Page 68 of Taken

The basement cluster remains unchanged, multiple signatures surrounding that cold spot. One signature burns brighter than the others, the energy output beyond normal parameters. Elena, perhaps?

“Thermal anomaly in basement level,” I report. “Possible high-value target showing unusual energy output.”

“They’re activating her,” Creed barks. “All units, execute now. Repeat, execute now.”

And just like that, the careful timeline collapses.

Tactical teams rush the building’s entrances—front lobby, loading dock, underground parking. On the drone feeds, I watch Syndicate operatives emerging from vehicles, tactical gear identifying them as private security to any watching humans. Armed, but still maintaining human appearance.

For now.

The first resistance comes at the main entrance—Craven security engaging, weapons drawn. Humans, not dragons. Unknowing pawns in a war they can’t comprehend.

“Hold fire on human security,” I order, broadcasting to all teams. “Non-lethal takedowns only.”

My command is acknowledged, but I watch with growing dread as Syndicate operatives push forward. Even non-lethal force looks brutal on the surveillance feed; trained dragons in human form against ordinary security personnel. The outcome is never in question.

The first breach happens at the loading dock. Team Three reports access to the building’s service corridors, encountering minimal resistance. They move toward the basement levels, toward Elena.

A ripple of movement draws my eye to the upper floors of the tower. At first, I think it’s a drone malfunction; something moving too fast, disturbing the air currents.

Then I see it.

A shape launching from a setback on the fortieth floor, wingspan extending mid-fall. Scales catching the setting sun, black and crimson against the clear sky.

Dragon. Fully shifted.

In broad fucking daylight.

“Air contact!” I shout into the comms. “Hostile dragon, northeast quadrant!”

Circle operative. Has to be. The markings are wrong for the Craven clan—too dark, too aggressive in pattern.

“All aerial units engage,” Creed commands. “Full combat protocols authorized.”

No! No, no, no, goddammit!

I can only watch as Syndicate airborne units respond, dragon forms materializing from what had appeared to be circling birds of prey. Their transformations happen high enough that ordinary humans might mistake the distant shapes for aircraft… but not for long.

Not when they engage.

The first impact shakes the air itself, the Circle dragon colliding with a Syndicate operative mid-air, claws raking, teeth snapping. They spiral downward, locked in combat, before separating with powerful wingbeats that send shockwaves visible even on my monitors.

On the street below, people stop. Point. Pull out phones.

Recording.

Witnessing.

The end of secrecy unfolding in high definition.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Team Two reports reaching the basement levels, encountering heavy resistance. Circle operatives waiting in ambush. Dragon versus dragon in the confined space beneath the tower.

I track thermal signatures, watching in growing horror as the basement battle intensifies. Energy readings spike dangerously around that cold spot. Something’s happening with the Heartstone. It’s responding to Elena’s presence, to her blood. Just as Lila warned.

Above the tower, dragon combat intensifies. Fire blooms against the late afternoon sky… brief, brilliant bursts as combatants test defenses. Civilians on surrounding streets no longer just recording—they’re running. Screaming. The firstwave of panic spreading outward from the tower like ripples from a stone.

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