Page 46 of Taken

A receptionist smiles. “Mr. Craven will see you now.”

The vision shifts, blurring. Fragments assault me in rapid succession.

Elena in an elevator, ascending. Heart racing. Nervous but focused. Professional. Driven. My daughter.

Then she’s in an office, face-to-face with him. The man who will change everything.

Caleb Craven. Dragon. CEO. Keeper of secrets too dangerous to name. Tall, imposing, with amber eyes that burn with ancient fire. Something electric passes between them—a spark neither understands but both feel. His gaze lingers on her face longer than professionally appropriate. Her pulse quickens when their hands meet.

My daughter and a dragon. Their energies intertwine, resonating with an ancient harmony neither recognizes. A connection as old as our bloodlines.

The vision shatters, bursting into new scenes.

Elena examining files in a darkened archive. The Heartstone pulsing behind sealed doors, responding to her presence though she doesn’t know it.

Elena and Caleb in his office. Standing too close. His fingertips brushing her cheek. The air between them charged with more than professional interest.

Elena’s face lighting up when he enters a room. His eyes following her across crowded spaces.

Then darkness descends. A figure emerges from shadows; limping, powerful, ancient. An older dragon with eyes that have witnessed centuries of carnage. Something in my memory stirs. A name hovers just beyond reach.

He watches Elena with calculated intent. Waits. Plans.

“She’s the key,” his voice slithers through the vision. “Rossewyn blood. The last piece.”

A battle erupts. Fire and blood. Dragons revealed. Elena’s screams.

No. No. NO!

I thrash against the visions, trying to break free. Pain slices through the crimson void, real pain, physical pain, anchoring me to a body I’d forgotten existed. I grasp it like a lifeline, using it to pull myself upward through layers of unconsciousness.

The weight of reality crashes down. My eyelids feel sealed shut, impossibly heavy. My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed glass. Every nerve ending screams.

I’m alive. Somehow.

Voices filter through the haze, distant at first, then clearer.

“—neural pathways still damaged. No guarantee she’ll ever—”

“She’s strong. She’ll fight her way back.” A man’s voice. Familiar. Not Hargen. A voice that draws me back from the brink.

“The Syndicate doesn’t keep non-functional assets, Reeve. You know the protocol.”

Footsteps retreat. A door closes. Silence settles.

Something warm envelops my hand. Fingers intertwining with mine, the touch gentle but firm.

“Lila.” The voice drops lower, a rumble I feel more than hear. “I know you’re in there. I know you’re fighting.”

Reeve. No—Allard. But that feels wrong somehow. The stranger who’s already become so much more. I’ve seen his face in my visions, too; he means something I can’t comprehend. Something that takes too much energy to focus on when I’m already overwhelmed by everything else. By trying to survive.

Memory returns in painful flashes. The extraction. The Shard forced into my palm. The name torn from my throat.

Elena.

They know. They know about my daughter.

Panic surges. I struggle to open my eyes, to move, to speak. Nothing responds. My body remains a prison, unresponsive to my desperate commands.

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