Rogue. Julie Kagawa

toward extinction again.

      I knew the measures Talon had to take against rogues were necessary. Though the loss of any dragon was a heavy blow to us all, those who refused to align themselves with the organization had already chosen their path, proven their disloyalty. They had to be put down. I understood. I wasn’t going to argue that.

      But Ember wasn’t a traitor. She had been misled, deceived, by that rogue dragon. She’d always been hotheaded, gullible, and he had fed her a tangle of lies, turning her against Talon, her own race…and me. He was at fault for her disappearance. Ember had always had…problems…with authority, but she’d been able to see reason and listen to the truth until she met the rogue.

      I clenched my jaw. If she just returned to the organization, she would realize her mistake. I would make her see the truth: that the rogues were dangerous, that Talon had our best interests at heart and that the only way to survive in a world of humans was to work together. Ut onimous sergimus. As one, we rise. She’d believed that, once.

      I had never lost sight of it.

      We stepped through the door frame into a cold, stark office. One entire wall was made up of windows, and through the glass, the city of Los Angeles stretched on to the distant mountains, towers and skyscrapers glinting in the sun.

      “Mr. Roth,” said Mr. Smith, ushering me forward, “this is Dante Hill.”

      A man rose from behind a large black desk to greet us, smiling as he stepped forward with a hand outstretched. He wore a navy blue suit and a watch that was even more impressive than mine, and a gold-capped pen glinted in a breast pocket. His dark hair had been cropped into short spikes, and his even darker eyes swept over me critically, even as he took my hand in both of his, nearly crushing my fingers in a grip of steel.

      “Dante Hill! Pleasure to meet you.” He squeezed my hand, and I bit down a whimper, smiling through the pain. “How was your trip up?”

      “Fine, sir,” I replied, relieved as he loosened his viselike grip and stepped away. Talon had sent a car to take us from Crescent Beach to Los Angeles, but the drive had been far from relaxing, with my trainer drilling me on company policies, protocol and how to act in front of the regional vice president. I was an insignificant hatchling, meeting with an elder who was likely several hundred years old. First impressions were crucial. And a terrible faux pas was, of course, to complain in the presence of Talon’s executives, especially if it was about the organization. “It was so smooth, I barely noticed the drive.”

      “Wonderful, wonderful.” He nodded and gestured to the plush leather chair sitting in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat. Can I have my assistant get you something to drink?”

      “No, thank you, sir,” I said, knowing the drill. “I’m all right.” I sat carefully in one of the chairs, feeling myself sink into the cool leather, careful not to slouch. Mr. Smith did the same and crossed his legs as Mr. Roth returned around his desk and beamed at me.

      “So, Mr. Hill. Let’s not beat around the bush.” Mr. Roth clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and smiled over the surface. As I’d been taught, I politely dropped my gaze so I wouldn’t be staring right into his eyes. Another social gaffe, and a very dangerous one: holding the stare of another dragon, particularly a male, was a blatant challenge or threat. In ancient times, the challenge between two alpha drakes would be settled via personal combat, with the contenders ripping, biting and slashing each other, until one of them either fled in defeat or was killed. Nowadays, two rival dragons obviously couldn’t throw down in the middle of the city, but there were a thousand other ways to destroy a competitor without getting your claws dirty. Which was good, because that was something I could excel at.

      “Your sister,” Mr. Roth said, making my insides clench, “has gone rogue.” He observed my reaction carefully; I kept my face neutral, showing no anger, surprise, sorrow, shock—nothing that would be considered a weakness. After a brief pause, Mr. Roth continued, “Ember Hill is now a traitor in the eyes of Talon, something we take very seriously here. I am sure you know our policy on rogues, but I have heard the organization wishes you to be in charge of retrieving her, Mr. Hill.”

      “Yes, sir,” I replied, careful not to sound overeager. “Whatever it takes to bring her back, whatever you need me to do, I’m your man.”

      Mr. Roth raised an eyebrow.

      “And yet, some have called into question your own loyalty, both to Talon and our cause. As the brother of a known traitor, we worry that your motivations might be…tainted.” He offered a smile, even as his eyes stayed hard and cold. “So, I fear I must ask. Can we trust you, Mr. Hill?”

      I smiled. “Sir,” I began, as clearly and confidently as I could. “I know my sister. Ember and I have always had…

      different opinions, when it came to the organization. I know she can be reckless and stubborn, and that she has a slight problem with authority.” A tiny snort from Mr. Smith was the only indicator of my massive understatement.

      “But Ember isn’t a traitor,” I went on, feeling Mr. Roth’s hard gaze on me, assessing and critical. “She’s gullible and hotheaded, and I believe the rogue dragon Cobalt took advantage of this to get her to leave with him. He lied to her about the organization, and he lied to her about me, otherwise she would have never turned on us like this.”

      Mr. Roth’s expression hadn’t changed. And neither had mine. “Ember tried to get me to come with her that night,” I admitted, seeing no indication of surprise from Mr. Roth. “She begged me to leave town with her and the rogue, but I knew I couldn’t do it. Not because of the consequences, but because I know my place.” I raised my chin slightly, not enough to challenge, just enough to state my cause. “Sir, my loyalty to Talon has never wavered. I don’t know why Talon is taking a less…direct approach to dealing with my sister, why the Elder Wyrm has chosen to spare her, but I do know that I am grateful. And I’ll do whatever it takes to bring Ember back so she can resume her place in Talon, where she belongs.”

      Mr. Roth nodded.

      “Excellent, Mr. Hill,” he said in a bright tone of voice. “That is exactly what we want to hear.” He picked up his desk phone and pressed a button on the machine. “Please send Ms. Anderson in,” he ordered into the speaker. I blinked, wondering who Ms. Anderson could be; I’d never met her before.

      Abruptly, Mr. Roth stood, which prompted us to rise, too. “Your words are commendable, Mr. Hill,” the VP said, walking around to stand beside us. “Therefore, Talon is prepared to give you the best possible resources to locate and bring back your sister. In a moment, you’ll be shown to your new office, but for now, there is someone I want you to meet.”

      I gave a pleasant nod, though my mind was spinning. New office? And the best resources possible to find her? I was pleased, of course. It seemed the organization had recognized my potential, but at the same time, I knew this was abnormal. Talon was huge; its reach spanned the globe, and it had countless other developments, mostly of the multimillion-dollar variety, to worry about. The disappearance of a single hatchling, rogue or not, was barely a blip on its radar. Why? Why are they going through all this trouble to find one hatchling? Ember, what have you done?

      The office door clicked softly as it opened, and Mr. Roth raised a beckoning hand.

      “Ah, Ms. Anderson. Please come in. Have you met Mr. Hill?”

      “Haven’t had the pleasure,” said a lilting, musical voice. I turned to face the newcomer. My brows arched a bit, and I straightened quickly. Not a human; this was another dragon, and on top of that, a hatchling. Except for my sister, I’d only ever met with adult and senior dragons, but this girl looked just a year or two older than me. She was fair and slender, wearing a light blue skirt and heels and looking faintly uncomfortable in them. Like she’d rather be wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her pale, almost silvery hair was styled atop her head, the sides pulled back to accent her high cheekbones, and the large, crystal-blue eyes stared straight ahead.

      “This is Mist,” Mr. Roth introduced as she regarded me in silence,