“How about this one?” Detective Bondar spoke in English, his Slavic accent thick and burly against the familiar language.

His dark eyes pierced mine as he slid an image across the scratched surface of the table I was handcuffed to. It was the same image he had shown me every day for the past year.

Since the Vilỳ attack that I had woken up in, since he had begun the vendetta to break me, to use me.

To find The Oheň.

Every day they would walk me down an older wing of the old hospital, chains grinding against the cracked floor as The Cleaners yelled and smacked the butts of their guns against the doors, igniting yells from the other patients.

No, from the prisoners who had thought they were coming to a sanctuary, a country without war, without The Chrlič, only to find themselves locked in a purgatory.

A prison, posing as a hospital.

We would walk to this room, the only other room I saw, as Detective Bondar showed me pictures. The same pictures. As though seeing them so often would spark a memory.

Of course, I knew exactly what this image was, and exactly what he wanted to me say.

He would get neither.  

“There is a green baseball cap near a dumpster. A door is ajar in the background…” I rattled off the memorized details without looking. I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the double mirror that covered the dark wall behind him and what I was sure was officers behind it.

“What else?” The Detective said, the low rumble of his voice pulling my focus from the glass, although I would still not look at the image. I would look anywhere else, even at the ugly green of the sinister star that graced his lapel.

It was that that I landed on.

“A pile of cloth, it looks like…”

“What else,” he interrupted with a snap, tapping his finger against the portrait,

That was new, he very rarely lost his temper.

Perhaps I could use this.

“Where is Commander Domor?” I asked in Ukrainian, finally turning to look at him.

Detective Bondar sighed, bristly mustache dancing in agitation as he snatched back the photo, shuffling it with the others.

This was new. He had never given up so quickly. I had only been chained to the desk a few moments ago.

I had bristled him.

I had upset him somehow, but why? Something had changed. Something was different, it made my stomach twist.

“Is he here?” I asked, the chains around my ankles clanging loudly as I shifted my weight, feigning an attempt to see through the glass.

Except this time I wanted to.

My magic bubbled through me, stretching through air and floor to reach the glass as I had mastered before. The wall of glass began to melt away in my mind, my vision shifting as my magic revealed the tiny room just behind. The same men stood there every day, the insignia of the red and yellow spark embroidered on their lapels. The Tykha Shistʹ. They would stand in circles, smoking as they talked, as they yelled at their prized prisoner as time and again I foiled them.

Today, however, they stared at me in frightening eagerness, their bright eyes and smiles clear from behind their large smoking pipes, the insignia of the red and yellow spark embroidered on their lapels.

Commander Domor paced to the side of the other five, each one stiff as they stood around a woman in a large black cloak, the five of them looking like ladies in waiting against the powerful confidence that was bleeding off this woman.

Her aura saturated the air, and although I had never seen her before, although I knew nothing about her, I found myself growing just as agitated as the Commander was. The way she was looking at me, right at me, made me twitch. The movement was slight, but I was sure she had seen it with how her lip twisted into a demented half smile, the wicked grin growing as she began to remove her black leather gloves, mouth moving in some command I couldn’t hear.

“How about this?” The snap of aggression was gone, replaced by a careful phrasing and an eagerness that pulled me right from those behind the glass and to the now smiling one right before me.

Detective Bondar slid another picture across the table, even from my peripheral vision I could tell it was part of the beautiful city I had seen destroyed in my dreams for the last few months. I had watched it burn. I had watched buildings fall under my will. I had watched her, Joclyn, as she smiled, as she laughed, as she slept in my arms.  

I had seen pieces of a life. But so much was still missing.

I still didn’t know my name.

“The blood filled river,” I began, still focused on him, “the ruins of…”

“Look again.” The man interrupted me with a snap, the nefarious humor in his eyes was making me bristle.

His finger tapped loudly against the table in an attempt to get my attention, the tap continually growing louder, until I finally looked from him to the large square image that lay flat against the scratched surface.

“How about this,” he repeated, the tap-tap-tap of his finger slowing.

It was the sister of the image I had seen for months. The same scene. The same part of the city.  

A murky river ran along the bottom, the bank lined with the remains of the white stones and red roofs that had made up the heart of Prague. Except the remains were gone, they had been cleaned away. The ancient bridge that had previously fallen into the river was being rebuilt, the old sections blending seamlessly with the new.

I could clearly see where it had once stood. The St. Vitas cathedral. I was sure I had lived there once, but the tower, steeples, and ancient stone work were now only flashes of memory.

The few buildings that had been spared in the destruction, were clustered in the bottom corner, a few people milling around as life slowly began to return to the city.

This was not the picture of the ruins from years ago. This was now; this was recent.

And there, under his ink-stained fingertip, was her.

My magic sparked as I leaned closer, the power rolling over my skin in waves as I kept it restrained, albeit barely.

A girl in a blue tank top and jeans ran along the river banks with a boy who could have been her brother judging by the dark curls they both had.

I could barely make it out, but I knew it was them. I knew it was her.

Joclyn.

The word. The name. It was dying to escape, to explode out of me, but I restrained it - keeping it safe inside. Keeping my reaction safe inside.

“I am glad to see the rebuild is going well.” I kept my voice even, letting my vowels roll out in my thick Czech accent so that it made the Ukrainian sound garbled.

The man glowered at me before returning to his pile of photographs. My heart raced as he shuffled through them. I needed to see her again. I needed to see the image. To see the boy, to memorize everything. But I could say nothing. The plea remained as trapped as I was.

The SSU was too dangerous now, and while I had mastered quite a bit, I wasn’t ready. Sitting here I could feel my magic press against my heart, where I had learned to hold it, the slow steady beat keeping the power calm. It was waiting to explode, ready to react, but here in this room was not the place to start a war. The truth would only end in death.

Detective Bondar mumbled to himself before he slammed the next image down, this one a magnification of the last. I expected it to be an out-of-focus mess, but it was clear, perfect.

My heart relaxed at the tiny freckles over her nose, at the way her hair bounced as she carried herself confidently. The relaxation was short-lived, however, the emotion followed by pain at the look of devastation in her eyes. Her anger bristled as she rushed away from the boy, his image clearer - and definitely, the one Kaye had found months before.

Ryland LaRue.

The plea on Ryland’s face was evident as he followed her, his hand held forward as he tried to give her something. A golden ribbon wound into a nest.

The ribbon from her hair. I had seen that before. In the images from Svarov, in my dreams.

Only weeks before I had watched my memories replay as I weaved it into a braid, twisting ribbons into roses and designs that I could never hope to replicate. The meaning was still unknown to me.

The image rattle through me, sending my already tense magic into a rage of protective need. Back tensing at the sudden strain, I exhaled slowly, letting myself feel the joy at seeing her. Feel the love that was always living inside of me.

“How about now?” He hissed, his victorious tone making it clear he thought he had caught me. That he thought he could break me.

But I still knew nothing more than her name and that she existed…

She existed.

The city was being rebuilt, his eagerness giving away that the image was recent enough it may have been days old.

And there she was.

Existing.

No, she was alive.

Heat rumbled through me, a joy swelling so fast that it was nearly impossible to keep the emotion restrained. To keep myself in this chair and not fighting my way toward Prague.

“Is that the girl you have shown me before?” I asked, desperate to keep the shake out of my voice. “The Oheň? Dark Fire, right?”

His knuckles tightened a bit, the skin discoloration in his anger.

I could feel the emotion mirrored in myself, but in joy, and in triumph. My magic echoed the strength of the feelings, everything in me suddenly feeling very alive.

I could feel the electricity try to escape.

I shifted my weight, trying to hide my hands, but instead, the chains and handcuffs only rattled loudly, creating the opposite effect.

The man before me, and I am sure those behind the glass, glanced down in expectation.

As if they were waiting for some eruption of power.

Perhaps they wanted it. Perhaps they thought this picture was the key.

“So, she is alive then?” I spat, purposefully making my voice loud so as to pull their attention.

“It appears so,” the man growled, leaving the magnified image on the table as he riffled through his folder. “We assume she is working with this man, helping to decrease the Chrlič.”

“And is it working?”

Detective Bondar didn’t look up, his focus remained on the folder, a tiny twitch playing around his lips as he finally found what he was looking for.  

I tensed.

We had been playing this game for months, he and I, and while I had hidden my knowledge and emotions so far. He was pushing buttons.

“Of course, they could also be looking for you.”

One after another he began to lay images down, far enough away that I couldn’t reach them, close enough that I couldn’t ignore their presence.

Even if I had tried I couldn’t look away.

Some of the images Kaye and I had already found, some of them were new. Each and every one pulled at my heart, making it harder to breathe. Shot after shot of Joclyn and I as we fought through the Svarov ruins, battled against both Chrlič and a wide array of battle-worn soldiers. Images of my hand around hers, images of me standing before her in protection.

One after another they came, the knot in my chest rising to meet the tension of my magic, the hot boil pushing everything up and out in a threat of release.

I breathed deeply and clenched my fists, more concerned with keeping everything restrained than with keeping my emotions hidden for the moment.

Bondar’s face turned up in a wicked grin as he slid another image across the table, this one facedown. Its white back winked at me as he pressed it underneath my fingers, his eyes dancing as he nodded toward it in invitation.

Heart pounding, I attempted to swallow the massive lump of fear away. It remained lodged, twisting aggressively as my magic continued to flare and bubble.

I breathed, just as I had practiced, as slowly everything began to ease. I knew at once it was not enough.

One glance to the mirror and my magic flared, letting my eyes peer through it once again to see the men behind it, their exhilaration flooding the space. The woman, however...

“Go ahead,” Bondar prompted, his eager voice pulling me from the Six and back toward the photograph.

I knew I had no choice.

Twisting my wrists against the heavy cuffs, I fumbled with the image, turning it towards me.

It was her. In my arms. She looked up at me, her hands clenching my shirt as I held to her against me, the world exploding around us as I protected her, as I cradled her.

I remembered this.

I remembered this moment.

I remember feeling her against me, and the feeling of her magic inside of me, the heat of her skin.

And not just from the dreams of us on the beach every night, I could feel it now, feel the warmth, feel the power buzz inside of me. Feel the way our magic would combine, the way my power longed for her.

I couldn’t stop it from exploding.

The photo turned to ash in a flash of red, the pieces shimmering to table like snow. I watched them fall, the facade I had built tumbling right beside them. Power surged over the surface of my skin as I looked up to the man, his face a mixture of horror and exhilaration.

I had one second. One second to decide what to do and what card to play.

I could attack. I could run. I could escape.

Even with all the work I had done over the last few months, however, even with all Kaye and I had learned, I already knew it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough to get out. It wasn’t enough to escape.

I had one choice.

I had to keep the lie intact. I had to play the game, and if I was lucky, get more information.

“What…” I stuttered, forcing as much confusion as I could into my voice. I jerked away, sending the chains rattling as I pressed against my restraints in a need to move away from the still smoldering remains of the photograph.

“Is this a joke?” I roared, my voice breaking as my magic continually tried to break free.

I tried to restrain it, tried to lock it inside, but it broke free. It sparked from the tips of my fingers in flames of red and yellow, the electric charges bounced over the surface of the table. I screamed at the appearance, even though it was something I had done every day for months. It was then that I realized, while I couldn’t control the slow leak, I could definitely control the explosion.

“What’s happening to me,” I yelled as I twisted my hands toward Bondar, sending him screaming and diving to the side.

His yell joined my own false fear as I pushed my magic out, sending the charge rumbling through the air and right into the mirrored glass.

The screams of the men behind joined our own as the glass shattered. The walls shook, the handcuffs broke free as I easily popped the lock. Holding my hands before me, I continued to scream, ready to fire again when each of the Six began to yell in Ukrainian. Their threats began to clear as their guns were drawn, several warning shots going over my head before each of the dark barrels were aimed right at me.

“Another one and you die,” Commander Domor yelled, his own gun moving closer as he stepped right up to where the wall had been.

“I can’t control it,” I said, attempting to push out a sob as I aimed my hands to the ground. “Please, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You seem to be in quite a lot of control to me.” The voice was silk drenched in acid. It burned through my soul as the six men parted, letting the woman I had seen with them before step forward. “I wonder what else you can do.”

Her face was plastered with pleasure and triumph, the dark ink of her eyes glinting with it.

The look alone was enough to stop the flow of my power, but it was the sinister star on her lapel that turned the world to ice, any hope of fighting fading away as my power recoiled. The colors were one I had never seen before and knew I would never see again.

‘Only purple is higher, and there is only one of those.’

Kaye’s words repeated as I froze in place, my magic dead inside of me. This was the leader. If I was to kill anyone, it would be her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even move, something in the air was telling me it was a lost cause.

With one greasy smile, she raised her hand with a flick, whispering one word before a needle plunged into my neck.

* * *

The world was swimming.

Everything around me was moving so fast I couldn’t tell which way was up. As the world spun, so did my mind. Fuzzy thoughts rotated as I spun through the air, everything moving. One moment I was sure I was standing up, the next I was lying down.

Everything blurred, swimming.

Swimming.

Breathing out in a shaky exhale, I attempted to stabilize the world in order to figure out what had happened and where I was, but I only spun more, the oxygen not quite reaching my brain. It felt like something was stopping it, blocking my nose and mouth.  

No matter how many breaths I took, it didn’t seem to do any good, everything spun like a catherine wheel on a point, sending my vision into a blur of light and confusion.

Like a star.

The sinister star.

The sparkling tips of a purple and gold star winked from above me, the embroidery the only clear thing in the wobbling world. It taunted me, promising danger and death in a flash. I tensed, hands flying forward in an attempt to push away the star and run, but every movement was hindered. Panic rose up as I tried again, metal clattering as I fought, as I convulsed, but still nothing. My fight was cut in half by a gentle tinkling laugh, the sound was broken china against my soul, slicing and cutting into me as I spun through space, everything but the star continuing to flicker and spin.

“My, my, aren’t you a feisty one.” The woman's voice was a dull moan above me. The sounds were as garbled as my vision in my disorientation, but I couldn’t mistake the low drawl of fascination, the undertone of cruel domination. The warning of pain.

The way she spoke was familiar, like a memory that couldn’t quite come, the moment from my past screaming at me to run. To escape. To fight. I could do neither. I could only push against my bands, my mind continuing to swim in confusion as every inhale was blocked from my brain.

Metal and wood rattled in my ears as I pressed against the weight in a determined need to run. This time, however, I could make out the wide straps that held me down, they weren’t just in my mind. More than just the ankle and wrist bands from the past few months, these wide padded straps ran over the entire length of my body, restricting arms, torso, legs, even my head.

Feeling them there created a cavity of fear and I jerked, my desperation to escape turning into a fury. Well, at least as much of a fury that my muted thoughts could procure, not even my magic reacted. The lack of oxygen made every thought muddled, every motion slower, as though someone else was telling me how they should feel.

“They had said you were a boring charge,” the woman drawled, the joy in her voice growing as the wobbly shape of her hovered above me. “It seems that you just needed the right motivation.”

Motivation. Is that what they called this, taunting me with her picture? Stealing my last fragment of humanity?

I fought again, but the strength of my fight was turning into a shadow. I wasn’t even sure my body had received the command my brain had sent it.

“You could never…” I tried to get the words out, only to have the defiant edict stolen by slurred speech and a large plastic disk that was wedged against my teeth.

Every way I fought back was blocked, my body restrained, my mind a slow-moving sludge.

“Interesting,” the woman snarled with false concern as she ran her fingertips over the short remains of my hair.

I attempted to jerk away at the touch, but no movement came, only the low moan of lost love, only the slurred speech of a name I had kept hidden inside of me for years.

“Joclyn.”

My own fear rose up at the slip and I fought against the restraints. The faint beeping of what I was sure was my heart rate echoing behind my mournful screams. Between whatever was lodged in my mouth and the panic that followed, however, the single word remained unheard.

“I suppose this dose is too high,” she said with false concern, the raised pitch of her voice grating on me. “It appears that you can’t speak.”

The wobbly outline of the woman moved toward something behind me, pushing the star on her lapel further into the center of my line of sight.

The sinister star winked at me, the colors a nefarious prelude to whatever was coming. The thought had only barely formed as something cold was pushed into my veins. The ice moved through me like lightning, making every muscle shiver into surrender as my vision began to clear, the blurred edges sharpening into a room that I would do anything to cover up again.

Out of the corner of my eye, a wide wall of glass lay ominously, the window and the people behind it didn’t even try to hide. There was no double-sided glass, there was no prelude. It was only a clear window into a viewing area where the Tykha Shistʹ stared openly, the shadow of a reflection mirroring the old bed I laid on.

The room was new to me, although something told me I had been here before. Glancing at the walls of glass and blood-stained cement, it suddenly became clear as to what this room was, and why it felt so familiar.

I may have been in a coma, but I was no stranger to torture chambers. Even without the memory, the emotions rang clear.

“That should do it, Ma’am,” a man spoke behind me, the emotionless echo of his voice catching me off guard. “You should have greater control now.”

“Wonderful.”

The blur of the woman slid into focus, the waves of light and dark transforming into the same woman I had seen standing behind the mirror of the interrogation room.

Nothing about this woman was welcoming. I had heard the threat in her voice before, but now the tone was echoed in her lifeless eyes, in the icy scowl she fixed me with. I saw the threat, but more than that I saw her exhilaration of what was coming, of what I was here for. The hunger chilled me more.

“Hello, Jan,” she smiled, the same wicked taunt clear in her voice.

“That’s not my name.” I attempted to snap, to clearly fight this woman in any way that I could. Although each word came easy, the garbled drawl gone, every syllable was broken by whatever was in my mouth, the plastic disk turning my defiance into humiliation.

“What is your name, then?” She asked, her eyes piercing deep into me. “My name is Nastya.”

She whispered as though it was a secret, or rather like it was something I should fear. Something everyone else did.

I could tell she expected the reaction. I gave her none of it, even though I could feel a shadow of it roaring up my spine. She did not deserve the emotion.

“You don’t know who I am, do you? You think all these burly men are in charge, don’t you? Hmmm…. I was once a spy for the Security Service of Ukraine,” Nastya continued her voice growing lower as she leaned closer, both voice and body so low I was determined to ignore them. “Now I rule the SSU. I rule you.”

“No one rules me,” I mumbled, the snap more to myself than to her.

With a sneer, Nastya stood, nodding once to the old man behind me before she returned to me, her fingers moving back to my skin. Another rush of cold, another rush of anger and I knew exactly what she was doing.

She was seeking the reaction, she was showing her control.

“I rule you, Jan,” she repeated, the use of the name agitating me more. “You can’t escape. You can’t leave. Not unless you give me what I want. Now, will you tell me your name?”

My lips flared around whatever was lodged in my mouth, my eyes shifting to my own defiant glare. The fury in her eyes grew at my determined stare, the lack of power I had making itself clear. I was unable to move, and this woman with death dripping from her skin was in control me.

I may be able to keep my secrets locked inside, but I was playing with more than fire.

I was playing with pain.

My father had done more.

The words came on their own, the reminder pulled from a memory I couldn’t recall, the drugs making everything slow and confusing. I flinched at the statement, at the knowledge and continued to sneer at her, knowing that even without context, this was me.

This fight.

This defiance.

She could bring death.

I would still fight.

My father had done more, after all. The tiny piece of memory and history was both comforting and frightening.

“They said you couldn’t be broken. They tried to convince me you weren’t The Oheň's partner,” Nastya’s taunt pulled me from my memory as she began to pace alongside the bed, leaving me to look at the water-stained ceiling above her. “They were wrong, weren’t they? I showed them that.”

“You showed them…” Once again the words were swallowed by whatever was lodged in my mouth, what I was sure was a large amount of drugs still making everything move twice as slow.

“Oh no,” She cooed, “I showed them you could be broken. You showed them what you really are.”

My heartbeat was thunder in my ears, the fateful organ giving me away as the machines beeped faster. Nastya’s smile grew, and yet the once familiar buzz of my magic never picked up. I could feel the warmth, but it was sludge inside of me.

Whatever they had given me was doing more than slowing my thoughts and speech.

It was slowing me.

It was stopping me.

They had figured it out. They had found their drug before we could make our escape.

They had won.

“Now,” she continued, “The question is who will be right this time.”

She paused as if waiting for me to question her. Her focus was not on me, but on all of those who stood behind the glass, their figures still fuzzy and broken in my peripheral vision.

“Will Commander Domor be right, and now that we have been able to take control, you will give me the power.” She paused, her pace slowing as she hovered over me again. “Or will I be right, and I will have to find a way to use you. To create you into exactly what I’ve always wanted.”

Rage broke past the drugs, the world beginning to spin again as the sludge of my magic bubbled. Although I knew it was in desperation, I fought. I pushed against the bed with everything that I had, head and hands barely moving as I screamed through the block in my mouth, suddenly realizing what it was, and why it was there.

“No,” I yelled through the mouth guard, continuing to fight against the bands as she came to sit beside me.

The bed sagged under her weight, springs creaking loudly as whatever archaic device I had been strapped to groaned and threatened to collapse.

“No?” She asked, the single word sounding like a nail in a coffin.

“Will you give me the power then?” She ran her hand over the skin of my arm, and I flinched, the angry magic alive for that one moment as I tried to get away. Before I could control it, before I could hide it, however, it was gone. Crawled into some hole inside of me.

Even if I could control the magic, even if I could give her this power.

I wasn’t going to.

“No,” I said, firmer this time.

While I saw her flinch a bit from where she sat beside me, the motion was small and quickly overshadowed by the wide joy that spread over her face.

“Does that mean I am right, again?” She said with a laugh, the false sound grating against my bones. “Am I going to have the pleasure of creating you into my own personal weapon?”

Fear gripped me, but I couldn’t look away. I wouldn’t.

“No,” I growled, knowing the word meant nothing. Not really.

“Oh, yes,” she cooed, her voice as soft as the fingertip that was running down my jaw bone.

I bit down hard on the mouth guard, fighting against the touch.

Instead, with a nod from Nastya, I was faced with fighting something even worse.

Cold metal bulbs were placed on my temples, echoes of sparks broke sounded in my ears, fear rippling over my skin as the bulbs began to heat, the sound a warning for what was about to happen.

“I found this machine years ago, in an old auction. I always thought it was beautiful, aggressive. I can’t wait to use it on you.”

Still, I did not look away from her. I did not close my eyes. I glowered as she smiled, the buzzing heat beginning to grow against my skin.

“I saw the electricity pour from you,” Nastya whispered as she leaned over me, her hand flat against my bare chest. “I have seen the pictures. You have lightning inside of you, and the way I see it, lightning loves a party.”

“No,” I said again, making the word as clear as I could.

“You will become a weapon, a creature I can use. Or you will tell me who she is - and then I will take it from her.”

“No!” The defiance faded as panic took over, the emotion smashing against me as I hit against the restraints as the buzzing grew to a charge that ricocheted inside my head, that split my bones. I shook against the restraints, no longer fighting them, no longer in control of my magic. No longer in control of myself.

I was only a painful fire.

The pain lasted for a second before it ebbed, the room swimming and sparking as something smoked from nearby.

“Go again,” I heard Nastya whisper, “go higher, and someone bring me a scalpel.”

The words felt far away before the pain returned, everything shaking and burning as I willingly let the black take me, only faintly wondering if I would be gone hours or years, or if I would be gone for good.