Chapter 71: A Day Without The Dragon

Kane stepped out of St. Aveline’s Cathedral into Feilun’s mist-shrouded streets.

The early morning air bit at his skin, crisp and clean after the cathedral’s incense-heavy atmosphere.

His breath formed small clouds as he walked, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

The absence hit him immediately. No familiar tug toward the corporate district. No constant awareness of Cyrus’s location humming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.

Kane paused at a street corner, amber eyes scanning the empty sidewalks.

A delivery truck rumbled past, its headlights cutting through the gray dawn light. The city felt different without that connection—larger, lonelier.

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

He should text Cyrus an update—let him know he was heading to the BSA and that Cyrus didn’t need to wait for him.

The words formed in his mind:

Going to headquarters. Catch up with you later, dragon.

But his thumb hesitated over the send button.

Why would Cyrus wait for him anyway?

Cyrus was probably already halfway back to Veyr Corp, eager to return to his meticulously ordered world of corporate meetings and supernatural contracts.

Kane deleted the message and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

The streets of Feilun stretched before him, familiar yet strange. He’d taken the public transport to work for years before Cyrus; he could manage it again.

Kane descended into the metro station, the familiar screech of brakes and rumble of approaching trains washing over him.

The underground air carried its usual cocktail of exhaust fumes, coffee, and the indefinable scent of thousands of commuters packed into confined spaces.

He pulled out his metro card and swiped through the turnstile.

This felt right. Normal. Like someone of his status should travel.

He’d grown up taking buses and trains, cramming into overcrowded cars with other spirits trying to blend into human society.

Before Cyrus, this had been his routine for years.

But as he settled onto the hard plastic seat of the 42 downtown, Kane found himself missing the Bentley’s leather interior more than he cared to admit.

The luxury vehicles, the effortless glide through traffic, arriving at destinations in half the expected time—he’d gotten embarrassingly accustomed to it all.

A businessman pressed against him as more passengers squeezed into the car. Kane shifted, making room, remembering how spacious Cyrus’s vehicles had felt.

The train lurched forward, and Kane gripped the metal pole, watching familiar buildings blur past the grimy windows.

Forty minutes to headquarters. Just like before.

Except now, the journey felt longer than he remembered.

Kane stepped out of the metro station, and he walked the final blocks to BSA headquarters.

The imposing glass and steel structure came into view. Kane pushed through the revolving doors into the lobby’s controlled chaos.

A harried intern sprinted past, clutching a stack of incident reports while dodging a pair of arguing wind spirits whose miniature tornado threatened to scatter paperwork across the lobby.

Near the coffee station, an earth sprite had somehow managed to turn the floor tiles into quicksand, trapping three junior agents up to their ankles.

Kane paused, breathing in the familiar chaos—the scent of burnt coffee mixed with residual magic, the constant hum of interdimensional communication devices, and the barely controlled mayhem that defined daily operations.

This was home.

From Commander Qi’s office came the familiar sound of raised voices—the deep rumble of the qilin spirit’s displeasure mixed with stammered apologies.

Kane paused, recognizing the cadence. Some poor intern was getting the full treatment, bronze antlers probably gleaming with suppressed rage.

Kane remembered being on the receiving end of those lectures countless times during his early days at the Bureau.

The intern stumbled out moments later, looking pale and shaken.

Kane knocked on Commander Qi’s office door, the familiar sound echoing through the hallway’s controlled chaos.

"Enter."

The qilin spirit stood behind his desk, bronze antlers catching the fluorescent lighting as he reviewed a stack of incident reports.

His scarred face lifted, green eyes narrowing as Kane stepped inside.

"Ashwood." Qi’s voice carried its usual gravelly authority. "Close the door."

Kane complied, turning back to face his superior with composure despite the nervous energy thrumming beneath his skin.

"Sir."

"Sit." Qi gestured to the chair across from his desk, never taking his eyes off Kane.

"You look remarkably intact for someone who disappeared for three days."

Kane settled into the familiar worn leather chair, amber eyes meeting Qi’s steady gaze.

"I can explain—"

"I’m sure you can." Qi leaned back, antlers glinting as he tilted his head.

Kane’s mind raced as Qi’s penetrating gaze held him pinned like a specimen under glass.

Right. The trafficking investigation. The whole reason he’d been authorized to work undercover at Veyr Corp in the first place.

"The trafficking investigation led to some unexpected developments, sir." Kane kept his voice steady.

"While pursuing leads on the spirit suppression operation, I discovered connections to higher-level artifact smuggling."

Qi’s antlers glinted as he leaned forward.

"Go on."

"Cyrus Drakhal wasn’t involved in the warehouse operation—he was investigating it from another angle. When I got in over my head, he intervened."

Kane met Qi’s stare directly.

"Turns out Veyr Corp has been tracking the same trafficking network we’ve been chasing."

"And this led to your three-day absence how, exactly?"

Kane’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t mention the karmic bond, the chalice quest, or that he’d spent half the time on a Mediterranean cruise ship playing tourist.

"Drakhal’s investigation required following leads outside the city. The trafficking ring has international connections." Kane improvised, drawing on fragments of truth.

"I’ve identified several key players, including connections to offshore operations in the Mediterranean."

Not entirely false—Bernard Holloway’s auction certainly counted as questionable supernatural commerce.

Commander Qi studied Kane with the intensity of a predator evaluating prey.

"Your report better include actionable intelligence, Ashwood. Real names, locations, and evidence we can use."

Kane rose from his chair. "I’ll have the full report on your desk by today, sir."

"Sit down, Ashwood." Commander Qi’s voice hardened. "Our conversation isn’t finished."

Kane sank back into the chair, his fox ears twitching with apprehension.

"There’s one last question." Qi’s green eyes narrowed, the scar across his left eye pulling tight.

"Do you want to continue your undercover work at Veyr Corp?"

Kane’s mouth opened, then closed.

The question hit deeper than professional duty—it cut straight to the core of what he’d been avoiding since walking out of St. Aveline’s.

"I—" He stopped, amber eyes flickering with uncertainty.

Was he ready to walk away from Cyrus completely?