Chapter 134: The Pier In The Dark

The Jaguar purred through Feilun’s empty streets like a hunting cat, headlights cutting twin paths through the pre-dawn darkness.

Kane watched the city blur past, neon signs reflecting off rain-slicked asphalt in streaks of color.

Cyrus drove with precision, hands relaxed on the steering wheel, but Kane caught the tension in the line of his shoulders.

Kane stole another glance at Cyrus’s profile. The dragon’s expression remained unreadable, carved from stone and shadow.

"Cyrus—"

"You do the talking." Cyrus’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and protective. "I’ll be near."

"You’re not going to forbid me from meeting him?"

Cyrus took the turn toward the marina without slowing, the Jaguar’s engine barely whispering.

"Would it matter if I did?"

The question hung between them, deceptively simple. Kane opened his mouth, then closed it again.

They both knew the answer.

Cyrus pulled into the marina’s parking lot, the Jaguar’s headlights sweeping across empty boat slips and weathered wooden planks.

Marina Pier 7 stretched into the harbor like a skeletal finger, its weathered planks groaning under the weight of salt air and time.

Flickering dock lamps cast uneven pools of yellow light, leaving deep shadows between the pilings where dark water lapped with wet, hungry sounds.

Kane walked alone down the pier, boots echoing against the wooden boards.

The place felt abandoned and forgotten—exactly the kind of location someone picked when they didn’t want witnesses.

His fox ears twitched beneath his glamour, every instinct screaming that he wasn’t alone.

Something watched from above, a familiar presence that made their newly formed bond hum with warmth.

Kane tilted his head back slightly, catching the faintest glimpse of a shadow perched on the warehouse rooftop overlooking the pier.

Red eyes glinted once in the darkness before disappearing.

"Subtle as always," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

A seagull cried somewhere in the distance, the sound sharp and lonely against the pre-dawn quiet. Kane checked his phone—3:47 AM.

Bob should arrive any minute.

The pier creaked beneath his feet as he moved toward the end, where a single bench sat facing the black expanse of harbor water.

Footsteps echoed down the pier, uneven and hesitant against the steady rhythm of lapping waves.

Bob emerged from the shadows between two dock lamps, clutching a waterproof satchel against his chest like armor.

His usual energy had dimmed to something anxious and brittle. He glanced over his shoulders twice before spotting Kane by the bench.

"Well, this is sufficiently creepy." Bob’s voice carried forced lightness as he approached.

"Pretty sure this is how every thriller movie starts—a mysterious meeting at a deserted pier."

Kane smirked, noting how Bob’s shoulders had already begun to relax.

"Missing the ominous fog and dramatic lighting."

"Give it an hour." Bob managed a genuine smile, settling onto the bench beside Kane.

"Though I have to admit, you’re a lot less intimidating without your bodyguard."

The comment hit closer to truth than Bob probably realized.

Without Cyrus’s overwhelming presence filling every corner of a room, Bob moved confidently, less like he expected judgment at any moment.

Kane filed that observation away.

"He’s not my bodyguard."

"Right." Bob’s grin turned knowing.

"Just a concerned friend who happens to follow you everywhere and looks like he could bench press a truck."

Bob unzipped the waterproof satchel, pulling out scans and photocopied ledgers that rustled in the salt-tinged breeze.

"Dad’s private archives. It took me three hours to crack his safe’s combination—his birthday, Mom’s birthday, then the day he bought his first Rembrandt."

Kane leaned forward as Bob spread the documents across the bench between them.

"Holloway auctions have been trafficking artifacts for decades. Dad calls it ’preserving cultural heritage,’ but half this stuff was stolen from temples or tombs."

Bob’s finger traced a highlighted entry in faded ink.

"Here—Lot #47. ’Mercy’s Echo.’ Sold last year to a private collector in Prague."

Kane’s pulse quickened as he read the description:

"Pale green crystal producing echo-like hum. Observed effects include muffled pain response, restored vitality in weakened subjects, and enhanced stamina duration. Buyer advised of potential dependency risks with prolonged exposure."

"This is it." Kane’s voice came out rougher than intended.

"Who bought it?"

Bob’s fingers worried the edge of the document, his earlier confidence cracking like thin ice.

"That’s... that’s the problem."

The pier groaned beneath them as Bob shifted, glancing nervously toward the dark water.

"I probably shouldn’t tell you this. Dad would kill me if he knew I was even showing you these files."

"Bob." Kane’s voice carried an edge that made the other man flinch. "Who?"

"Moonfall Industries."

The name hit like a blade. Elias Thorne.

The air around them shifted, growing subtly warmer despite the pre-dawn chill.

Kane’s bond hummed with sudden tension—Cyrus had heard everything.

"Wow," Bob whispered, apparently sensing the atmospheric change. "Is it just me, or did it get really warm out here?"

Kane forced himself to breathe and stay calm, despite the way his pulse hammered against his throat.

From somewhere above them, a shadow moved.

"Just the night air." Kane’s voice stayed level despite the electric tension crackling overhead.

"Harbor winds can be unpredictable."

Bob nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation, though he pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders.

Kane folded the photocopied documents, sliding them into his inner pocket.

"Thank you for this. Really. It’s more than I hoped for."

"But?" Bob’s expression shifted, reading something in Kane’s tone.

"If Moonfall knows you touched these files, you’ll need to be careful." Kane met Bob’s eyes directly.

Bob’s face went pale in the flickering dock light.

"You think they’re watching?"

"I think you should assume they are."

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft lap of water against the pier pilings.

Bob straightened his shoulders, something determined hardening in his features.

"Kane, do you trust me?"

Kane hesitated, torn between the warmth in Bob’s voice and the weight of invisible eyes watching from above.

Somewhere in the shadows, Cyrus’s jaw tightened, waiting for Kane’s answer.