Chapter 70: The Chase Through The City

The drive to the BSA headquarters passed in a blur of city lights and evening traffic. Cyrus kept his expression neutral, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

The BSA lobby buzzed with its usual evening activity—agents filing reports, spirits being processed through intake, and the controlled chaos of supernatural law enforcement.

Cyrus approached the reception desk, his presence immediately commanding attention from nearby agents.

"I’m here to see Agent Ashwood," he said, his tone crisp and businesslike.

The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly before she checked her screen.

"Agent Ashwood isn’t currently—"

"Mr. Drakhal."

Cyrus turned to find Ginsei approaching, pale green hair immaculate as always, ice-blue eyes glinting with unmistakable amusement.

"What an unexpected pleasure," the serpent spirit continued.

"Is Agent Ashwood available?"

"Oh, he was here earlier." Ginsei’s smile widened, revealing the faintest hint of fangs.

"Filed his reports, caught up on paperwork. But he left this afternoon."

The serpent circled closer, clearly enjoying himself.

"Didn’t mention where he was going, though I suspect he had dinner plans. You know how social our fox can be."

Cyrus felt something cold settle in his chest, but his expression never wavered.

"I see."

Cyrus turned and walked toward the exit. Kane had been here. He had finished his work and left without a word.

Irritation burned in his chest, matched only by his frustration at himself—for caring.

Cyrus sat in his car outside the BSA, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

Where would Kane go after filing his reports? The fox had mentioned dinner plans to Ginsei, but with whom?

He started the engine, his mind racing through possibilities. Most restaurants in the district would be winding down by now.

Then it struck him—Mochi.

The cat spirit’s shop stayed open late, and Kane had developed an odd fondness for the chaotic nekomata.

Cyrus pulled into traffic, navigating toward the familiar weathered storefront. The drive felt longer than usual, each red light stretching his patience thinner.

He told himself this was simple curiosity—ensuring his former assistant hadn’t stumbled into trouble on his first night of freedom.

Nothing more.

But as the neon glow of Mochi’s shop sign came into view, Cyrus couldn’t shake the feeling that he was chasing something he’d already lost.

The bell above the door chimed as Cyrus stepped into Mochi’s Miscellanea.

The familiar chaos of mismatched items and incense greeted him, along with the sound of enthusiastic shuffling from behind the counter.

"Scaley Daddy!" Mochi’s head popped up from behind a stack of vintage electronics, his dark hair disheveled and eyes bright with excitement.

"What brings you to my humble domain this fine evening?"

The cat spirit vaulted over the counter with typical flair, landing gracefully despite the leather jacket weighing him down.

"I wasn’t expecting any distinguished visitors tonight. Want some bubble tea?"

Cyrus surveyed the cluttered shop, his gaze casual but searching.

"I’m fine. I was simply in the area and thought I’d check on your establishment."

"In the area?" Mochi tilted his head, two tails swishing with curiosity.

"This neighborhood isn’t exactly corporate executive territory."

Cyrus ignored the observation, picking up a dusty graphic mug from a nearby shelf and examining it with feigned interest.

"Has Agent Ashwood visited recently? I wanted to ensure he hadn’t encountered any difficulties following our recent assignment."

Mochi’s grin widened knowingly.

"Kane-chan? Oh yeah, he was here maybe an hour ago. Picked up some supplies—protection charms, energy bars, and that weird instant coffee he likes."

The cat spirit’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I see."

"You know," Mochi said, leaning against the counter with obvious amusement, "if you wanted to know where Kane is, you could just text him. Revolutionary concept, I know."

He pulled out his phone, waggling it enticingly.

"Want me to shoot him a message? Ask where he’s at? I’m sure he’d—"

"That won’t be necessary." Cyrus’s voice remained perfectly controlled. "I’m not specifically looking for Ashwood."

Mochi’s knowing smirk suggested he wasn’t buying a word of it.

Cyrus glanced around the shop again, grabbing the first item within reach—a ceramic cat figurine with one missing ear.

"I’ll take this."

"That’ll be fifteen dollars," Mochi said, clearly fighting back laughter.

"Cash or card?"

Cyrus pulled out his wallet, placing a twenty on the counter.

"Keep the change."

He turned toward the door, the broken figurine clutched in his hand like evidence of his mounting frustration.

Cyrus’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he navigated the quiet streets back to his penthouse.

The ceramic cat figurine sat on the passenger seat, a ridiculous reminder of his equally ridiculous behavior tonight.

The elevator ride to the penthouse stretched longer than usual, the city lights reflecting in the glass walls like scattered diamonds.

Cyrus caught his own reflection staring back at him, jaw set in stubborn denial.

He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Kane’s contact.

Maybe a simple text, just to notify him that he’d returned home safely.

After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped the phone back into his pocket without typing a word.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached his floor.

Cyrus stepped into his penthouse, immediately noticing the emptiness that seemed to echo in the space.

The living room felt empty without fox ears poking up from behind the couch cushions.

Cyrus loosened his tie, heading toward his bedroom when a sound stopped him cold.

Music. Faint but unmistakable, drifting from somewhere deeper in the penthouse.

Recognition froze his blood mid-step.

The melody was coming from his secret room—the one behind the bookshelf.

Cyrus’s footsteps were silent as he approached the study, his dragon instincts sharpening to deadly focus.

The bookshelf stood slightly ajar, soft blue light spilling from the gap. Someone was in his most private space.

The music grew clearer as he drew closer—the opening theme from one of his vintage video games.

Cyrus pressed his palm against the hidden panel; the bookshelf swung open fully, revealing his illuminated sanctuary.

And sitting cross-legged on his leather sectional, controller in hand and silver hair catching the glow from the massive screen, was Kane.