Page 66 of Taken

Jesus fucking Christ. He’s talking about dragons in flight. In downtown Seattle. At rush hour.

“With respect, sir,” I interject, forcing my voice to remain calm, “the exposure risk—”

“Is acceptable given the circumstances.” Creed’s eyes flash amber, dragon breaking through. “The Circle has forced ourhand. If Steele activates the Heartstone with the witch, we’re exposed anyway, just on their terms instead of ours.”

“You’re talking about revealing our existence to the world.” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice.

“It was inevitable.” He shrugs like we’re discussing a weather forecast rather than the end of centuries of secrecy. “We’ve always had contingency plans for this sort of thing. The Syndicate is prepared to manage the fallout.”

Prepared? Bullshit. Nobody’s prepared for this. The arrogance of it chokes me.

This is the worst possible way for humans to learn about us. Not through careful introduction, controlled narrative, proof of peaceful coexistence, but through violence. Through fire and blood and combat in the heart of a major city.

The Aurora Collective has debated public revelation for years. Careful plans. Educational campaigns. Government liaisons established first. A path thoughtfully laid to minimize panic, prevent witch-hunts, avoid mass hysteria.

Not… this. Not dragons tearing each other apart above city streets.

“Teams deploy in thirty minutes,” Creed continues. “Reeve, you’ll coordinate surveillance from mobile command. I want eyes on every entrance, every floor.”

Away from the action. Still being sidelined. Still suspect.

“Sir, my combat experience—”

“Is valuable, which is precisely why I need you overseeing the operation rather than in the thick of it.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Consider it a vote of confidence.”

Bullshit. He doesn’t trust me. But it works in my favor—gives me the distance I need to contact Aurora, to find a way to extract Lila while everyone’s focused on the assault.

“Understood.” I nod sharply. “I’ll prep the mobile unit.”

I leave the briefing room, striding through corridors now swarming with personnel in tactical gear. The tension in the air is electric, fear and anticipation mingling with something darker. Dragons preparing for battle. Ancient instincts awakening.

Mine included.

The equipment room is buzzing with pre-battle energy, operatives grabbing weapons, comms units, specialized gear designed for dragon combat. I requisition what I need, adding extra comm batteries, surveillance drones, and tactical tablets to my equipment bag.

Twenty-three minutes after leaving the briefing, I’m behind the wheel of the mobile command vehicle, leading a convoy of Syndicate transports toward downtown Seattle.

Eventually, the city skyline emerges through the afternoon haze, Craven Industries’ headquarters rising like a gleaming spire from the urban landscape. Sixty stories of glass and steel. Home to one of the oldest dragon bloodlines in North America. Soon to be a battleground.

I park the command vehicle three blocks away, positioned for maximum surveillance coverage while maintaining a safe distance. The location also happens to be perfect for what comes next.

“Command unit established,” I report into my comms. “Deploying surveillance drones now.”

I activate the drones, sending them to circle Craven Tower while I track their feeds on the command center screens. The building appears normal—employees going about their business, security visible but not excessive, nothing to suggest the danger lurking beneath.

No sign of Steele. No sign of Elena.

But they’re there. I can feel it in my gut, in the prickling of scales beneath my skin.

Team leaders call in, confirming positions. The tactical clock counts down. Fifteen minutes until synchronous assault.

I check the street—clear of pedestrians momentarily—then slip from the vehicle, ducking into the alley behind the command post. My fingers find the encrypted comm unit hidden in my tactical vest.

“Aurora actual. Talon reporting. Highest priority.” My voice is tight with urgency, back pressed against cold brick. “Syndicate assault on Craven Industries imminent. They’re going public with our existence.”

Static, then Viktor’s voice, not Zoe’s.

“Explain.” A single word, tense with disbelief.

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