Page 34 of Ashfall
I flash a smile. "But it’s so easy."
Later that night, I sleep in Dax’s bed. Alone. He offered the space like it was sacred, and weirdly, it feels that way—like slipping into a heartbeat that isn’t mine but still knows my rhythm. The sheets still smell like him—smoke and cedar and something darker, addictive. I lie there for a while, tracing the spiral mark on my shoulder with idle fingers, trying to tell myself it’s just a burn.
But it’s not. Not really. It’s a tether. A promise. Maybe a warning. I'm not sure, but I am sure I want to find out.
Sleep doesn’t come easy, but when it does, it drags me under hard—and I dream. If they’re not nightmares, they’re close enough.
Malek. Dennis. They’re the same. His face flickers between man and dragon—twisting and morphing like smoke in the wind. One second, it's the calm, calculating man with a clipboard and charm; the next, it’s scales and fire and hunger with nothing human left. His eyes are cold and empty in both forms, like he sees the world as a pile of kindling waiting to be lit.
The dream yanks me back through memories I didn’t know I’d filed away—charred forests, spiral symbols burned into stone and bark, fire lines too precise to be accidents. Every clue I brushed aside as impossible now flashes with brutal clarity. A trail of ash leading straight to him.
I try to move in the dream, to run or fight, but my body is frozen in place. Watching. And then his dragon head turns toward me—massive, horned, eyes glowing—and says my name.
I wake gasping, drenched in sweat, heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. The room is dark, quiet—too quiet. Every shadow feels sharper, closer, like something is watching. My fingers fly to my shoulder, and the spiral burns under my touch, pulsing like a warning siren embedded in my skin. It’s not just a dream echo—it’s real, searing through the memory and anchoring me to it. The line between nightmare and prophecy is blurring fast, and my gut tells me it’s already too late to pretend otherwise.
When I wake, I’m already moving—heart still hammering, adrenaline from the dream scraping through my veins. I pull on the nearest clean clothes I can find, my hands shaking slightly as I shoulder through the corridors of Blackstrike’s base. My bare feet slap against the cool stone floors, the echo sharp and quick like a warning bell.
I find Dax in the strategy room, hunched over satellite maps and coded overlays, the pale glow from the monitors painting harsh angles on his face. He looks up the second I step in, instantly alert—like he was already expecting me.
My hands curl into fists before I even realize it, the pieces snapping together like dry twigs in flame. The dreams. The spiral. The way I’d discovered Price had watched me back in D.C.
"Dennis Price is Malek, isn’t he?" I already know the answer. It’s written all over Dax’s face, in the way his eyes darken, and his jaw tightens. But I need to hear it. Out loud. From him.
His jaw flexes, eyes narrowing like he’s been bracing for this exact moment. He watches me like he already knows I’ve figured it out—and maybe he’s relieved. Or maybe he’s wondering if this is the part where I bolt. I don’t. Not this time. He watches me for a long beat, reading the resolve in my stance, the fire in my voice. Then he nods slowly, the truth heavy between us. "Yes."
I cross my arms. "And you were going to tell me when? After he tried to flambé me again?"
"I wanted to be sure," he says, voice rough. "And I wanted you to choose what came next without being forced."
I pace, my skin prickling. "He knew me. Back in D.C., he followed my reports. Met with me. He was looking for weak points."
Dax stands, slow and deliberate. "He was looking for a bond either for himself or for someone within the unit. When he realized the bond was between us, he decided to use you to bait me, to claim you against your will or maybe both."
My blood runs cold. The memory of the aerial battle between Dax and Malek flashes behind my eyes—dragons colliding like thunder in the sky, fire raining down in arcs too bright to look at, too close to dodge.
I remember the heat on my face, the way the ground shook beneath my boots, and the helpless terror of knowing I wascaught between forces that defied everything I understood. I’d never felt so human. So small. So breakable. And yet I couldn’t look away. clashing in the sky, teeth and claws and fire lighting up the heavens. It wasn’t just some fantastical skirmish. It was war.
If Malek’s willing to take on Dax mid-flight, in broad daylight, then what the hell else is he willing to do? I saw what Dax looked like after. The damage. The rage. The barely contained fury. And now I know that fight was personal.
"Why me?" I ask.
"Because you’re strong. Smart. Connected. And because he hasn’t been able to scare you off or keep you from pursuing the truth. You challenged him. He sees you as a threat—or a tool. Either way, you matter to him now."
I stare at the maps, my thoughts running wild. "I’ve been circling a dragon this whole time."
Dax moves to my side. "You weren’t the only one."
A long beat of silence stretches between us. It’s heavy, not with discomfort, but with everything we’re not saying—yet. I can feel his eyes on me, measuring the weight of what I just asked. My heart thunders in my chest, but I hold his gaze. I need to know he believes I can handle this—that I’m more than just something to protect. That I’m ready to fight.
"If I were a dragon," I whisper, "could I shift and fight him? For real?"
His eyes burn into me. "To shift, you’d have to bond. With me. It’s not reversible. It’s not safe."
"But I’d be stronger. Harder to kill."
He nods once. "Yes."
I meet his gaze, something fierce settling into my chest. "Then maybe it’s time to stop running. And start hunting."
