The memory of my father surfaced unbidden. Three boys who never got up. A father who walked into the snow.
"I know what happens when ice dragons lose control," I said quietly. "I've seen it."
"I know you have." Ignatius studied me for a long moment. I wasn’t surprised he knew. "Your medic—Cinder—he noticed your temperature dropping before anyone else did. He tried to intervene, and he was brushed off. Correct?"
I nodded, throat tight.
He leaned back in his chair. "It means he'll be the first to notice if something goes wrong. The first in danger if your control slips."
"I would never hurt him." The words came out fierce, absolute.
"Not intentionally," Ignatius agreed. "But your dragon doesn't distinguish between protecting him and protecting yourself. Ifit perceives a threat to either of you—if the stress becomes too great—the cold will spread whether you want it to or not."
I stared at the table, my reflection distorted in the polished surface. Everything he was saying confirmed my worst fears. The reasons I'd been keeping my distance. The reasons I'd convinced myself that wanting Cinder was selfish, dangerous, impossible.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked and hated how lost I sounded.
Keegan spoke for the first time since we'd sat down. "You learn," he said simply. "The way all of us had to learn. Uncle Ignatius helped Cole when his fire kept flaring during games. Sorin too, when his lightning wouldn't settle."
"Ice is different," I said.
"Ice is harder," Ignatius corrected. "But not impossible. You need an anchor, Taranis. Something—or someone—who grounds you when the cold starts to spread. Someone whose presence reminds your dragon that protection doesn't always mean freezing everything in sight."
My mind went immediately to Cinder. To his steady hands and calm voice. To the way he'd touched me in the medical bay and I'd felt something inside me settle for the first time in years.
"He doesn't want me," I said quietly. "He made that clear."
Ignatius smiled—a small, knowing expression that made me deeply uncomfortable. "He said he couldn't get involved with someone from work. That's not the same thing as not wanting you."
I sighed. “Is there anything you don’t know?” Max had obviously talked, but I wasn’t mad. He didn’t gossip. He was trying to help.
“The issue is whether he is to be trusted,” Ignatius said.
I stiffened and opened my mouth to tear Ignatius apart, but my breath fogged.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “As confirmations go, that was quite on point.” He glanced at Keegan and nodded. Keegan briefly rested his arm on my hand, and I felt instant warmth.
I gazed at our rookie in astonishment. “How did you do that?”
“Keegan is an anomaly,” Ignatius smirked. “He cannot produce ice, but he can lower his body temperature quite significantly. He also has some healing gifts. Nothing instantaneous, but he can speed up healing in his mate.” Ignatius shrugged. “Although, as I’m sure you’re aware, that’s quite common.”
I stared at Ignatius, then at Keegan, the words settling into my chest like a rock.
"I didn't know that," I admitted, and the confession felt like pulling teeth. "About mates. About healing. About any of it."
Ignatius's expression shifted—curiosity giving way to something sharper. More concerned. "Your father didn't teach you?"
"My father walked into the snow when I was nine." The words came out flat, practiced. "My mother called the Council to come get me after my first shift a year later. She called me a monster and told them to take me away."
Keegan went very still beside me. I could feel his heat intensifying slightly, the way fire dragons ran hotter when they were upset.
"I was raised by trusted humans," I continued, forcing myself to keep talking, even though every instinct screamed at me to stop. To protect myself the way I always had—by keeping the worst parts buried where no one could see them. "Good people. Kind people. But they couldn't shift. They didn't know how to teach me about any of this. I learned control through hockey. Through discipline. Through making myself so focused on the ice that there wasn't room for anything else."
Ignatius's eyes had gone soft in a way that made my chest ache. "I’m sorry. I knew of your family and the incident that made the Council relocate you to Canada. But I hadn’t realized you've been alone with this for so many years."
"I managed."
"You survived," he corrected gently. "That's not the same thing."