Kane jolted awake, his body tensing before his eyes even opened. His hand instinctively reached for his sidearm—only to grasp empty air.
Sunlight filtered through gaps in heavy blackout curtains, casting thin golden lines across an unfamiliar room.
He lay on a sleek leather couch, a silk blanket pooling around his waist.
Cold marble floors stretched toward floor-to-ceiling windows that hinted at a dizzying height.
A penthouse suite. Definitely not a hospital, and definitely not his crappy apartment.
Kane patted himself down, expecting to find bandages, stitches, something—but his skin was unmarked.
The gashes from the mountain spirit's claws had vanished. Even the chronic shoulder pain from last month's werewolf encounter had disappeared.
"High-tier healing magic," he muttered, running fingers over his ribs where they'd been shattered hours ago.
"Bureau medics can barely handle papercuts, and someone just completely reconstructed me?"
He swung his legs off the couch, fox tail bristling as he scanned the room.
Designer furniture. Original artwork. A kitchen that probably cost more than five years of his salary.
"This is bad."
Kane stumbled to his feet, searching for his gear.
No gun. No badge. No phone.
"Wake up in the lair of whoever the hell this is, completely defenseless. Perfect." He yanked open drawers, finding nothing but expensive stationery.
Kane's ears twitched at a sound from beyond a hallway. He froze, golden eyes narrowing.
"Time to find out what game we're playing."
Kane crept toward the hallway. He flattened himself against the wall, coiling muscles to spring.
"—told you the situation is handled." A deep voice cut through the silence. "The Bureau doesn't need to be involved further."
Cyrus strode into the room, phone pressed to his ear, immaculate in a charcoal suit.
He moved with the effortless confidence of a predator in his territory.
Kane lunged, aiming for a disabling tackle—but his target sidestepped without even looking, one hand shooting out to catch Kane's wrist mid-air.
The fox spirit crashed into an end table instead.
"I'll call you back," Cyrus said into the phone, disconnecting with a tap.
He released Kane's wrist and straightened his cufflinks, expression unchanged.
"Agent Ashwood." Those gold-flecked eyes barely registered Kane's presence.
"The door is that way. You can leave whenever you want."
Kane scrambled to his feet, fur bristling. "Where's my gun? And my badge?"
"On the entry table." Cyrus walked past him toward the kitchen.
"Just don't steal or break anything on your way out. You've already cost me enough."
He poured himself a coffee, dismissing Kane entirely.
Kane's tail lashed behind him, hackles rising as he stared at Cyrus's back. The dragon hadn't even bothered to turn around.
"That's it? You're just going to act like I owe you and send me on my way?" Kane's ears flattened against his head.
"What exactly did you do to me while I was out cold? Last I checked, I was bleeding out with half my ribs caved in."
Cyrus took an unhurried sip of his coffee before finally turning, one eyebrow slightly raised. Those gold-flecked eyes remained utterly impassive.
"I saved your life. Nothing more." His voice carried the weight of ancient mountains, devoid of warmth.
"The healing was necessary to keep you from dying on my property. A dead Bureau agent creates paperwork I don't have time for."
He set his cup down with a soft click against the marble countertop.
"You should be grateful. Most spirits who cross my path don't receive such consideration."
Kane's amber eyes narrowed to slits.
"Grateful? To the CEO of a company I was investigating for trafficking?"
Cyrus's eyes flashed, a brief glow of crimson cutting through their darkness.
"If I were truly behind the trafficking, do you think I would waste resources healing the agent investigating me?" His voice remained level, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"I would have left you to die in that warehouse."
Kane's ears twitched as the realization hit him. The pieces didn't fit.
The dragon that saved him could not possibly be the same monster that is trafficking spirits.
Unless this was some elaborate cover... but something in the dragon's eyes made the idea ring false.
"Then who—"
"My company is being used as a convenient scapegoat." Cyrus set his cup down.
"The warehouse carried Veyr Corp markings, but it was decommissioned three years ago. Someone has been cautious to frame me."
Kane crossed his arms, tail swishing behind him.
"Why would someone target you specifically?"
Something ancient flickered across Cyrus's face.
"Perhaps my existence threatens certain parties who prefer the old balance of power to remain disrupted."
"So you're saying you're innocent?" Kane pressed.
"I'm saying there's a much larger game being played." Cyrus's gaze pierced through Kane.
"And you've just stumbled into the middle of it."
Cyrus turned away, moving to the window where the city sprawled beneath them.
Morning light glinted off distant skyscrapers, catching in his dark hair.
"The Bureau has already been informed of the situation." He adjusted his sleeve.
"The misunderstanding has been... addressed."
Kane's ears perked up.
"Just like that? The BSA is notorious for their red tape, and you just—"
"When you've existed as long as I have, Agent Ashwood, you learn which strings to pull." Cyrus didn't bother looking back.
"Go home. Write whatever reports make you feel righteous. I genuinely don't care."
Kane glared at Cyrus's back, teeth clenching at the dragon's dismissive tone. The arrogance was suffocating.
"Fine. Thanks for the healing magic, I guess." The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
"Next time, maybe skip the condescension."
Kane snatched his gun and badge from the entry table, checking the magazine before holstering his weapon.
His fingers brushed over his Bureau ID, relieved to find it untampered with.
"For the record," Kane called over his shoulder, "I'm still watching you, Drakhal."
He yanked the door open, stepping into the hallway with a dramatic flourish.
As he took a step across the threshold, white-hot pain erupted across Kane's chest.
His knees buckled as liquid fire seemed to pour through his veins, centering on his sternum.
The agony drove him to the floor, gun clattering across marble.
"What's happening?" Kane clawed at his shirt, ripping buttons in desperation.