Chapter 2 - Lena

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The moment the door closed behind Allie, Lena's smile fell. She stared at her hand. Blood had soaked through the towel. The cut pulsed with each heartbeat, but that was not what made her fingers shake. It was the voice. The one she had heard three years ago in the rain. The one that had just ordered whiskey at her bar.

Earlier that afternoon, the bar had been quiet. Two regulars nursed drinks. She had moved on autopilot, wiping down the counter, but her mind kept circling back to the pendant. It had warmed against her skin. Just a pulse. She told herself it was nothing. Still, the feeling distracted her.

When one of the patrons laughed too hard at his own joke, his elbow swept wide and knocked a half-full glass toward the edge of the counter. Lena reacted without thinking. A breath of pressure left her palm. Subtle. Almost nothing. The water inside the glass froze mid-slosh. Stillness. Dense. Time did not stop. Just the water. That was enough. The sudden weight shift steadied the glass just long enough for her to catch it. The man did not notice. Neither did the one beside him. But Lena did.

She grabbed a rag and turned away to hide the flush rising in her cheeks. "Brilliant," she muttered under her breath. "Distracted by your own dragon." She pressed her hand to the pendant. The metal felt cooler now, but the pulse still lingered beneath her skin. She had promised her father control. Sworn she would not repeat the mistakes that had already stained the Kors bloodline. The Alliance did not need another reason to question it.

In her distraction, she failed to notice the door had opened. Failed to see the figure near the entrance. She looked up too late. A hooded figure. Silent as stone. Watching from the corner where the light did not quite reach. He had been there the whole time. He had seen everything. Her stomach dropped. The rag fell from her hands.

When he finally spoke, his voice came low and rough. The sound jolted her harder than a slammed glass. "Whiskey. Neat."

The last time she had heard that voice…

Three years ago. The call from Mara had come frantic, begging for help. Lena reached Highway 10. She spotted the wreck from a quarter mile out. Mara's car crushed against the guardrail. She stopped. Engine idling. Heart pounding. Two men moved through the scene with military precision. One swept a flashlight across the wreckage. They were gone before the police arrived. One of them had spoken. Calm. Cold. "The Alliance will handle it. Clean the mess before anyone notices."

She had stayed hidden. Headlights off. Hands frozen on the wheel. She never told the police. Never told Allie. The Alliance kept the world blind to dragons. Which meant something had gone horribly wrong with Mara.

Now, the same chill curled up her spine.

Her hand shook as she poured, but she managed to set the glass in front of him without spilling. He lifted it. Took a slow sip. His eyes never left hers. "Careful," he said. "Wouldn't want another accident. Like the one on Highway 10."

The air left Lena's lungs. He smelled wrong. Beneath the cologne was ozone and burnt copper. The scar near his eye caught the light, pale against his skin. He knew about Mara. He knew about Highway 10. And he knew about Allie.

He finished the whiskey in one swallow. Set the glass down with a soft click. He stood. Dropped a twenty on the bar. As he turned, something slipped from his coat pocket. A matchbook. Black paper, silver lettering. Dragon's Breath. He did not notice. The door swung shut behind him.

Lena stood frozen. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip the bar. She turned to steady herself. Reached for the cutting board. The paring knife was still there. She needed to do something. Anything. Keep her hands busy. She grabbed a lemon. The knife slipped. It bit deep across her palm. She hissed and grabbed a bar towel, wrapping it tight. Blood soaked through.

Lena stared at the matchbook on the bar. Her father had played with that band once. Before the burnout. Before the Alliance stepped in. She picked it up with shaking hands. On the back, someone had drawn a symbol. The same one etched into Mara's pendant clasp.

Whoever killed Mara knew about Allie now. Lena could not stay silent anymore. Allie was already in danger. Her fingers rose to the pendant she wore. The twin to Allie's. She traced the edges. It had never meant anything before. Until now.

She pulled a pen from the register and wrote inside the matchbook cover, then slipped it into her apron pocket. Three years of silence. She had almost let it become four. They had promised not to talk about Mara on the anniversaries, but some things could no longer be left unspoken.

She dialed. When voicemail answered, her voice cracked. "Allie, I need your help. Something is wrong with a supplier. I do not trust what they are asking. Please come by tonight. I will explain when you get here."

Supplier trouble. Safe words wrapped around panic. If anyone else heard it, they would hear nothing unusual. But Allie would know.

By the time Allie walked in, Lena's smile was stitched back in place. The lie rehearsed. The fear buried deep. She only needed to hold it together a little longer. Just long enough to tell the truth.

Then she finished closing. The last light clicked off. Allie had excused herself to the restroom. Lena grabbed the trash bags from behind the bar. Just one more thing, then they could talk.

Cold mist touched her face as she stepped into the alley. The bags were heavy in her hands. A figure stepped from the shadows. Black coat. Pale hands. Eyes that caught the light wrong. Too bright, like an animal in headlights. Blade glinting. The trash bags fell from her hands.

"Who sent you?" she snapped. She grabbed a bottle from a crate. Glass slick with condensation. 

Her father's voice whispered through memory. Fight like the tide. Flow and strike.

The man moved. His knife came fast, aimed low. She twisted. Swung the bottle hard into his forearm. Glass exploded. His grunt came sharp and pained. Blood welled dark through his sleeve. But he did not drop the knife.

He lunged again. The blade caught her across the belly. Not deep, but hot. A line of fire that stole her breath. She drove her knee up. Felt it connect. He folded forward, wheezing. Her hand moved on instinct. She grabbed at him. Cloth, skin, anything. Came away with a torn strip of his coat. Black fabric. Wet with his blood.

He snarled. Surged upright. The knife rose. This time it struck high. Just below her collarbone.

The world tilted. Sharp. Cold. Then burning. Her pendant flared hot against her skin. The silver chain began to glow. Not with light, but with heat. The links turned red. Then white. Then black. 

The metal hissed like water on a griddle.

The chain snapped.

The pendant hit the concrete with a soft clink. The moment it left her skin, something shifted. 

The air changed. Her power stirred.

But it was too late.

Blood spilled fast and hot down her chest. Her knees buckled. The wall caught her as she slid down. Bricks were cold against her spine.

He did not look at her anymore. One hand pressed to his ribs where she had struck him. The other held the knife. He dragged it across the brick wall in deliberate strokes. Slow. Methodical. Like he had done this before. A sigil took shape. Crooked lines. Sharp angles. Wrong geometry. Then he dipped his fingers into the blood pooling at her side.

She tried to move. Could not. Her body would not answer. He smeared her blood across the carved lines. Once. Twice. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the blood began to glow. 

Faint red, like embers under ash. It pulsed once. Twice. Then faded to rust-brown and went still.

The man straightened. He looked at the sigil the way a craftsman might check his work. Then he wiped the knife on his coat and walked away. His footsteps faded into the dark.

Lena's breath rattled. Cold crept into her chest. Heavy and final.

This was it, then.

She had promised to tell Allie the truth. About Mara. About the pendant. About everything. She had waited three years too long. Her fingers reached for the fallen pendant on the slick concrete and closed around it. The metal was still warm against her palm. She gathered what breath she had left.

"Allie!"

The scream tore from her throat. Ragged and desperate. It echoed off brick and metal. Far off, a siren wailed. Tires hissed on wet pavement. A saxophone cried somewhere down the block. Low and mournful. Alive in the dark. The city kept breathing. Indifferent. Unaware that something ancient had just woken.

Lena's eyes began to close. She had not saved Mara. She would not save Allie.

But maybe the pendant still could.