Chapter 41: To Be An Assistant

Kane pushed himself up from the worn leather couch, the empty bubble tea cup still in hand.

"Thanks for everything, Mochi. The tea was perfect—and the intel even better."

Mochi’s tails swished happily as he followed them toward the exit, his combat boots clunking against the wooden floor.

"Anytime, Kane-chan! My information network is always at your service." He winked, then glanced up at Cyrus with undisguised admiration.

"Especially if it means more opportunities to bask in Scaley Daddy’s presence."

Cyrus stiffened, his jaw tightening. "That is not my name."

"Of course not," Mochi purred, completely unfazed.

"But seriously, if you need information on any other artifacts—ancient scrolls, cursed daggers, haunted spoons—just swing by. My rates are reasonable."

"Reasonable meaning what exactly?" Kane asked, pausing at the doorway.

He grinned at Cyrus, not even trying to hide his intentions.

"I’m sure your dragon daddy wouldn’t mind treating me to that new seafood restaurant on Eighth Street. I hear their bluefin tuna is flown in daily from Japan."

Cyrus’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

"I’ll consider it," he said, his tone clipped but not entirely dismissive.

Mochi’s smile widened as he waved them off.

"That’s practically a yes in dragon-speak! Call me when you need me!"

Outside Mochi’s shop, the city air felt crisp after the incense-heavy atmosphere inside.

Cyrus checked his watch as they walked toward the sleek Mercedes parked at the curb.

"So... we’re gonna go after Holloway?" Kane asked, matching Cyrus’s brisk pace.

"Eventually. First, we return to Veyr Corp." Cyrus unlocked the car with a casual flick of his wrist.

The drive back was swift, with Cyrus weaving through traffic with supernatural precision.

Back at Veyr Corp, the elevator whisked them to the executive floor.

Kane followed Cyrus toward his office, already mentally preparing for whatever corporate chaos awaited.

"So, do you need me to prepare anything for your afternoon meetings? I can pull files, make coffee, intimidate the competition with my fox charm..."

Cyrus’s mouth twitched, almost forming what might have been a smile on anyone else.

"Isabelle will handle everything. It’s all human business—quarterly projections, market expansions, acquisition proposals."

"Sounds thrilling," Kane replied, leaning against the wall. "Nothing about ancient artifacts or spirit trafficking?"

"Not today. The human side of Veyr Corp requires maintenance too." Cyrus adjusted his already perfect cuffs.

"Does this mean I get the afternoon off?" Kane perked up, his ears twitching with anticipation.

"I could use some downtime after nearly dying in an ancient temple and sleeping in a motel bed with a clingy dragon."

Cyrus shot him a withering look.

"You can do whatever you want, as long as you stay out of trouble." He tapped his finger against the desk, considering.

"Though it would be best if you made use of your time researching Holloway and the Silver Mermaid. We need to know everything—security protocols, staff rotations, deck layouts."

Kane’s eyes widened, his tail giving an excited swish behind him.

"Wait, are you asking me to plan our cruise trip too? Because I’ve never been on a luxury cruise before."

Cyrus stared at him, expression flat as a still lake.

"Well, just do the research and make appropriate arrangements." He straightened a pen on his desk that was already perfectly aligned.

"Though if you purchase anything with a floral pattern, I will throw you overboard."

"Noted. No florals for the dragon." Kane made an exaggerated note on an imaginary clipboard.

"What about stripes? Or perhaps a nice paisley?"

Before Cyrus could respond with what would undoubtedly be a creative threat, the office door opened with a soft click.

Isabelle Winters glided in, her steel-gray hair loose today, softening her otherwise severe appearance.

Her ice-blue eyes swept over them both, taking in their slightly rumpled appearance.

"Mr. Drakhal, you’re back." She nodded curtly. "I trust your excursion was... productive?"

"We located the temple," Cyrus replied. "The chalice wasn’t there."

"But we got a solid lead," Kane added cheerfully.

Isabelle’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"How fortunate," she said dryly.

"Anyways, the quarterly board meeting is beginning in five minutes, Mr. Drakhal. The shareholders are particularly interested in discussing the new biotech division’s progress."

She handed Cyrus a slim leather portfolio.

"I’ve prepared all relevant documents. Will you require anything else?"

"I trust your preparations, as always," Cyrus nodded to Isabelle.

Isabelle’s eyes flickered briefly to Kane before returning to Cyrus. "Very well. The shareholders are waiting."

As they left, Kane found himself alone in Cyrus’s immaculate office.

He wandered to the hidden door leading to his adjacent workspace, running his fingers along the seam where it blended perfectly with the wall.

Inside his office, Kane settled at the glass desk, powering up the sleek computer.

"Time to plan a luxury cruise infiltration," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.

He created a folder labeled "Vacation Research" with a smirk, knowing anyone monitoring his activity would see the irony.

His ears twitched as he worked, occasionally glancing toward the wall separating him from Cyrus’s empty office.

The karmic bond tingled faintly, telling him Cyrus was room floors away, likely charming human shareholders with practiced ease.

Hours ticked by as Kane hunched over his research.

The Silver Mermaid’s deck plans sprawled across one screen while passenger manifests filled another.

His meticulous notes covered security rotations, staff uniforms, and even Bernard Holloway’s known routines from previous voyages.

Somewhere between plotting infiltration routes and researching Holloway’s art collection, Kane’s head drooped.

His cheek pressed against a notepad where he’d scrawled "Cyrus preferences" with bullet points like "No florals" and "Separate cabins!!!" underlined three times.

Evening shadows stretched across the office when Cyrus returned.

The board meeting had run long, filled with tedious human concerns about profit margins and market expansions.

He paused in the doorway, observing the sleeping fox. Kane’s ears twitched slightly in his sleep, his breathing soft and even.

Cyrus moved silently to the desk, lifting pages of Kane’s work.

Between operational notes were small personal touches: "C prefers rare steaks at dinner—arrange with kitchen?" and "Bring extra black suits (he’ll complain otherwise)."

A slight furrow appeared between Cyrus’s brows. Kane had indeed played the role of assistant with unexpected thoroughness.

He set the papers down without waking Kane, his expression unreadable in the fading light.