Riley woke up disoriented.
Not because his four alarms bood at the sa ti.
Not because Kael was summoning him through the orbs.
And definitely not because a dragon had kicked down the front door.
No. This ti, it was sothing more unfamiliar.
Peace
Quiet.
And maybe that pleasant scent that made his place sll really expensive.
All of that was unusual—really unusual—for an aide who was normally up before even the evil spirits had clocked in, just to scurry over to the Dragon Lord’s lair and manage his life, ho, and his usually apocalyptic schedule.
Which was ironic. Because before Mina did her magic in his place, his apartnt had been a pigsty.
But to be fair, it wasn’t because he intended for it to be like that. He was capable of cleaning, thank you very much.
But that wasn’t exactly possible when ergencies had the impeccable timing of striking right as you were about to shovel food into your mouth.
So you do what you gotta do. You run.
And when he returns three days later, he’s practically created a whole ecosystem with those dishes he was supposed to clean up.
Mina, the well-aning elf, probably scared herself shitless when she saw the apartnt.
While she’d co to help around to thank him for attempting to protect the HR departnt from the dragon’s wrath, Riley felt slightly embarrassed to show the state of this place.
But did he have it in him to reject such goodwill?
No. Not when it’d take him ages to clean manually.
Next ti, he was really going to get one of these self-cleaning brooms.
But that was next ti, for today, he had a long list of things to do. Though thankfully, Mina had done an immaculate job.
And now that he thinks about it, it’s gotta be magic that’s keeping Kael’s place looking all tidy, no?
Pssh.
Who was he kidding? It’s probably that small army of housekeepers.
If he had that, then he wouldn’t be stuck here with a problem of scarcity and house chores.
"Nope." No clean underwear. And clean socks, either.
The laundry room in the building was on the second floor. And despite the prominence of this apartnt complex, the utility room was questionable.
The lights flickered, the washing machines sputtered, and had to be occasionally coaxed.
But maybe that’s because the others don’t use this place as much. They wouldn’t really have to do this when magic could practically solve the issue of laundry.
He should probably get with the tis, too.
Clearly, this thing was ancient enough to only accept coins minted before he was even born.
Who wants to struggle even at ho? Not that he was ho more than a few tis in a year. Which was the problem when he got to the grocery store.
His pantry wasn’t just lacking, it had been empty.
If the apocalypse happened and he’d been stuck in his apartnt, he’d likely be dead within the day.
But even as he wanted to buy everything he could see, his body still gravitated towards "ready to eat in 10 minutes."
But before he could even pity himself, an old lady behind him peered into his cart and asked, "Bachelor?"
"Mostly just emotionally compromised," Riley gave a practiced smile as he grabbed a familiar chocolate bar.
Surely he deserved at least this much?
Yes, that and his most sacred human ritual.
Coffee.
Alone.
In a café.
With no one trying to stab him.
It sure has been a while since he managed to stay. It’s always been an advance order while he practically flew out.
His favorite spot was a corner shop called Beanstalk Brew, located between a potion supply outlet and a self-service bookstore.
The barista, bless his enchanted mugs and cheerful mory, had morized Riley’s order months ago.
Extra shot. No foam. Less honey.
Always perfect.
For soone who spent his days anticipating disasters and solving the needs of a fire-breathing executive, this was rare. Soone else doing the thinking. No reminders. No follow-up reports. Just coffee, waiting, like magic.
It was a small thing. But in that mont, it made him feel human.
He slid into his usual seat by the window, warm mug in hand. Then pulled out his phone and did sothing brave.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
Everything older than a month? Gone.
Every flagged ergency email titled "Important" with no details? Deleted.
Every suspicious "Please review at once" ssage from the Ministry? Purged.
He even deleted the digital schedule marked "pending," because if it wasn’t already a crisis, it didn’t deserve to exist.
It was peace.
Sweet, sweet peace.
Until soone said his na.
"Riley?"
He looked up. Half-caffeinated. Slightly alard.
It was Beth.
She stood by the table, holding a toddler on one hip and a caral drink that looked like a sugar monster in disguise.
"Oh wow," she said. "I haven’t seen you in forever. Are you still working in... logistics?"
Riley blinked.
Technically, that was true. If logistics ant occasionally preventing a continental ltdown. Though it was likely that Beth had been so overwheld she hadn’t been checking the news. Because which logistics personnel would keep on popping up?
"You could say that," he said, sipping with a practiced smile. "Want a cookie to go with your drink?"
She declined but sat across from him. The toddler stared at him like he owed them sothing. Maybe his soul.
Beth started talking. About her husband. Her new job. Her child’s habit of licking furniture. Then she tilted her head and asked, "How about you?"
Riley paused.
He thought about telling her.
About magical contracts written in dragonfire.
About negotiating with beings who solved argunts by breathing molten rage.
About his boss, who once silenced a council with a single snarl.
Instead, he just smiled.
"Busy. You know how bosses are."
"Oh, totally," she said, rolling her eyes. "Mine’s a micromanager too."
Riley nodded. Slowly. With the sa look one might give a fellow survivor of a sinking ship.
Sure.
He just wasn’t sure hers could level buildings with their temper, but the solidarity felt nice.
But it was nice. This little mont.
Two people, sitting in a café, pretending their lives were normal.
Even if one of them was technically property.
A property that couldn’t even wrangle out how it all ca to be from his very own father.
He didn’t an to tear into him, but he had a lot of questions. Because who wouldn’t when things involved their entire lives and possibly the lives of any descendants.
Like what would happen if he didn’t have children? And if he did? And what about Liam?
When he’s old and gray, or maybe sick? Would his younger brother end up doing the sa work?
Would Liam still admire that lizard after he realizes how he moonlights as the demon incarnate?
Who knows?
But what he knows was how his father gave such non-committal answers.
He thought about all this as he strode towards the barbershop he frequented. But the rather sensitive aide’s thoughts stopped the mont he noticed sothing rather strange.
Three people stood by the corner. Nothing really that unusual if you asked normal people.
Two looked like tired rchants, while the third looked younger. Much younger.
Seventeen? Maybe around that or younger. He was dressed casually, nothing too flashy.
But for so reason, sothing about him felt wrong.
The mont Riley glanced over, the young one looked back. His eyes—bright, slitted, and too sharp—flashed gold.
Dragon eyes.
Riley froze.
That wasn’t normal. Not for soone that young. Not for soone out here, in public, surrounded by magic-dampening wards.
Dragons didn’t roam like this. And they definitely didn’t allow themselves to be approached like common mystics waiting for a street cart.
In fact, unless that dragon was so midget disguised as soone arguably too young, then that dragon shouldn’t even exist outside.
Like at all.
Riley felt a chill crawl up his spine. His hand brushed the charm in his coat pocket.
He wasn’t on duty. This wasn’t his sector. All he had was an ID.
Still, sothing about that look. That flicker of sothing ancient. It made the back of his neck prickle.
He tried to shake it off and pushed open the door to the barbershop.
Then stopped.
Dragons weren’t supposed to be accosted. That wasn’t how things worked. Even the arrogant ones didn’t let themselves be surrounded like prey.
And that flash in the kid’s eyes hadn’t been a warning. It looked more like a struggle.
Riley sighed. His fingers tightened around the door handle.
He told himself to ignore it. Told himself he didn’t have the abilities. The rank. The ti.
But then again... dragons.
He swore under his breath.
"Fine," he muttered, stepping back onto the street.
His conscience was a traitor.
Again.
User Comments
0 comments from readers