I made it back to my room twenty minutes before dawn.
Getting inside the Blackthorne Tower turned out to be easier than escaping it. The werewolf guards were focused on watching for someone trying to leave, not someone trying to return. A maintenance entrance on the building's east side gave me access to the service elevators, and from there it was just a matter of avoiding the security cameras I'd memorized over the years.
The hardest part was making it look like I'd never left.
I slipped back through the broken window—the one I'd melted the locks on before jumping. The frame was still warm from where my dragon fire had heated the metal, but I could work with that. I used a shard of broken glass to cut my arm, letting a few drops of blood hit the window sill. Then I scattered some torn fabric from my pajamas near the opening.
It had to look like I'd tried to escape but failed. Like I'd hurt myself and given up.
I was arranging the last piece of "evidence" when I heard the locks on my door beginning to disengage. Marcus was coming to check on me.
I threw myself onto the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, closing my eyes and forcing my breathing to slow. The dragon blood in my veins was still humming with energy from the night's revelations, but I pushed that awareness deep down where Marcus couldn't sense it.
When he opened the door, I was the picture of a sedated patient having a restless sleep.
"Phoenix?" His voice was soft, concerned. The voice of a loving father worried about his daughter.
It made me want to vomit.
I stirred slightly, making a small sound like I was fighting my way up from deep unconsciousness.
"Daddy?" I kept my voice weak, confused. Let my eyes flutter open and struggle to focus on his face.
The relief that crossed his features was so genuine it was almost convincing. If I hadn't spent the last few hours watching video of him murdering my parents, I might have believed he actually cared.
"I'm here, Princess. You're safe now."
Safe. From the man who'd orphaned me and spent twenty years poisoning me to keep me compliant.
"I had... strange dreams," I murmured, letting my eyes drift closed again. "Fire. And falling. Did I hurt myself?"
Marcus moved closer to the bed, and I caught his familiar scent. Expensive cologne, coffee, and underneath it all something sharp and wild that I now recognized as werewolf musk.
"You had an episode last night," he said gently. "Dr. Reeves had to give you something to help you sleep. Do you remember any of it?"
I made myself frown, like I was trying to grasp at fading memories. "There was... a needle? And smoke. Was there a fire?"
"You accidentally set the curtains ablaze. But it's all taken care of now." Marcus sat on the edge of my bed, his weight making the mattress dip. "How do you feel?"
"Tired. Confused." I let my voice crack slightly. "Scared. I don't understand what's happening to me."
Marcus reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. The gesture was so familiar, so paternal, that for a split second I almost forgot what I now knew about him.
Then I saw his hands.
He was wearing his usual black leather gloves, but there was something different about them today. The left glove was slightly looser than normal, like he'd wrapped something underneath. When he moved his fingers, I caught a glimpse of white bandage through the gap at his wrist.
Burns. From when I'd grabbed his hand with dragon fire two nights ago.
The sight sent a spike of savage satisfaction through me. Let him wear the scars of what I could do. Let him remember that his perfect, controllable daughter had claws.
"The confusion is normal," Marcus was saying. "Dragon blood awakening can be overwhelming, especially when it happens so suddenly. But Dr. Reeves has some new treatment options that should help."
"More injections?"
"Possibly. But there are other methods we can try first. Specialists who understand what you're going through."
I let my eyes drift over to the broken window, where morning light was starting to filter through the gaps in the new blackout curtains. "I tried to leave last night, didn't I?"
Marcus followed my gaze. "You were disoriented. Not thinking clearly."
"I could have died."
"Yes." His voice was tight. "You could have."
I turned to look at him directly, putting on my most vulnerable expression. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I know you're just trying to help me."
Something shifted in his face. Relief, guilt, and underneath it all a kind of desperate affection that might have been real. Maybe that was the most disturbing part—that Marcus could genuinely love me while systematically destroying who I was meant to be.
"You don't need to apologize, Princess. None of this is your fault."
Isn't it? I wanted to ask. Isn't it my fault for existing? For being the daughter of the woman you couldn't have?
Instead, I just nodded weakly and closed my eyes. "Can I sleep some more? I'm so tired."
"Of course. Rest as much as you need." Marcus stood up, but he hesitated at the foot of the bed. "Phoenix? I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter how difficult things become, I will always love you. You're my daughter in every way that matters."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Because part of me—the part that had spent twenty years adoring this man—still wanted to believe them.
"I love you too, Daddy," I whispered.
And the terrifying thing was, some small piece of me still meant it.
After Marcus left, I lay still for another hour, listening to the sounds of the tower coming to life. Staff arriving for work, phones ringing in distant offices, the hum of morning business that had been the soundtrack of my entire life.
But now I was hearing it all differently. This wasn't my home. It was Marcus's kingdom, built on the graves of my real parents.
When I finally got up, I moved like someone still recovering from heavy sedation. Slow, careful, occasionally steadying myself against walls. It wasn't entirely an act—using my dragon abilities the night before had drained me more than I'd expected—but I exaggerated the weakness for the cameras.
Emma brought breakfast at nine. This time she didn't bother with subtle warnings about the juice. She just set down a cup of black coffee and met my eyes meaningfully.
"Feeling better this morning, Miss Phoenix?"
"A little," I said, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug. The warmth felt good against my palms, and I could sense the slight buzz of caffeine hitting my system. "Everything feels... fuzzy. Like I'm seeing the world through frosted glass."
"That's normal after the medication Dr. Reeves gave you. It should clear up soon."
Emma bustled around my room, straightening things that were already perfectly arranged. As she worked, I studied her with new eyes. This woman had been my mother's friend. Had spent twenty years as Marcus's servant while secretly working against him.
How did she stand it? How did she smile and serve coffee to the man who'd murdered her best friend?
"Emma," I said carefully, "do you ever have dreams about the past? About things that happened before I came to live here?"
Her hands stilled for just a moment on my dresser. "Sometimes. Why do you ask?"
"I keep having these... fragments. Images that feel like memories but don't make sense. A woman with dark hair singing lullabies. The smell of jasmine and smoke."
Emma's breath caught almost inaudibly. "Dreams can feel very real when we're processing trauma, Miss Phoenix. Perhaps you should discuss them with Dr. Reeves."
"Perhaps." I took another sip of coffee. "Do you think... do you think Marcus ever dreams about my parents? About the night they died?"
This time Emma's reaction was impossible to miss. Her shoulders tensed, and when she turned to face me, her brown eyes were sharp with warning.
"I think Mr. Blackthorne has done everything in his power to give you a good life," she said carefully. "Sometimes it's better not to question the choices that were made to protect us."
But the way she said it—with just the slightest emphasis on certain words—made me think she was telling me something else entirely. That Marcus's choices hadn't been about protection. That questioning them was exactly what I should be doing.
"You're probably right," I said. "I should focus on getting better instead of dwelling on things I can't change."
"That sounds very wise."
Emma finished her tidying and headed for the door. As she reached for the handle, I made my voice small and lost.
"Emma? Do you think I'll ever feel normal again?"
She paused, her back to me. When she spoke, her voice was soft but firm.
"I think you'll feel exactly as normal as you choose to feel, Miss Phoenix. Sometimes we have to decide who we want to be."
After she left, I spent the morning playing the role of the compliant patient. I read quietly, took a nap, ate the lunch Emma brought without complaint. But underneath the performance, I was watching. Learning.
Marcus checked on me twice more. Both times, he seemed slightly more relaxed, like my apparent docility was reassuring him that his control was intact.
During his afternoon visit, I noticed more details about his appearance. The way he unconsciously flexed his left hand, the one I'd burned. How his ice-blue eyes kept flicking to the broken window, even though it had been temporarily boarded up. The careful way he positioned himself between me and the door, like he was ready to block any attempt at escape.
But most interesting were the things he thought I couldn't see. When he turned to examine the window repairs, I caught a glimpse of his neck where his collar had shifted. There was a thin silver chain underneath his shirt, and hanging from it was something that glinted in the afternoon light.
A pendant of some kind. Or maybe a ring.
I'd lived with Marcus for twenty years and never known he wore jewelry. What was important enough for him to keep hidden against his skin?
Around four o'clock, Marcus announced he had business meetings that would keep him occupied until dinner. Perfect.
I waited until his footsteps faded down the hallway, then got to work.
The broken window was my first target. The maintenance crew had done a temporary repair job, but I could see gaps in their work. More importantly, I could feel air currents moving through the spaces they'd missed. If I needed to leave again, this was still my best exit route.
Next, I examined every inch of my prison cell—because that's what it was now, no matter how luxuriously appointed. The new locks on the door were high-end electronic models, but electronic systems were vulnerable to the right kind of heat application. The camera in the corner had a narrow field of view that left several blind spots near the ceiling.
Most importantly, the air vent I'd noticed earlier was definitely large enough for someone my size to crawl through.
I was testing the screws on the vent cover when I heard something that made me freeze.
Voices. Coming from Marcus's study directly below my room.
I pressed my ear to the floor and caught fragments of conversation. Marcus was talking to someone, his voice low and intense. I couldn't make out all the words, but I caught enough to make my blood run cold.
"—can't wait much longer—"
"—the awakening was stronger than expected—"
"—Switzerland facility is prepared—"
"—complete memory wipe—"
Switzerland. Memory wipe.
I crawled to a different spot and pressed my ear down again, trying to catch more.
"—Viktor wants her delivered by the end of the week—"
Viktor. Viktor Klaus, the werewolf supremacist Matthias had mentioned.
"—once the procedure is complete, she'll be completely compliant—"
"—no memory of her parents or abilities—"
"—perfect weapon for the cause—"
My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid they might hear it through the floor. Marcus wasn't just planning to erase my memory. He was planning to hand me over to Viktor Klaus.
The man who'd manipulated him into murdering my parents was going to get his hands on me.
I forced myself to breathe steadily, to think through the panic that was threatening to overwhelm me. I had maybe three days before they shipped me off to Switzerland. Three days to figure out how to escape not just Marcus, but an entire network of werewolf extremists who wanted to turn me into their personal dragon weapon.
The voices below faded as the meeting ended. I heard footsteps moving toward the door, then Marcus's voice one final time.
"Make sure the arrangements are finalized. I don't want any complications."
"What about the girl's emotional attachment to you? Won't that make the process more difficult?"
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was colder than I'd ever heard it.
"After Switzerland, she won't remember me at all. Sometimes that's a mercy."
The casual cruelty of it took my breath away. Twenty years of father-daughter bonding, and Marcus was prepared to erase it all like deleting a computer file.
I crawled back to my bed and pulled the covers up, mind racing. I had to get word to Matthias. Had to warn him that Viktor Klaus was involved, that there was a facility in Switzerland designed to lobotomize dragons.
But first, I had to survive dinner without letting Marcus know I'd overheard his plans.
At seven o'clock sharp, Emma came to escort me to the dining room. I played my role perfectly—still weak, still confused, but showing signs of improvement. Marcus seemed pleased with my progress.
"You look much better tonight, Princess. More like yourself."
"I feel clearer. Less... scattered." I took a small sip of water. "Though I'm still having trouble remembering things. Last night is mostly just fragments."
"That's normal. The medication can affect short-term memory formation."
We made small talk through the first course. Marcus told me about his day, asked about my reading, inquired about my appetite. It was so perfectly normal, so reminiscent of thousands of family dinners we'd shared, that I almost forgot we were both performing.
Then, halfway through the main course, Marcus set down his fork and looked at me with an expression of gentle concern.
"Phoenix, I've been thinking about your situation. About how to best help you through this transition."
"Transition?"
"To whatever comes next. Your abilities aren't going away, and managing them here in Seattle is becoming... complicated."
I kept my expression neutral, interested but not alarmed. "What do you mean?"
"There are people who know what happened the other night. The fire, the broken window, the disturbance you caused. Word is getting out that there's a dragon-blood individual in the city."
"Is that dangerous?"
"It could be. There are those who would see you as a threat to be eliminated, and others who would want to exploit your abilities for their own ends."
I took another sip of water, buying time to choose my words carefully. "What do you think we should do?"
Marcus leaned back in his chair, his ice-blue eyes studying my face. "I've been in contact with a specialized facility in Switzerland. They work with individuals who have supernatural abilities, helping them learn control and integration."
"Switzerland?" I let a note of anxiety creep into my voice. "That's so far away."
"I know it seems daunting. But their success rates are remarkable, Phoenix. They have methods for helping people like you that simply aren't available anywhere else."
Methods like complete memory erasure, apparently.
"How long would I need to stay there?"
"That would depend on your progress. Could be a few months, could be longer." Marcus reached across the table and took my hand. His gloves felt soft against my skin, but I could feel the bandages underneath. "I know it's scary to think about leaving home. But sometimes we have to make difficult choices for our own wellbeing."
Our own wellbeing. Not my wellbeing. Ours.
"Would you... would you visit me?"
Something flickered across Marcus's face. Guilt, maybe, or regret.
"Of course, Princess. As often as I could manage."
Liar. He was planning to hand me over to people who would strip away everything I was, and he didn't even have the courage to tell me the truth.
"When would I leave?" I asked.
"Soon. The facility has an opening next week, and I think it's important we move quickly before your condition deteriorates further."
Next week. Exactly what I'd overheard during his meeting.
I let myself look distressed, like the idea of leaving was overwhelming. "I don't know if I'm ready for something like that."
"I understand your hesitation. But Phoenix, what happened the other night—the fire, the window, the way you lost control—that can't happen again. Next time, you might not be so fortunate."
"You mean next time I might actually die."
"I mean next time you might hurt someone else."
The words hit exactly as he'd intended them to. Making me feel guilty, making me believe that my abilities were a danger to innocent people.
But now I knew better. Marcus wasn't worried about me hurting innocent people. He was worried about me hurting him.
"I need time to think about it," I said finally.
"Of course. Take all the time you need." Marcus squeezed my hand gently. "Just remember that I love you, and everything I do is to keep you safe."
Safe. The word he kept using to justify twenty years of lies and control.
"I know, Daddy. I love you too."
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of meaningless conversation. Marcus told me about the Swiss facility's beautiful location in the Alps, their cutting-edge treatment programs, the peaceful environment that would help me heal.
He made it sound like a vacation resort instead of a place designed to lobotomize supernatural beings.
After dinner, I pleaded exhaustion and went back to my room. Marcus seemed pleased with how well I was handling the news, how reasonably I was considering his proposal.
If only he knew that I was already planning his destruction.
I waited until midnight, then began my preparations. First, I tested the air vent cover again. The screws were old and had been painted over multiple times, but they were starting to give way under careful pressure.
Next, I examined everything in my room that could be used as a weapon or tool. Makeup mirrors that could be broken into sharp shards. Metal hangers that could be straightened into picks or prods. Even my jewelry had possibilities—several pieces had edges or points that could do damage if applied correctly.
But my most powerful weapon was my dragon blood itself. I just needed to learn how to control it better.
I spent an hour practicing, generating small flames in my palms and trying to modulate their intensity. Too little heat and I wouldn't be able to melt locks or disable electronics. Too much and I'd risk burning down the building with innocent people inside.
By the time I finally went to sleep, I had the beginnings of a plan.
Marcus thought he was sending me to Switzerland to be erased and reprogrammed. But Phoenix Draven, last heir of the Dragon Royal bloodline, wasn't going anywhere.
It was time for the perfect daughter to die.
And time for the Dragon Queen to be born.
End of Chapter 6