Page 79 of Taken

My execution is scheduled.

“Your vitals are stabilizing,” he says for the record. “We’ll continue the prescribed regimen and then reassess tomorrow.”

I nod, the perfect prisoner. The obedient asset.

After he leaves, I return to my wall scratching, adding another mark to the tally. It’s meaningless, really—counting days whenthere may be so few left. The awareness of my mortality presses against me, suffocating in its certainty.

I’ve faced death before. When they first captured me, when extractions went wrong, when I defied them at great cost. But this is different—clinical, scheduled, inevitable.

I press my forehead against the cool metal wall, eyes closed against the harsh light. For the first time since my capture, I allow fear to surface—not for Elena, not for the world, but for myself. The simple, human fear of ending.

All these years of endurance and bitter compromises. All the pain, the visions torn from my mind. All of it ending not with freedom, but with disposal when I’m no longer of value.

I’ve protected my daughter at the cost of my freedom. Now it seems I’ll protect her with my life as well.

The irony tastes bitter. I survived all that time, only to die before I could ever feel the sun on my face again. Before I could ever hold my daughter in my arms.

I scratch another mark into the wall—deeper, angrier. Not for the days passed, but for the ones I’ll never see.

Chapter 22

Lila

The Shard burns against my palms, its crimson light pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Two weeks since dragons tore through Seattle’s skies, and I’m still a prisoner. Still a tool.

Better than being dead, I guess.

“Focus, Ms. Ross.” Emerson’s voice slices through my concentration. “The connection is unstable.”

“Where’s Creed?” I ask, stalling. My fingers trace the Shard’s edges, feeling power hum beneath them.

“That’s none of your concern.” Emerson taps her tablet. “Establish the connection. Now.”

Her impatience is telling. Creed’s absence during a major operation can only mean one thing—he’s in the field. Whatever this mission entails, it’s important enough for him to oversee personally.

I close my eyes, reluctantly opening myself to the Shard’s power. This isn’t like the extractions—those violent invasions ofmy mind to rip out visions. This is worse. They want me to reach through the crystal, to touch another dragon’s consciousness, to bend their will to mine.

To make them betray everything they are.

The magic surges up my arms like liquid fire, burning pathways through veins and nerves. I gasp as the power crests. Unlike previous sessions, I don’t fight it—not visibly. But deep in my mind, where they can’t see, I weave subtle flaws into the connection. Not enough to alert Emerson, but enough to ensure imperfection.

My consciousness stretches outward, seeking out the mind I’ve been connecting with. Serena Maze. The dragon elder whose loyalty to the Craven clan apparently has limits.

I find her easily—too easily. She’s been prepared somehow, her defenses weakened. The Shard’s energy wraps around her consciousness like crimson threads, binding her thoughts to mine.

Serena.

Her mind flinches at my intrusion.Witch.

I’m sorry.

And I am. Despite everything, despite what they’re forcing me to do, I feel genuine regret at violating another being this way.

Images flash as our minds connect—Serena in a sleek black car, driving through Seattle’s rain-slick streets. The elegant dragon elder seems composed, but I sense the struggle beneath her calm exterior. Part of her fights what I’m doing, even as the Shard’s power forces her submission.

A silver-haired woman sits beside her. Through Serena’s thoughts, I recognize her as Lydia James—another clan elder from the Cravens. She’s speaking, unaware of what’s happening behind Serena’s eyes.

“I worry about our Caleb,” Lydia says, frowning at the rain-streaked windows. I wish he’d tell us more about what’s going on.”

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