Page 28 of Taken

“Hargen Cole possesses a rare sensitivity to magical energies,” she says, her voice clinical. “He can attenuate the extraction process, making it more efficient and less… damaging to the asset.”

“He’s magical?” My pulse quickens but I keep my reaction measured.

“In a way.” Emerson pulls up schematics on the wall display. “Through a specialized ritual, we’ve established a conduit between them. He moderates her power during extractions. Channels it. Controls it.”

“He can access her magic?” My tone remains professionally curious while my gut twists with something that feels uncomfortably like jealousy.

What the hell?

“Not access. Influence.” Emerson zooms in on a diagram. “The ritual creates a pathway. One-directional. He dampens her abilities, buffers the extraction process, prevents her from accessing her full power.”

The implications crawl under my skin. This man has been inside her mind. Connected to her magic. Present during her most vulnerable moments.

“But what makes him compliant?” I ask. “I’ve heard of loyalty to the cause, but this goes above and beyond. You’re not afraid he’ll change his mind?”

Creed scoffs. “Not going to happen. He’s bound.”

“Bound?” I frown.

“Magically,” Emerson interjects. “Cole’s sensitivity leaves him vulnerable to magical influence. He can no more leave her than she can leave him.”

Distaste floods me as I consider how little concern these people have for those around them. Nobody is more than a tool to them. Just another pawn in their game.

“And you’re certain the bond is secure?” I ask, voice steady despite the fire building in my lungs.

“It’s reinforced regularly,” Emerson says, bringing up a schedule. “The connection requires maintenance.”

“How?” The word comes out sharper than intended.

Creed’s eyes narrow at my tone. I force my shoulders to relax, face to smooth into professional curiosity.

“A ritualistic blood exchange,” Emerson answers vaguely. “Minimal. Just enough to re-establish the connection.”

“Interesting approach,” I say. “Seems… invasive.”

“It’s necessary,” Creed cuts in. “The witch’s power was unmanageable otherwise. We lost handlers before Cole. Her visions killed them.”

“I thought he was with her from the start.”

“He was on the team, but pretty soon, we could see that he was the only one who would be able to manage her. After the second death during a procedure that only he’d been able to survive, we realized he was our best option.” Emerson shrugs.

That can’t be right. Rossewyn witches channel prophecy, not death. Unless…

“She fought back,” I say, the realization dawning. “In the beginning.”

“Viciously.” Creed’s lip curls with grudging respect. “Until we found Cole. His presence calmed the visions, made them accessible without killing the receiver.”

“I want to observe more of the procedures,” I state, making it sound like security protocol rather than the visceral need to understand what they’ve done to her. “There could be improvements we could make.”

Creed rises, a subtle reminder of his authority. “Don’t interfere with Cole’s methods, Reeve. He’s peculiar about the witch. But he gets results.”

“Peculiar how?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

Creed shrugs, dismissive. “Handler syndrome. Common with long-term assignments. He keeps her functional; that’s what matters.”

“I need full access to the most recent extraction data,” I say, changing tactics. “The Craven readings. What exactly are we looking for?”

The atmosphere shifts instantly—tension coiling tighter in the room.

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