I can’t wait to get back to where things make sense.” Leslie nearly glowed, she was so pleased.

I could all but feel the excitement coming from her in waves so strong they nearly knocked me over. Or so I told myself. I’d been known to give in to flights of fancy, of course, so I took even my own opinion with a grain of salt.

“What’s so sensical about home?” I asked, leaning back in the seat with my head turned in her direction.

Oh, I was tired. So very tired. It seemed a monumental struggle to even keep my eyes open. Yet I knew if I tried to sleep, if I rested my weary bones in a bed or even lowered the seat back a bit and slid a mask over my eyes, sleep would evade me as surely as night fled from day.

“You’re crazy,” she laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “You miss it as much as I do.”

That I did. I missed the way it was before, however. Before we’d been attacked and sedated and spirited away. Before they had done things to us.

We never spoke of it, Leslie and I, and I didn’t know that we ever would. Weeks had already passed since our liberation, and not a word had been spoken of what was done to us while we were in our separate cells.

Was she waiting for me to start the conversation? Or was I waiting for her?

Did she even have anything to share with me? What if nothing had happened? What if she hadn’t been changed at all and it was only me? I wished I was brave enough to ask.

Asking would lead to questions. Why did I want to know? What had been done to me?

I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell any of them. And I’d known them my entire life—our existences were the same, or as good as. I’d never been truly alone. There had always been someone to talk to, no matter the subject.

After all that time, I’d finally found something I couldn’t share. The knowledge of it weighed heavy on my heart.

“I do miss it,” I admitted, smiling softly as I remembered. “The mists in the valley, before dawn. The way the sunlight paints the land as the morning begins, inch by inch, and the light spreads and flows like water over the trees. And Dunsapie. I miss it, too.”

“I miss the air. Don’t you miss the air? And flying. My dragon’s been screaming for days, sometimes so loud, I swear I can’t hear anything else for the noise. She’s dying to fly.”

“Mmhmm.” I closed my eyes, bringing an end to the conversation.

I’d have to pretend to be asleep if I wanted to get out of discussing things any further. I made sure to keep smiling even in my false sleep. Anything to give Leslie the idea that I felt peaceful and content.

The way everyone else seemed to.

Why couldn’t I be like them? Why was I the only one?

I’d been watching them all so closely, dissecting their every movement, every glance, every word. I knew them as well as I knew myself, all of them, and I surely would’ve noticed any changes, if there were chances to be noticed.

Nothing. I’d seen nothing.

Certainly, we’d been a bit sluggish on leaving the laboratory. It had taken several days for all of us to get our energy back, to feel even slightly clear-headed. It was like walking through a fog, or a waking dream, until whatever had been injected into our bodies left them.

It had been quite a relief, being able to think clearly again.

Until I realized what was missing.

I’d thought at first that I’d only imagined it, that the lack of a second ever-present voice in my head was merely an effect of the drugs. Something was blocking my dragon. Or silencing it. But it would come back once the drugs wore off.

This was a perfectly good excuse.

Until the drugs wore off and the voice was still silent as ever.

It still hadn’t come back.

I had lost my dragon.

My hands tightened into fists in my state of false sleep, and I turned my head from one side to the other when I considered what this meant. No longer hearing my dragon, no longer being able to shift into what I sometimes thought of as my true self. There had been many times over my thousand or more years when it had felt as though the human was my secondary form, my “other.”

I was a dragon who sometimes looked like a human woman, not the other way around.

Only that was no longer the case, was it?

As I’d done every time I’d closed my eyes since first noticing the absence of my dragon, I focused every ounce of concentration on hearing the dragon’s voice. It was a voice I knew as well as my own. I’d heard it every day for nearly my entire life.

I repeated the same words I’d done since the day I realized she was gone. Where are you? Where did you go? I’m here, I’m waiting for you to come back. Are you frightened? There’s no longer anything to be frightened of. They can’t hurt us. They’re gone, dead. They’ll never harm us again. Please. Come back. I’m so alone without you.

I listened, and I waited. Waited with bated breath, afraid to breathe in case I drowned out the sound of the dragon’s return.

Who was I if not a dragon? It was my purpose for being, my entire life. My clan, my blood. My everything.

Oh, what would they say if they knew? Would I be able to live among them anymore? Of course, I wouldn’t. There would be no reason for it. I’d have to leave, to find some way to provide for myself. I’d never had to do anything like that before. I wouldn’t know where to start.

Panic rose, spreading through my chest and stealing the air from my lungs. The recycled air of the jet was cool, if dry, and I took my time drawing it in through my nose, holding it for a moment before letting it out again.

I’d never felt that sort of panic before our last day. The day, the only day which seemed to matter anymore. That was another way I felt alone, another difference between myself and those I’d lived with and known for so very long. They never spoke of it. I didn’t know what any of them thought about what we’d been through.

Then again, I had never spoken of it, either. As far as they were aware, I’d given it no thought whatsoever.

How did one bring up a subject such as that?

We’d never exactly made it our business to discuss feelings or emotions with one another. It simply wasn’t done, even among the women. Certainly, there had been times when strong anger or resentment or frustration needed to be expressed—dozens of people, no matter whether or not they were human, couldn’t share their lives as we had without being as honest as possible with one another. Such times were natural.

But fear? That had never been a problem. I didn’t have the words with which to express the way my heart fluttered sickeningly whenever I remembered walking up the worn path I’d carved into the grass which lined the hill leading up to the base of the mountain. When I had seen the helicopters.

When I knew what it meant.

And the screams. I’d heard the screams next. And the rat-a-tat-tat of semi-automatic weapons as they mowed down an entire row of my kin who refused to go along with the men who wielded the guns.

The screaming in my head. My dragon, roaring and thrashing and demanding blood in return, and I had all but given myself over to her. I welcomed the shift, welcomed the chance to beat my wings against the air and raise myself above them, to shred their bodies and their machines alike.

I’d taken off at a run, fists pumping, feet pounding against the smooth ground almost, as hard as my heart pounded, ready to take off in flight as soon as my wings unfurled.

The sharp stinging in my neck didn’t register for perhaps one or two blinks of the eye. And it wasn’t until the ground was rushing up to meet my face that I realized they’d shot me with something. A sedative dart.

I had been too slow. I had waited too long, had stood there frozen in shock for too long while those I loved were being brutally murdered or shoved aboard those helicopters, their bodies limp and yielding. As mine likely was once my time came, and one of them had picked my unconscious form up from the ground.

I had failed my clan.

My punishment seemed fitting. To lose that which made me who I was, that which made me like all the rest of them. I’d failed them, and so the force which guided the order of things in the universe had seen fit to banish me.

A tear rolled down my cheek from beneath my lashes, and I raised my hand to brush it away. A single tear shed in sleep wouldn’t arouse suspicion. I hoped so, at least.

They would find out. It was inevitable. The first thing on anyone’s mind would be to shift, and quickly, to stretch their wings and take command of the sky once again. We had ruled those skies long before the invention of airplanes. There was nothing like being able to raise oneself above it all, to soar through the clouds with the land stretching out in all directions, rushing streams no more than ribbons winding their way between rocks and boulders which looked more like pebbles from such a height.

Who could resist the chance to do what they were born to do? If I’d been able, I would be right there with them. The dragon would spread its copper wings and soar, delighting in who she was for the first time in so long.

How was I going to hide myself from the rest of them?

I felt the weight of a certain pair of eyes on me, even while deep in the midst of my troubles. He was watching as I pretended to sleep. Why? I’d brought it on myself, I reasoned, after teasing him the way I did.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but anyone could see he was in distress as the jet first took off. The sight of him gripping his knees had been enough to stir my sympathy; just like me, he was afraid of something and couldn’t share his fear with anyone. I would never have imagined a lion shifter, one fearless enough to work with Mary and her soldiers, being afraid of flying.

I couldn’t broadcast it to the cabin that Klaus was all but tearing out his own kneecaps, so I’d found another way.

If I had only succeeded in attracting more of his attention, I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I wish I had, as as I felt him continue to watch me.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. My eyes snapped open in the hopes that I’d catch him before he could look away.

And he was watching. I knew it. My instincts were still sharp enough that I could sense something like that.

Only he didn’t look away. He continued staring, eyes searing me as they held my gaze. What was he thinking? What was special enough about me to warrant his stare?

Something about it stirred me to anger. Perhaps it wasn’t even anger at him, really, I had no reason to be angry. He was merely curious. Or simply ignorant. Either way, there was no need for the flash of teeth-grinding irritation which forced me to speak up.

“Your manners leave a little to be desired,” I decided aloud. “First, you insisted on remaining on the beach when you must have known I wished to be left alone. You undressed in front of me and behaved as though it were a joke. And now, I open my eyes to find you staring at me while I sleep.”

I expected him to defend himself, or at least, to throw a well-worded jab my way. Irritating or not, I did enjoy our wordplay. Over time, most of the clan had begun dismissing my incessant talking, rather than attempting to keep up with the rapid-fire stream of thoughts constantly barraging my brain.

Instead of a defense, he offered what sounded like an accusation. “You weren’t asleep.”

There was nothing I could say to that, so I turned my focus back to my magazine and prayed for a quick flight with no further interruptions.

How stupid of me, thinking that he might be a potential friend.

The more distance I could put between us, the better.