve memorized, noting the subtle changes in security protocols since Reeve’s arrival three days ago. Newcamera angles. Different guard rotations. Small adjustments that speak volumes about his approach.

Simpson leads me to a small conference room rather than the extraction chamber. Another deviation from routine. My skin prickles with awareness, magic stirring beneath the surface despite the dampening fields.

Allard Reeve stands as we enter, his posture military-straight yet somehow fluid, grace mingling with power.

“Thank you, Simpson. That will be all.” He nods at the woman.

She hesitates, glancing between us. “Sir, protocol requires staff presence during all asset interviews.”

“I’m well aware of protocol.” His voice carries the easy authority of someone accustomed to command. “Security assessment falls under my purview, and I’ve determined this interview requires privacy. You’re dismissed.”

After she leaves, silence stretches between us. I remain standing, refusing the chair he gestures toward. The small act of defiance feels necessary, grounding.

“Please sit, Ms. Ross.” His tone softens, barely perceptible but there.

“I prefer standing.” I cross my arms, studying him openly now that we’re alone. “Being confined makes one appreciate the choice to stand or sit.”

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