Page 9 of Taken

“What Creed doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” The faintest of smiles.

Risky. If Creed discovered Hargen tampering with my medications… “Be careful,” I warn.

“Always am.” He stands, straightening his lab coat. “Rest. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s session.”

The thought of doing this again tomorrow makes my stomach clench, but I keep my face neutral. “Same time?”

“Two hours later. Creed has meetings in the morning.”

Another small mercy. “Hargen.” I catch his attention before he leaves. “Thank you.”

He nods once, a shared understanding passing between us, before leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I lie back, staring at the ceiling, counting the tiny imperfections in the paint to ground myself. Five thousand, eight hundred and seventeen. I’ve counted them all, multiple times. Another way to maintain sanity in a place designed to strip it away.

When the pain subsides enough, I roll onto my side and reach between the mattress and wall, feeling for the loose panel I discovered in year three. Inside the small space, I keep my most precious possessions—a collection of my origami dragons, each folded with a paper containing a fragment of prophecy the Syndicate never saw. My secrets. Tiny reminders of my silent sabotage.

I add another today; a tiny dragon folded from the corner of a medical report, containing the true coordinates of the cave system I saw. Not the altered ones I gave Creed.

Knowledge is power. And in this place, it’s the only power I have left.

Decades of imprisonment, and I’m still fighting. Still resisting in the only ways I can. Still protecting the secrets that matter most.

My little girl, grown now. Still safe, thanks to the tiny half-truths I’ve woven into the information I’ve given them. Whilethey’re out there on wild goose chases, I keep them far away from her.

I replace the panel and close my eyes, letting exhaustion pull me under. Tomorrow will bring more pain, more battles of will.

But tonight, in this small moment of stolen peace, I’ve won.

Dragon blood and Rossewyn prophecy. It always comes down to this.

The game continues.

And I refuse to lose.

Chapter 3

Talon

Impatience burns through my veins as I stare at the empty chair where Viktor should’ve been twenty minutes ago. The Aurora Collective doesn’t tolerate lateness—except, apparently, from its founder.

The underground meeting room reeks of old coffee and secrets. Seven of us sit around the scarred oak table—each face grim, each posture tense. We’re an odd collection of misfits: two former Syndicate dragons who saw too much corruption, a hedge witch with burn scars crawling up her neck, an older dragon who claims neutrality in all clan conflicts, and a pair of tech specialists who’ve seen too much to ever sleep soundly again.

Then there’s me. The weapon they point at problems. Another dragon who’s chosen a different path, though the fire in my blood never lets me forget what I am.

“Heard about the attack in Vancouver?” Zoe asks, scrolling through something on her tablet. The blue light makes the witch look even more ghostly than usual.

I grunt in response. “Three dead. Two missing. Same signature as Portland.”

“Syndicate’s getting bolder,” says Davis, the older of the two defected Syndicate operatives. Centuries of life haven’t softened his face—just carved deeper lines into it. “Moving into major cities now.”

“It’s not just boldness,” I counter, leaning forward. “It’s desperation.”

Heads turn my way. I don’t speak often at these meetings, but when I do, they listen. Perks of having a reputation.

Pity it’s a reputation that came at a cost.

“The Syndicate is losing control,” I continue, tapping my finger against the table. “They’ve been stuck in a stalemate, and now everything’s shifting at once. They wouldn’t risk exposure unless something big was at stake.”

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