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“That’s enough,” Hargen says firmly, already moving to disconnect the equipment. “Her system can’t take any more.”

For once, Creed doesn’t argue. He’s got what he wanted—a lead, a direction. I’ve bought myself a reprieve, at least for today.

As the magic recedes, I slump in the chair, trembling with exhaustion. Sweat soaks my clothes, and blood trickles from my nose—a common side effect of fighting the extraction process.

Hargen moves briskly, wiping the blood away, checking my pupils, injecting something into my IV that immediately dulls the worst of the pain.

“Get her back to her quarters,” Creed orders, already turning to leave. “I want a full report in an hour.”

After he’s gone, Hargen gently removes the restraints. “Can you stand?”

I nod, though I’m not entirely sure. My legs feel like water, my head like it’s stuffed with broken glass.

“I held back as much as I could,” he murmurs, helping me to my feet.

“I know,” I whisper, leaning heavily against him. Another of our small rebellions. He dampens the worst of the magic, and I give Creed just enough to keep him satisfied without revealing everything I see.

It’s not much, but it’s how I survive.

***

Lila

I wake in my quarters, the taste of copper filling my mouth. Post-extraction hangover—familiar, predictable, miserable.

“Water?” Hargen sits beside my bed, offering a glass with a straw.

I try to nod, but pain lances through my skull. “How long?” My voice sounds like I’ve been gargling glass.

“Four hours.” He helps me take a few sips. “You did well today.”

“Creed got what he wanted,” I close my eyes against the light that feels like needles. “That’s all that matters.”

“Not to me,” Hargen says quietly.

I study him through half-closed eyes. In all these years, I’ve never been able to fully decipher him. Is he truly an ally? A particularly convincing jailer? Or simply a man caught in the same web that holds me, doing what he must to survive?

“What did I give him?” I ask. The extractions sometimes leave gaps in my memory, hazy patches where the visions overshadow reality.

“Coordinates to a cave system near the Olympic Peninsula. Something about witch wards and dragon relics.” He sets the glass down. “He’s already dispatched a team.”

I close my eyes, sifting through the fragmented memories of the vision. “They won’t get in.”

“Why not?”

“The wards are blood-locked. Old magic. They’d need a witch of the same bloodline to break them.”

A flicker of something—respect?—crosses Hargen’s face. “I’ll leave that detail out of my report.”

Another act of defiance. Another secret kept.

Screw them!

As my vision clears, I notice the small white paper bag on my nightstand. “What’s that?”

“Better pain management.” Hargen’s expression softens. “I modified the usual dosage.”

I eye the bag with suspicion. “Creed authorized this?”

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