Page 49 of Ash and Burn

Calix started running, Ryx a half-step behind. The corridors blurred. The grand entrance doors loomed ahead. Then sunlight hit his face as he burst onto the stone steps.

His mate was in danger. His people were in danger. And the man responsible was nowhere to be found.

Cevryn had made his move. Now Calix would make his.

NINETEEN

ARVID

The piercing wail of security alarms shattered the focused quiet of Dorn's cramped office like glass hitting pyrestone. Arvid's pen froze mid-sentence over the notebook where they'd been mapping treatment protocols—ember grass extract as the biological bridge between her Dragon's Blight research and dragon physiology, pyrestone powder to stabilize the compound, and dosage calculations scrawled in the margins.

The loud sound drove ice through her veins. She'd heard alarms like this before, in field hospitals under siege, in research facilities when containment failed. She knew immediately that this wasn't a drill.

Dorn's weathered face went pale, his tired eyes snapping wide with alarm. "Something's wrong."

"A breach?" Arvid was already moving, her chair scraping against the floor as she stood up.

"I think so." Dorn's voice carried the weight of someone who'd lived through too many crises. "The alarms only activate when the perimeter's been compromised. When people need to evacuate immediately."

Arvid's mind shifted into combat mode, her brown eyes going laser-focused. The transformation was instantaneous—scientist to soldier in a heartbeat. "We need to get to the patient wing right now."

"No." Dorn grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly firm. "You're the king's mate. Our future queen. You need to get to safety."

She pulled free, her voice cutting through his protests like a blade. "I need to save the patients. They're the most vulnerable people in this building."

Sick dragon shifters. Weakened by Ash Fever. Unable to shift. Unable to defend themselves.

The strategic assessment flashed through her mind as they rushed from his office into the main portion of the laboratory. Red emergency lights strobed across the sterile surfaces, and the alarms were deafening in here—a constant shriek that made thinking difficult.

Calix, help us. There's a breach here, she projected through their newly formed telepathic link, pouring urgency into the connection.

The mate bond thrummed with her adrenaline, and she felt an answering surge of fierce protectiveness from him.

I'm on my way. Get to safety now. Cevryn hired those rogues to harm you. He's probably trying to finish the job.

This wasn't random. Cevryn's disappearance, the contaminated flameroot fields, the rogue attack on her and Tal—all pieces of the same hostile puzzle. The head of the council wasn't missing. He was orchestrating. But there was no time for analysis. Only action.

Arvid spun toward the panicked healers scattered throughout the laboratory, her voice cutting through the chaos with military authority. "Listen up! Gather all critical materials and equipment. Protect the research at all costs!"

The healers responded to her tone immediately, scrambling to secure samples and documentation. Years of military service had taught her that people needed leadership during a crisis—someone to tell them what to do when the world went sideways.

She turned to Dorn, who was staring at her with something between admiration and terror. "How do we reach the patient wing safely?"

"The underground tunnel system," he said, already moving. "Emergency access only. It connects all three buildings."

They ran out of the laboratory and through corridors painted crimson by emergency lighting, their footsteps echoing off the pyrestone walls. The alarms followed them, a relentless soundtrack of impending disaster as they raced toward the underground tunnel system. Once at the end of a narrow corridor, Dorn yanked open a heavy door marked with emergency symbols, and beyond it, steep stairs descended into darkness.

"When we reach the patient wing," Arvid said as they clattered down the steps, "you take the east corridor, I take the west. We collect everyone and meet back at the tunnel entrance." She took a steadying breath. "How many patients total?"

"Fifty active cases." Dorn's breathing was already labored from the descent. "Can you handle twenty-five?"

"I can handle whatever needs handling." Her voice carried absolute certainty. "Can you?"

"Yes."

The underground tunnel stretched before them—a utilitarian passage carved from volcanic rock, lit by sparse emergency strips that cast everything in harsh shadows. Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they ran, the sound mixing with the muffled alarms from above.

Hold on, Essin. Hold on, everyone.