Chapter 42: Red Curry And Rough Edges

Kane jerked awake, disoriented by the darkness outside the windows.

His notes were scattered across the desk, and a slight crease marked his cheek where it had pressed against the notepad.

"How long was I out?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes. His watch showed it was past nine.

He stretched, his spine popping as he arched his back.

The karmic bond hummed steadily, telling him Cyrus was nearby. Kane padded to the door connecting their offices and peered through.

Cyrus sat at his desk, the blue glow of his computer screen reflected across his face.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, his attention wholly focused on whatever document demanded his scrutiny.

Kane knocked lightly on the doorframe, stepping into Cyrus’s office without waiting for an invitation.

"You could have woken me up," he said, voice still rough with sleep. "I didn’t mean to pass out like that."

Cyrus didn’t look up from his screen. "I still had work to do. Your snoring wasn’t disruptive enough to warrant intervention."

"I don’t snore," Kane protested automatically. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Anyway, I finished the research on Holloway and the Silver Mermaid. We just need to book the flights and secure spots on the cruise."

Cyrus finally looked up, the screen’s blue light casting shadows across his sharp features.

"I’ve already reviewed your work, and the arrangements have been made."

"Wait, what?" Kane blinked. "When did you—"

"While you were demonstrating the remarkable ability to drool and take notes simultaneously." Cyrus closed his monitor with a soft click.

"Our flight departs tomorrow evening at seven," Cyrus said, standing and adjusting his cuffs.

"We’ll fly to Athens first."

Kane’s jaw dropped.

"Athens? But the Silver Mermaid left port three days ago. I’d planned for us to intercept it at the Santorini dock next week."

He shuffled through his notes, pulling out the itinerary he’d carefully mapped. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"See? We could have caught up with them there without rushing."

Cyrus’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smile.

"There’s no need to waste time waiting for the ship to reach another port."

"But how—"

"I’ve made other arrangements."

Kane narrowed his eyes.

"What kind of ’other arrangements’? Are you planning to transform and fly us both onto the deck? Because I’m not sure how the other passengers would feel about a dragon landing between the pool and the buffet."

Cyrus’s expression remained impassive, but Kane caught the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"There are helicopters, Kane."

"Oh." Kane felt his cheeks warm. "Right. Helicopters. That makes more sense."

"I’ve chartered one to rendezvous with the Silver Mermaid when we arrive. The captain has been... adequately compensated for the inconvenience." said Cyrus.

Kane nodded, leaning against Cyrus’s desk.

"Alright, so we’re going to Athens, taking a helicopter to the ship—but what’s our cover story once we’re on board? Holloway’s got security, and we can’t exactly announce we’re there for his magical chalice."

Cyrus shut down his computer and stood, towering over Kane with that effortless authority that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

"I saw your list of cover stories," Cyrus said, his tone dry as desert sand.

"They were creative, to say the least, particularly the one where we pose as honeymooning antiquities professors."

Kane’s ears twitched, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t written that part down at all. He’d meant it as a joke—mostly.

"I was merely being thorough," explained Kane.

"But unnecessary," Cyrus replied. "We’ll board as ourselves—well, you as my assistant."

Kane opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. The bond between them pulsed, and he couldn’t tell if it was his own frustration or Cyrus’s confidence flowing through it.

"Fine," Kane conceded. "Your show, your rules."

Cyrus gathered his coat and keys. "If we’re done with this discussion, we should head home and start packing."

"Let me guess—you’ve already planned my wardrobe too?" asked Kane.

"Your current wardrobe will suffice," Cyrus said, moving toward the door. "The rest we can acquire onboard if necessary."

They left Cyrus’s office, stepping into the silent expanse of the executive floor.

The entire space felt eerily quiet, with workstations abandoned and computer screens dark.

Their footsteps echoed against marble floors, unnaturally loud in the absence of the usual corporate bustle.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime that cut through the stillness, its polished doors reflecting their mismatched silhouettes.

Kane’s tail twitched with irritation as he stared at his reflection.

Despite hours of research, Cyrus had simply taken over—like everything Kane did wasn’t quite good enough.

"You’re brooding," Cyrus observed as they stepped into the garage.

"I’m not brooding," Kane muttered, following Cyrus to the Mercedes. "It’s not like I spent hours working on those plans."

Cyrus unlocked the car. "Your work wasn’t wasted. I used your research as the foundation for our arrangements."

Kane slid into the passenger seat, his ears still flat against his head.

The car pulled smoothly out of the garage and into the night traffic. Kane stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past.

The silence between them stretched thin as the Mercedes wove through evening traffic.

Cyrus glanced sideways at Kane, noting the fox spirit’s rigid posture and the way his ears remained flattened—a clear sign of his lingering irritation.

"Are you hungry?" Cyrus asked, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

Kane’s stomach answered with a betraying growl before he could respond.

"I’m fine," he muttered unconvincingly.

Cyrus sighed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as they stopped at a red light.

"Your research was thorough. I should have acknowledged that."

Kane’s ears perked up slightly at the closest thing to an apology he’d heard from the dragon.

"What would you like for supper?" Cyrus asked, his tone softer than usual.

Kane’s resolve wavered. His stomach growled again, louder this time.

"There’s that Thai place on Westbrook Avenue," he suggested cautiously. "They do a good red curry."

Cyrus nodded and changed lanes, heading toward Westbrook without further comment.