The dawn light sliced through the stronghold's jagged ruins, glinting off the NightWing's scales like knives. He stood silhouetted against the pale sky, his wings spread just enough to show off the silver flecks scattered across them—unnatural, Icemoon thought. No NightWing she'd ever seen had scales like shattered mirrors.

"Spies?" Glory hissed, stepping forward, her scales rippling venom-green. "We're reclaiming what's ours. Now move."

The NightWing tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Icemoon's star-patterned frills. "A hybrid and a queen? Fascinating," he purred, ignoring Glory entirely. "But you're dragging a corpse through enemy territory. How... unwise."

Icemoon shifted Orchid's limp body higher on her back, the RainWing's blood seeping cold into her scales. "She's not dead," she growled, frost curling from her jaws. "And if you don't step aside, you will be."

The NightWing laughed—a sound like wind through dead leaves. "Ice-breather bravado. Cute." He flicked a claw toward Orchid. "But that one's soul is already halfway to the Moons. You think your little rainforest can save her?"

Mangrove lunged, his talons slashing wildly. "SHUT UP! You don't know anything—"

The NightWing sidestepped effortlessly, his movements liquid-smooth. "Oh, but I do," he murmured, tapping his temple. "I know you blame yourself, Mangrove. That you promised to protect her... and failed."

Glory's tail snapped like a whip, barring Mangrove from attacking again. "NightWing mind-reader," she spat. "How droll. But we're done here."

"Are you?" The NightWing's smile widened, revealing needle-thin fangs. "You'll never make it past Blister's sentries. Not with that burden." His obsidian eyes locked onto Icemoon. "But I could... redirect them. For a price."

Icemoon's spines flared. Price. Every NightWing had a scheme. "We don't deal with scavengers," she snarled.

"Scavengers?" He chuckled, circling them like a shark. "Darling, I'm the only reason Burn's guards haven't found you yet. Those RainWing stealth tricks?" He waved a dismissive claw. "Child's play. But my shadows? They smother."

As if to prove it, the sunlight around them dimmed, thickening into a haze that clung to Icemoon's wings like tar.

Glory stepped toe-to-toe with him, unflinching. "What do you want?"

"A favor. From her." He pointed at Icemoon. "Hybrids are... interesting to my queen. She'd love to meet you."

"Your queen?" Icemoon scoffed. "NightWings don't have a queen. Just lies and failed prophecies."

The NightWing's grin turned feral. "Oh, we have one now. And she's very interested in... aberrations."

Glory's tail lashed, her voice lethally calm. "Leave. Or I'll paint the sand with your insides."

For a heartbeat, the shadows writhed. Then the NightWing bowed, mockingly deep. "As you wish. But when your friend dies screaming, remember—I offered mercy."

He melted into the gloom, his silver scales winking once before vanishing.

"He's lying," Glory muttered. "NightWings always lie."

Icemoon adjusted Orchid's weight, her claws trembling. Are they?

SCENEBREAK

The rainforest's humidity hit Icemoon like a wall, thick with the scent of blooming corpse-flowers and the distant chatter of parrots. Safe. They were safe. So why did her claws still feel like they were frozen to the bone?

"By the moons—Orchid!" Clay surged forward, his massive talons gentle as he lifted the unconscious RainWing from Icemoon's back. His warm earth-brown scales seemed to radiate calm, but his eyes widened at the sight of her tattered wings. "Was it Burn's troops? Scorpion den? Tell me it wasn't tunnels—"

"Worse," Glory cut in, her voice brittle. "Blister's new pets. They're... experimenting."

Tsunami bristled, seawater still dripping from her azure wings. "Experimenting? On dragons?" Her gills flared. "I'll shove her 'projects' into the tidal marshes myself—"

"Later," Sunny interjected, her gold wings fluttering anxiously. She nudged Clay toward the healers' pavilion. "Take Orchid to the silk-moths—quick! Starflight found scrolls in the tunnels about medicinal sap. Maybe it'll help..."

Icemoon didn't stay to hear the rest. She backed away, her frost-tinged breath leaving faint crystals on the leaves. Breathe. Just breathe. But all she could see were those silver-starred wings and that infuriating, smug smirk—

"Hey."

She whipped around, spikes flaring. Sunny stood there, her amber eyes too perceptive, her tail curled around a mango like a peace offering. "You okay? You're, uh... smoking."

Icemoon glanced at her talons. Thin wisps of frost-mist coiled from her claws, a telltale sign of an IceWing losing control. "Fine," she snapped. "Just need to move."

"Sure," Sunny said softly, not budging. "But if you want to talk about the 'peculiar NightWing' who definitely got under your scales..."

"What?" Icemoon hissed, ice crackling in her throat. "Glory told you? She thinks this is a joke?"

"No," Sunny said, unfazed. "But Mangrove mentioned a 'shiny creep' lurking in the stronghold. And you're blushing."

"IceWings don't blush," Icemoon growled, though her ear frills burned traitorously. She launched herself into the canopy before Sunny could pry further, crashing through layers of heliconia flowers until she reached a secluded branch.

Alone. Finally.

She slumped against the trunk, pressing her throbbing skull to the bark. Stupid. Stupid! Letting some smug, starry-eyed NightWing rattle her? Letting Sunny of all dragons notice? She was the daughter of an IceWing general and a NightWing commander—bred for war, not...

Not for whatever game that NightWing is playing.

His voice slithered back into her mind, velvet and venom. "Hybrids are... interesting to my queen."

Icemoon snarled, unleashing a blast of frost at a hapless beetle. It shattered midair. "I am not an aberration," she whispered fiercely.

But deep down, where the frost couldn't reach, a treacherous thought hissed: What if his queen knows what I am? What if... she knows what I'm for?

SCENEBREAK

The river's current tugged at Icemoon's talons, its chill numbing the heat still prickling beneath her scales. She'd scrubbed every trace of Orchid's blood from her claws, but the metallic tang lingered in her nostrils. Breathe. Just breathe. She bit into the banana, its sweetness clashing with the bitterness on her tongue.

"I-Icemoon?"

Starflight stood at the river's edge, his wings sagging like storm-soaked sails. Even in the dappled sunlight, his scales looked duller than usual—a muted black, as if the shadows had leached into him.

"What got you all soggy, Starflight?" she asked, forcing a smirk. "Find a scroll on how to mope dramatically?"

He didn't laugh. His talons dug into the mud, and when he spoke, his voice wavered. "I... I kinda..."

Icemoon set the banana down slowly. NightWings didn't stammer. Not Starflight, who'd recited epic battle strategies from memory, who'd navigated pitch-black tunnels with nothing but logic. She stood, water sluicing off her wings, and closed the distance between them.

"Hey," she murmured, taking his talons in hers. They trembled, cold and ink-stained. "Take your time."

Starflight's breath hitched. "Look at me," he whispered.

"I am looking at you," she said, softer now.

"No. Really look." He lifted his head, and for the first time, she noticed the faint scar cutting through his left brow—a relic from the volcano. His dark eyes weren't just anxious. They were terrified.

"I'm not... good at this," he admitted, his voice fraying. "I've memorized every scroll on friendship, loyalty, even mating rituals—"

"Mating rituals?" Icemoon snorted, but her chest tightened.

"—but none of them tell you how to say this," he barreled on, leaning closer until their snouts brushed. His breath warmed her frost-lined jaw. "I love you, okay? Not because you're hybrid, or fierce, or... or whatever that scaleslick NightWing implied. I love you because you're the only dragon who sees me. Not the librarian. Not the 'prophecy spare.' Me."

The river roared in her ears. Love. A word for soft, sunlit things—not for creatures forged in ice and fire. She should pull away. Laugh it off. Freeze him out.

Instead, she pressed her forehead to his. "You're an idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I could've frostbitten your snout off for that."

"But you didn't," he said, daring to smile.

"No," she agreed. "I didn't."

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them—the drip of riverwater from her frills, the flick of his tail against hers, the way his claws tightened around hers like she was the only real thing in the world.

Then a branch snapped in the undergrowth.

Icemoon jerked back, her spines bristling. "Who's there?"

Nothing but the rustle of ferns.

Starflight sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Probably just a monkey."

But as Icemoon scanned the trees, a flicker of silver winked deep in the shadows—a scale, or a trick of the light?

You're paranoid, she told herself. He's gone.

Yet as Starflight nuzzled her shoulder, steering her back toward the riverbank, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Not all monsters live in the dark, she thought, glaring at the jungle. Some wear stars.