Chapter 139: Patterns, Paranoia, And Penthouse Prisons

Kane’s eyes opened to brilliant sunlight streaming through the blackout curtains, his body cocooned in silk sheets that smelled like cedar and rain.

For a moment, disorientation clouded his thoughts—when had he fallen asleep?

The last thing he remembered was leaning against Cyrus on the balcony, watching dawn break over Feilun’s skyline.

Cyrus must have carried him back to bed.

Kane stretched, marveling at how rested he felt. No nightmares about fake dragons or exploding friends had plagued his sleep—just deep, dreamless peace he hadn’t experienced in weeks.

But the sunlight seemed too bright, too high in the sky.

Kane fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. Eleven-thirty in the morning? He never slept past seven, even on weekends.

"Cyrus?" Kane called out, sitting up and scanning the empty bedroom.

Silence.

Kane’s heart rate spiked as he threw off the covers, bare feet hitting cold marble.

The bathroom door stood open, revealing an empty space. No steam, no running water, no dragon brooding in the shower.

"Cyrus!"

Kane raced through the penthouse, checking every room twice. The kitchen still smelled faintly of coffee, but the machine was cold.

"Training room," Kane muttered, pressing the third tile in the hallway. The panel slid open to reveal the training room—empty, equipment unused.

His pulse quickened as he found the hidden lever behind the bookshelf. The man cave stretched before him in darkness, gaming consoles silent, with no sign of Cyrus among his treasured collections.

Kane’s chest tightened as understanding crashed over him like ice water. This was how Cyrus had felt every morning—waking up alone, searching empty spaces, wondering if Kane had finally decided to disappear.

The terror of abandonment, the desperate need to confirm the other person still existed.

Kane fumbled for his phone, fingers trembling as he typed:

Cyrus, where are you? Are you okay?

He stared at the screen, watching for those three dots that would mean Cyrus was typing back. Nothing.

Kane’s fox ears flattened against his skull as he slumped against the bookshelf, surrounded by Cyrus’s carefully curated attempts at understanding humanity.

Now Kane understood why dragons hoarded their treasures so fiercely.

Kane forced himself to take a steadying breath, his fox ears slowly returning to their normal position.

"He probably just went to work," Kane muttered aloud, his voice echoing in the empty penthouse.

"You know how he is about maintaining appearances. Can’t have the CEO showing up late because his boyfriend overslept."

The word "boyfriend" still felt strange on his tongue, but it sent a warm flutter through his chest, which helped ease the panic.

Kane padded to the kitchen, determined to occupy his hands and mind.

He pulled ingredients from the refrigerator—eggs, smoked salmon, and cream cheese—assembling them into something that resembled a proper brunch.

The familiar motions of cooking grounded him, whisking eggs while bacon sizzled in the pan.

His phone remained stubbornly silent on the marble counter.

"He’s busy," Kane told himself, plating the eggs benedict with more care than necessary.

"Probably in back-to-back meetings or dealing with whatever corporate crisis requires his immediate attention."

But even as he spoke the reassurances, Kane’s tail twitched with nervous energy.

Kane took a bite of his perfectly prepared brunch, tasting nothing but worry.

Still, he forced himself to finish every bite, his mother’s voice echoing in his memory about wasting food.

His investigation board waited exactly as he’d left it—papers scattered across the dining table, red string connecting clues that still refused to form a complete picture.

Kane grabbed a fresh marker, his tail twitching as he started mapping out the timeline on his investigation board.

"Let’s start from the beginning," he muttered, drawing a line across the top of the whiteboard.

"Four months ago—a spirit trafficking investigation leads me to that warehouse."

He wrote the date, connecting it to newspaper clippings about missing spirits.

"Same time, I confiscate the Whispering Shard from a black market raid. Lock it away in Evidence B-7."

Kane drew another connection, his ears flattening as the pattern emerged.

"Two weeks later, my apartment gets ransacked. They’re looking for the Whispering Shard—probably think I kept it."

His marker squeaked against the board as he added photos of the claw marks.

"Then Madam Xiu shows up with the Screaming Shard. Different properties, same origin. Someone’s collecting these fragments."

Kane stepped back, studying the web of connections.

"Rina discovers synthetic binding agents at my apartment and Hoshino’s shop. Someone’s not just trafficking spirits—they’re modifying them."

He circled Rina’s name in red.

"Rina’s accident happens while testing those binding agents. Now she’s fragmenting, barely holding together."

Kane’s hand trembled slightly as he drew the final connection.

"Last night, a fake water dragon attacked us at the pier. Same night Bob reveals Moonfall Industries bought Mercy’s Echo."

The timeline stared back at him, a roadmap of escalating chaos.

Kane’s marker froze mid-air as a memory crashed into focus.

Elias Thorne had been at Hoshino & Sons that exact day—emerging from the shop in his pristine maroon suit just as Kane and Cyrus arrived.

The same day rat spirits attacked Mr. Hoshino, searching through customer records.

Kane circled Elias’s name in red, connecting it to the thorned sigil with bold strokes.

"The faction symbol," Kane whispered, his tail bristling beneath his pajamas.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number flashed on his screen for barely a second before vanishing:

Your dragon is flying too close to the sun.

Kane’s blood turned to ice. His fingers flew across the phone, trying to recover the deleted message, but it was gone—as if it had never existed.

His phone buzzed again. This time, Cyrus’s name appeared:

Didn’t want to wake my sleeping fox. Business to handle.

Kane stared at the message, recognition hitting him. Those were his words from yesterday morning, twisted back at him.

Cyrus was deliberately echoing Kane’s excuse for disappearing.

"You absolute hypocrite," Kane muttered, throwing off his pajamas and grabbing the first clothes he could find.

If Cyrus thought he could vanish without explanation after lecturing Kane about communication, he had another thing coming.

Kane rushed to the front door, yanked the handle, and slammed face-first into an invisible barrier.

Crimson energy crackled across the doorframe.

Kane pressed his palms against the magical seal, feeling the familiar burn of dragon magic. He must have set up the barrier before leaving.

Cyrus had locked him in.