Chapter 119: Didn’t Want To Wake My Sleeping Dragon

Cyrus’s eyes opened to pale morning light filtering through the penthouse windows.

For a moment, he lay still, savoring the memory of the previous evening—Kane humming while he cooked pasta, their quiet laughter during a particularly brutal boss fight, and the warm weight of Kane’s body against his in the shower.

Cyrus had held the fox spirit close through the night, breathing in the scent of his hair.

This, Cyrus had thought drowsily. I could do this every day for the rest of my existence.

Now his arm swept across cool sheets, finding nothing but empty space.

Cyrus sat up, fully alert. The bathroom door stood open, no sound of running water. No clatter from the kitchen, and no familiar off-key humming.

He pulled on pajama pants and walked through the penthouse, checking each room, but no sign of his naughty fox.

Cyrus found himself standing in the kitchen, staring at the coffee maker Kane had programmed the night before.

It had brewed automatically, filling two cups that now sat cooling on the granite counter.

One sip told him Kane had made it exactly how Cyrus liked it—strong, no sugar, with just a hint of cream.

His phone buzzed against the counter. A text from Kane:

Emergency at BSA. Had to leave early. See you at Jadefall.

Cyrus read the message twice, then set the phone down as though it might bite.

The penthouse felt too large around him, every surface echoing with Kane’s absence.

He touched the rim of the untouched coffee cup, still warm from Kane’s consideration, and wondered when he’d become someone who noticed empty spaces.

Cyrus picked up his phone and typed quickly:

What happened? Why didn’t you wake me?

If there was an emergency at the BSA, you should have told me instead of leaving on your own.

The messages showed as delivered but not read. Cyrus stared at the screen, his jaw tightening.

Kane had slipped out like a thief in the night, leaving only cooling coffee and that frustratingly brief text.

No explanation or details about what kind of emergency required Kane’s immediate presence.

Cyrus’s grip on the phone tightened. They’d agreed to work together, to trust each other.

Last night Kane had been purring in his arms, completely relaxed and safe. This morning he’d vanished without a word.

Cyrus’s phone vibrated in his hand.

Didn’t want to wake my sleeping dragon. You looked peaceful.

Another message followed immediately:

In a meeting with Qi and other agents. Will explain later. Promise.

Cyrus stared at the screen, his irritation wavering between annoyance and something dangerously close to fondness.

My sleeping dragon. The possessive phrasing sent an unexpected warmth through his chest, even as his rational mind catalogued all the ways Kane’s solo departure violated basic safety protocols.

He typed back: Next time, wake me. I don’t care how peaceful I look.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Yes, sir.

The formal response made Cyrus’s eyebrows rise. Kane only used ’sir’ when he was being deliberately provocative or genuinely contrite.

Given the circumstances, Cyrus suspected the latter.

He set the phone aside and moved to the window, watching the city wake up below.

The Jadefall meeting was in two hours. Enough time to shower, eat, and review what little they knew about the healing shards.

But first, he’d make sure Kane understood that emergency or not, they were partners now.

Partners didn’t disappear into the morning without explanation.

Cyrus made his decision quickly. He selected his finest charcoal suit from the walk-in closet.

Today would demand precision, and his appearance needed to project absolute authority.

The Jadefall meeting with Madam Xiu required respect for formality, and their afternoon with Bob Holloway called for subtle intimidation.

His reflection showed no trace of the man who’d spent the night holding a sleeping fox spirit.

This was the CEO who commanded boardrooms and negotiated million-dollar acquisitions.

Cyrus pocketed his phone, wallet, and keys, then strode toward the garage.

The BSA headquarters would take twenty minutes in morning traffic.

Long enough to review potential questions for Madam Xiu, short enough to intercept Kane before he made any impulsive decisions about their investigation.

Whatever emergency had required Kane’s immediate attention at dawn, it was about to include Cyrus.

Cyrus paused in the underground garage, surveying his collection.

The Bentley projected understated elegance, perfect for client meetings. The BMW offered reliable luxury. The Lamborghini screamed excess—entirely wrong for this morning’s purpose.

His gaze settled on the Jaguar F-Type, sleek and predatory in midnight black.

The car matched his current disposition perfectly: controlled power with an edge of dangerous intent.

Someone had spirited away his fox in the early hours, and Cyrus intended to remind the BSA exactly who they were dealing with.

The Jaguar’s engine purred to life with a satisfying growl.

Cyrus pulled onto the street, weaving through morning traffic. The city blurred past his windows—office workers clutching coffee, delivery trucks rumbling between lanes, and the familiar rhythm of Feilun waking up.

A McDonald’s drive-through appeared on his right, golden arches gleaming in the morning sun.

Cyrus found himself slowing, remembering Kane’s enthusiastic demolition of those wagyu sliders on the plane.

The fox had an inexplicable fondness for cheap, greasy food that probably violated several health codes.

Kane might want breakfast.

The thought arrived unbidden, followed immediately by the image of Kane’s delighted expression when presented with something ridiculously unhealthy.

Cyrus pulled into the drive-through lane, ignoring the incongruity of his sixty-thousand-dollar sports car queued behind a rusted pickup truck.

The teenage worker’s voice crackled through the speaker: "Welcome to McDonald’s, can I take your order?"

Cyrus stared at the illuminated menu board, realizing it might have been decades since he’d last visited a McDonald’s—or any fast food establishment, for that matter.

The array of breakfast options looked like hieroglyphics to him. Egg McMuffins, hash browns, hotcakes—Kane would know exactly what to order.

"Sir?" The worker’s voice came through the speaker. "Are you ready to order?"

"I’ll take..." Cyrus paused, then decided on the most efficient approach. "Everything."

"I’m sorry, what?"

"Your entire breakfast menu. One of each item."

A long silence followed. Then: "Like... everything everything?"

"Yes. The full breakfast spread. Whatever constitutes a complete McDonald’s breakfast experience."

"Uh, okay sir. That’s gonna be like... a lot of food. And money."

"I’m aware."

Another pause. "Drive around to the first window, I guess."

Cyrus pulled forward, already imagining Kane’s expression when presented with enough McDonald’s breakfast to feed a small army.