Page 8 of Lost in Fire

“Fine.” But there’s something in her voice, a note of frustration that’s been growing stronger over the past few months. “I finished the Thornfield essay. Started the research for my literature assignment.”

“Good. Dr. Morrison’s courses are excellent preparation for—”

“For what?” The question comes out sharply. Ember sets down her teacup, the porcelain clicking against the saucer. “Preparation for what, exactly? I’m twenty years old, Mom. Most dragons my age are already working within clanstructures, building relationships, establishing themselves in the community. But I don’t know anyone. I’ve never even met another dragon outside of your carefully screened foundation colleagues.”

Foundation colleagues—namely, the tiny circle of allies who’ve surrounded me since Cassia saved me from those flames.

Now, Ember’s words shake me; each lie has been necessary, each one another small wound in the relationship I’ve been trying so desperately to preserve. But beneath the familiar guilt, panic claws at my chest. In a matter of days, her isolation might be the only thing standing between her and a genetic scanner that will reveal her mixed heritage to people who consider her an abomination.

“The dragon community can be… complex for young women,” I say carefully. “There are political factions that—”

“That what? Would disapprove of my bloodline?” Her eyes flash—literally flash, gold bleeding through the deep brown for just an instant. “You’ve been saying that for years, but you never explain what it actually means. Are we outcasts? Are we in hiding? Are we—”

“We’re careful.” The edge in my voice cuts through her words. “And that caution has kept us safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Safe from exposure that would put your life at risk.

The question hangs between us as I struggle for an answer that won’t terrify her. Ember leans forward, her whole body radiating the kind of determined energy that reminds me painfully of myself at her age. The same hunger for truth that got me into so much trouble with authority figures.

The same stubborn courage that made me fall in love with a man I was supposed to see as beneath my station. Inferior.

“From people who would use us,” I say finally. “Our bloodline carries certain… responsibilities. There are those who would exploit that for their own purposes.”

It’s not exactly a lie. But it’s not the truth either, and Ember is too smart not to sense the gap. The truth is that there are people who would kill her simply for existing. People who might discover her within days.

“So we hide forever?” The frustration in her voice cuts deep. “I’ll be twenty-one soon, Mom. Twenty-one. And I still don’t know my father’s name. I don’t know about our extended family. I don’t even know why my magic feels so different from everything you’ve taught me.”

Because you’re not just dragon. And because we might not make it to your birthday if Vex accelerates his timeline.

“Different how?”

She stands abruptly, pacing to the window with quick, restless movements. “You know how. We’ve talked about this before, but you always deflect. My fire burns cold sometimes. I can sense things that aren’t there—or maybe they are there, and I’m the only one who can see them. And lately…” She turns back to face me, her expression vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. “Lately, I dream about places I’ve never been. People I’ve never met. As if there’s some part of my life that’s missing.”

The bond. The blood connection she shares with Hargen is strengthening as she approaches full magical maturity. Soon, she’ll be able to reach across the distance between them without even understanding what she’s doing.

Maybe reaching out to him was inevitable, even if Vex’s enhanced protocols hadn’t forced my hand.

“Magical awakening can manifest in unexpected ways,” I manage. “That’s why it’s so important for you to learn control—”

“Stop.” The word cracks like a whip. “Stop giving me textbook answers. I’m not one of your foundation students, Mom. I’myour daughter. And I’m tired of being treated like I’m too fragile to handle my own heritage.”

She moves to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines of the carefully selected texts that make up her magical education. Every book chosen by me. Every lesson filtered through my interpretation. Every piece of knowledge shaped by what I deemed safe for her to know.

Safe from the truth that could get her killed if the wrong people discover it.

“These books,” she says quietly, “they’re all about pure dragon bloodlines. Ancient traditions. Clan hierarchies. But when I try to practice what they describe, it doesn’t work the way it should. It’s like trying to play a song when half the notes are missing.”

Because I gave you only half the truth. Because the other half would paint a target on your back.

“Some magical techniques take time to develop properly.”

“No.” She turns to face me, and there’s steel in her voice now. “It’s not about time or practice. It’s about information I don’t have. About parts of myself you’ve kept hidden.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “About my father.”

We’ve been circling this conversation for months, each exchange bringing us closer to the moment when my carefully constructed walls would finally crumble.

“I’ve told you what I can.”

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