The return to Corban was not a victory parade. It was a retreat. The silence in the private jet was heavier than any they had endured. Laken slept fitfully, her head in Reed’s lap, the permanent absence of her spark leaving her visibly diminished, like a lamp whose internal flame had been extinguished. Harold stared out the window at the clouds, his jaw clenched. He had traded one form of servitude for another. First a dragon, then a pawn in a game between gods.

The manor felt less ...