Chapter 144: Cats, Conspiracies, And Misplaced Confidence

Ginsei’s ice-blue eyes pulsed with hypnotic power, cutting through Mochi’s nervous laughter and frantic gestures.

"Stop struggling," the serpent commanded softly.

"Tell us what you really know about Whisper."

Mochi’s leather jacket stopped trembling as the compulsion took hold. His punk facade melted away, revealing honesty underneath.

"I... I never met him in person," Mochi admitted, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.

"Just heard descriptions through the grapevine. Young, rich, dealing in high-end artifacts."

Ginsei pressed deeper, serpentine influence coiling around the cat spirit’s thoughts.

"What about Elias Thorne? Any deals with him?"

"No." The answer came without hesitation, stripped of Mochi’s usual dramatic flair.

"Wolves make me nervous. Too much violence, not enough profit margins."

Cyrus watched the cat spirit’s glazed expression, searching for deception but finding only scattered thoughts of easy money and harmless mischief.

"Did you know Whisper was Bob Holloway?" Ginsei asked.

Mochi’s head shook slowly.

"Rich kid playing underground games? Should’ve charged him triple."

Cyrus felt the last of his suspicion dissolve. Mochi was guilty of greed, not betrayal.

"That’s enough," Cyrus said, cutting Ginsei’s hypnotic hold with a sharp gesture.

Mochi blinked rapidly, swaying on his feet as consciousness returned. He rubbed his temples, glaring at Ginsei with bleary eyes.

"Rude much? Could’ve just asked nicely instead of scrambling my brain like Sunday eggs."

Despite his complaints, Mochi’s tone held more curiosity than genuine anger. He stretched, joints popping audibly.

"Gotta admit though, Serpent Boy’s got some quality mind-mojo. Better rush than that synthetic stuff hitting the streets lately."

Ginsei’s pale cheeks flushed slightly at the unexpected compliment.

"It’s a privilege, not a party trick," he said stiffly, smoothing his serpent-scale robes with practiced dignity.

"Ancient bloodline abilities aren’t meant for recreational use."

Mochi waved dismissively.

"Everything’s recreational if you’ve got the right attitude."

Cyrus stepped forward, studying the cat spirit’s disheveled appearance.

Mochi possessed something invaluable—credibility in the underground network that both he and the Bureau lacked. His reputation for harmless profiteering made him the perfect bait.

"I need your help," Cyrus said directly.

Mochi’s ears perked up, literally twitching.

"Oh, now we’re talking business. What’s the gig?"

"I need you to spread the word through your usual channels," Cyrus said, his voice carrying the weight of command.

"Tell everyone you’ve acquired a new shard fragment. Ultra-rare, fresh acquisition, the kind of merchandise that draws serious collectors."

Mochi’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern.

"You want me to paint a target on my back? What kind of shard are we talking about here?"

"Doesn’t matter," Cyrus replied coldly.

"The specifics are irrelevant. What matters is that certain people believe you have something they want."

Ginsei caught on quickly, his serpentine instincts recognizing the trap being set.

"You’re using him as bait for Bob Holloway."

"Among others," Cyrus confirmed. "No one suspects the friendly neighborhood cat of running elaborate schemes."

Mochi crossed his arms, leather jacket creaking.

"Hold up there. This sounds like the kind of plan that ends with me becoming a very stylish corpse."

His voice carried genuine worry beneath the casual bravado.

"What guarantees do I get? Secret underground auctions attract dangerous clientele, and I’ve got nine lives, not ninety."

Cyrus reached into his coat, producing a sleek black card.

"Two million, transferred immediately. Another three when the job’s complete."

Mochi’s protests died mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he stared at the card.

"Five... million?"

"Consider it hazard pay." Cyrus said smoothly. "The cost of loyalty is cheaper than betrayal."

"Deal. When do we start?" Mochi didn’t hesitate to accept the offer, his mind already formulating a plan.

Ginsei watched the exchange with growing irritation, his ice-blue eyes narrowing.

"Generous compensation for playing messenger," he said sharply.

"Meanwhile, I’m providing Bureau resources, surveillance networks, and risking my career for what exactly?"

Cyrus turned to face the serpent spirit, noting the tension in his posture and the barely concealed jealousy in his expression.

Ginsei’s pride demanded recognition, his competitive nature requiring acknowledgment of his value.

"Fair point," Cyrus conceded. "What do you want, Ginsei?"

The question caught Ginsei off guard, causing his prepared arguments to dissolve into surprised silence.

His calculating mind raced through possibilities, weighing risks against rewards.

"A new car," Ginsei said finally, his voice gaining confidence with each word. "Dodge Viper. Midnight blue with carbon fiber accents."

Mochi whistled appreciatively from behind the counter.

"Fancy taste for a government snake."

Ginsei ignored the commentary, his ice-blue eyes locked on Cyrus’s impassive face.

"And a recommendation to Commander Qi for promotion to Senior Investigator. Something appropriately glowing about my exceptional fieldwork and strategic thinking."

The requests hung in the air between them. Ginsei expected negotiation, perhaps resistance to involving Bureau politics in their arrangement.

"Done," Cyrus said without hesitation.

The immediate acceptance surprised even Ginsei, who had prepared elaborate justifications for both demands.

"Just like that?"

"A dragon never goes back on his word," Cyrus said simply, his crimson eyes holding the weight of ancient oaths.

"When this is over, you’ll have both."

Ginsei straightened, surprise flickering across his pale features.

Mochi clapped his hands together, grinning widely.

"Look at that, everybody wins! Now, about this plan..."

Cyrus’s phone buzzed insistently against his coat.

He glanced at Mochi and Ginsei, who were already deep in discussion about underground networks and mission protocols.

"Get on with it," he said curtly, stepping toward the shop’s front window. "I need to check these."

His crimson eyes scanned the messages, a light smile tugging at his lips as Kane’s escalating threats filled the screen.

The fox had figured out the wards quickly—no surprise there. Kane’s intelligence never failed to impress him.

This is bullshit, Cyrus. You can’t just lock me up like some pet and disappear.

.

.

.

I’m going to burn all your romance novels. Every single one.

Cyrus’s amusement grew. Kane’s dramatic flair was almost endearing when channeled into righteous indignation.

But the final message wiped the smile from his face entirely.

If you’re hurt and not answering, I’ll never forgive you. So you better be fine when I see you again.

Something cold twisted in Cyrus’s chest—not Kane’s words, but what his dragon senses were picking up beneath them.

Something else. Something wrong.

His dragon senses prickled, ancient instincts screaming danger. The air itself felt heavy, charged with impending threat.

Cyrus’s phone slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers as primal terror clawed through his chest.

Kane was in danger.