The city held its breath at 12:11 a.m.

Reed stood on the cottage roof, wind whipping salt and smoke across his face. Below, the harbor churned like a cauldron (green fire licking the sky, Laken’s frost-fire wings flickering green at the edges). Harold’s silver dragon form circled above her, roaring defiance that cracked thunderclouds.

Reed’s dragon-stone scars burned cold.

He activated the emergency broadcast array (every screen in Corban and Kretia, ...