“I'm not a badass. I'm the backup Salem. The store-brand version.” I drum my fingers on the table. “Finding Esme is the priority, not playing pretend-Esme in some trials we all know I'll bomb spectacularly.”
“Fair. But how exactly are you gonna find her when entire teams couldn't?”
I shove the ancient notebooks toward him. “These bad boys. Dragon disappearance journals, circa old-as-dirt. And guess what? I found a pattern.”
“Brynn Salem and her patterns.” Chad rolls his eyes. “Enlighten me.”
“Some Darkbirch rebels were total dragon fanboys during theBlood Wars. They had this crazy idea we could all hold hands—darkbloods, clearbloods, dragons—and sing kumbaya.”
“Right. And unicorns shit rainbows.”
“Look, according to our crusty elders, yeah, it's delusional. The whole 'eternal enemies' spiel. But before everything went to hell, dragons were our only problem child, and even that relationship was on-again-off-again. We're all magical blood cousins or whatever. We all want the same crap—our land, our magic, basic existence rights. Nothing fancy.”
Chad's stomach growls. “Fascinating history lesson, but I'm starving. The cafeteria smelled like actual food, not ancient paper and your desperation.”
My own stomach betrays me with a matching rumble. “Gods, you're such a dick. Look, these dusty old rebels thought we could all play nice if we let the dragons be our referees.”
“The same fire-breathing lizards that burned half our ancestors?”
“Yeah, well, our hands aren't exactly clean. Remember Gold Mountain? We went full baby-snatcher on their eggs and hatchlings.”
Chad actually winces. “Fair point.”
“Wait—” Something clicks in my brain. “You said my ass was 'worth saving.'”
Chad's face does this confused puppy thing. “Um, yes? It's a quality ass.”
“No, you moron. Worth. Saving.” My fingers practically tear through pages until—“Got it! Listen: 'Dragons are worth saving, but must abandon their beloved skies. A sacrifice for survival. Mother Earth will welcome them, her heart of Draethys beating fiercely for her winged children.'”
“Heart of Draethys,” Chad echoes, suddenly not looking as hungry.
“Ring any bells?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Draethys. No.”
“I think it could be a real place… I’ve found a few more references to it from journals dating back from the same period. It’s described as some sort of haven. But it’s not above ground.”
Chad's brows furrow. “Underground?”
“Yeah, genius. As in not-in-the-sky. Dragons ditching their whole flying schtick. 'Deep in the bowels of the earth,'” I quote. “We could find this place. Tonight. Like, now-ish.”
“Brynn, the trials?—”
“Screw the trials!” My voice cracks embarrassingly. I slam my palm on the table hard enough that dust puffs up from the ancient pages. “My sister is GONE. Jax is basically a vegetable. My mom's one bad day away from a total breakdown. And everyone's too busy playing war games to give a shit!”
Chad's face does this weird thing where he almost looks human. “Okay.”
“Look, I've got the brain cells for this mission. I can find this place. But I need...” I swallow my pride like a horse pill. “...backup.”
“You trust me?” His eyebrows shoot up like I just suggested we make out.
“Trust is a strong word. More like, (a) you kept me from becoming a Salem shish kebab last night, and (b) you're basically a cockroach—annoying as hell but surprisingly hard to kill.”
He freezes, processing.
“That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”
“Don't let it go to your head.”
