I tilted my face to the hot stream of water, letting it pound my forehead and sluice around me, trying to drown the question that had been plaguing my mind for the past three days. The water ran into my ears, muffling all sound, to no avail. I was used to long periods of inactivity, waiting for orders or for missions to begin, but I couldn’t escape my own thoughts.

This afternoon had passed in silence; television had no appeal, and since I wasn’t allowed to leave the floor, I’d leafed through random travel magazines or just lain on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Finally, needing to do something, I’d spent the rest of the afternoon working out in my room, pushing my body to the limits of its endurance, hoping that fatigue, at least, would provide a much-needed distraction. But the second I’d walked into the shower, it returned. The whisper that still haunted me, that nagging sensation of uncertainty and doubt, when before I’d always been so confident. Why was I still here? Why was I, a former soldier of St. George, choosing to remain in the company of dragons? I wasn’t a prisoner; though the rogue dragon hated me—with good reason—he wouldn’t try to stop me if I walked out the hotel door and vanished into the night. On more than one occasion, he’d encouraged me to do just that.

So why hadn’t I?

The obvious answer—because the Order was hunting me—was a stall at best. I was resourceful enough to evade their notice for a while. And while St. George paid their soldiers only a small stipend each month, they also provided us with everything we needed, so I had a sizable amount sitting in an account I rarely touched. It wouldn’t last forever, but it was enough to start over, to begin a new life.

The real question was: Could I pass for normal? I’d lived my whole life within Order walls, only venturing out when there were dragons to be slain. I had little experience of the real world beyond that brief summer in Crescent Beach and, truthfully, with no one giving me commands, telling me where to go, I felt slightly lost. My existence until now had been habit and structure and routine—the life of a soldier—and I’d welcomed that order, knowing exactly who I was. Left to my own devices, I felt I was wandering aimlessly, waiting for something to happen.

But fear, even fear of the unknown, had never stopped me before. I didn’t need a command to walk away, to leave my strange new companions behind, to fade into anonymity. I was a trained soldier, and survival was one of my strong suits; even with a price on my head, I could manage the real world if I had to. What was stopping me?