“I saw your hands when you healed me.” She gestures to her arm. “Only storm-touched beings can channel that kind of power. It’s rare even among our people.”
Before I can respond, my tablet chimes with a priority alert. I tap the screen to find a message from my brother Marcus: “Arriving 0900 hours for inspection. Prepare a full briefing on Storm Eagle research.”
My blood runs cold. Marcus is the last person I want examining my current work. As Haven’s Heart MilitaryResearch Liaison, he represents exactly the faction that would weaponize any discovery about Storm Eagle biology—or my connection to it.
“Problem?” Zara asks, noticing my expression.
“My brother is arriving this morning. He can’t find you here.” I start shutting down equipment, securing samples. “And I need to hide any trace of these tests.”
Zara frowns. “You fear your own brother?”
“I fear what he represents,” I correct her. “Marcus is a good man, but his loyalty to Haven’s Heart is absolute. He believes in the system, in maintaining security through strength. If he discovered I was harboring a Storm Eagle…”
“Or that you’ve been collaborating with our leader,” Zara finishes. “I understand. I’ll stay hidden.”
I transfer my research data to a secure drive, then wipe the system’s history. The blood samples go into a concealed compartment beneath a floor tile—one I installed myself when I realized I might need to conduct unauthorized research.
“We have three hours before he arrives,” I tell Zara. “I’m going to sedate you lightly—just enough that your readings will register as a coma patient if anyone checks. If someone enters, stay absolutely still.”
She nods, accepting this necessity without argument. As I prepare the mild sedative, Zara studies me with those intelligent golden eyes so like her brother’s.
“How long have you known?” she asks. “About your heritage?”
My hands pause over the syringe. “I didn’t know—not really. I’ve always had… moments. Times when I felt something inside me responding to electrical storms. My parents died when I was sixteen, and they never mentioned anything unusual about our family history.”
“Perhaps they didn’t know either,” she suggests. “Storm-touched bloodlines can remain dormant for generations, awakening only under specific circumstances.”
“Like proximity to Storm Eagles?” I ask, thinking of how my abilities first manifested during the raid.
“Or proximity to a fated mate,” Zara says quietly.
I nearly drop the syringe. “That’s not—we’re not?—”
Zara’s smile is gentle but knowing. “The mate bond is rare among our people, but unmistakable when it occurs. I’ve seen how my brother looks at you. How he speaks of you.”
“He barely knows me,” I protest, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
“The heart knows what the mind does not yet accept,” she says simply. “And your powers awakened in his presence. That’s not a coincidence.”
I administer the sedative, unwilling to pursue this conversation. The idea of a mate bond—something I’ve only read about in shifter biology texts—is too overwhelming to consider on top of everything else. Especially when that bond would connect me to someone whose people my own government seeks to destroy.
After ensuring Zara appears to be an ordinary coma patient, I prepare for my brother’s visit. I shower, change into a fresh uniform, and assemble a sanitized version of my Storm Eagle research—just enough to satisfy Marcus without revealing anything truly valuable.
At precisely 9 AM, I hear the whir of helicopter blades approaching the settlement. I step outside the medical facility to see a sleek military transport landing in the central square. Marcus steps out in his crisp Haven’s Heart uniform, his bearing so military-precise it makes my heart ache with fondness despite my apprehension.
“Elena,” he says, embracing me briefly. “You look terrible.”
“Always the charmer,” I reply, smiling despite myself. “Frontier medicine doesn’t leave much time for beauty sleep.”
He studies me with the same brown eyes we inherited from our father, though his lack the hints of gold that I’ve recently noticed in my own. “I’ve read your reports. Impressive work on those Storm Eagle tissue samples.”
“Thank you,” I say carefully, falling into step beside him as we enter the medical facility. “Though I’ve only scratched the surface of their biological adaptations.”
“The Council is particularly interested in your observations about their hierarchical structure.” Marcus examines the facility with military precision. “This leader you mentioned—the golden eagle. Have you gathered more data on him specifically?”
My pulse quickens. “Limited observations only. He appears larger than the others, with greater control over storm energies. Based on attack patterns, I believe he’s strategically sophisticated.”
Marcus nods. “Intelligence suggests he’s called the Stormwright—their clan leader. Capturing him would cripple their organizational structure.”
