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She shifts slightly, and I realize I’m gripping her shoulder too tightly. I release it quickly, but not before her eyes flutter slightly.

“Mama?” she mumbles, her words muffled by her pillow.

“Hush, baby,” I murmur back. “Mama’s going to work. Mrs. Patel will be next door to keep an eye on you.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she sighs groggily before sinking back into sleep.

I wait until her breathing evens out and then head for the door.

I take one final look at our apartment—the mismatched furniture we picked together, Elena’s drawings taped to the refrigerator, the bookshelf overflowing with stories we’ve read together. Home.

The door clicks shut behind me with terrible finality.

Outside, the night air carries the scent of imminent rain. Six blocks from our apartment, I stop in an empty parking lot. The buildings around me are dark—closed businesses and abandoned storefronts. No innocents to catch in the crossfire.

I take three deep breaths. Then I do the one thing I haven’t done in over eight years.

I drop my shields completely.

My magic flares out like a beacon, a flare shot into the night sky. Rossewyn energy, distinctive and potent, broadcasting to anyone with the senses to feel it.

Come and find me.

I don’t have to wait long.

They appear at the edges of the lot—three figures moving with inhuman grace. Two men in dark suits. One woman with copper hair that catches the streetlight.

Dragons in human skin.

I stand my ground as they approach, chin lifted, hands relaxed at my sides. Not a threat. Not yet.

“Lila Rossewyn,” the woman says, voice carrying easily through the humid night air. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“I know.” I keep my voice level. “That’s why I’m here.”

The taller man circles to my right. “Turning yourself in? How convenient.”

I notice how they position themselves—triangulating, cutting off escape routes. Professional. Practiced.

“Not turning myself in. Offering a deal.”

“We don’t make deals with witches,” the second man says, but I catch the flicker of interest in the woman’s eyes.

“You’ll want this one.” I meet her gaze directly. “I’m offering my services. Voluntarily.”

The woman tilts her head. “And why would you do that?”

“Because I’m tired of running. Because my visions are getting stronger. Because I know things about your precious Heartstone that would interest the Syndicate.”

The men exchange glances at the mention of the Heartstone. I suppress a flicker of guilt. My family earned its place in dragon lore because of how we honored the stone and the family that keeps it. Now I’m about to break with tradition to save my own skin.

Not mine. Elena’s.

Besides, none of this would have been necessary if the Cravens had done their damned duty.

“An interesting proposition,” the woman says, stepping closer. “But I sense there’s more you’re not sharing.”

Her eyes narrow, studying me with predatory intensity. Looking for the trap.

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