Chapter 89: From Gas Leaks to Glass Towers

Kane stared at the massive flat screen, remote dangling from his fingers as the morning news anchor’s polished voice filled Cyrus’s living room.

"—preliminary investigations suggest a catastrophic gas leak caused the explosion at Aurelia Restaurant last night. The upscale establishment suffered extensive structural damage, forcing the evacuation of dozens of patrons and staff."

Shaky phone footage played across the screen—screaming diners, flickering emergency lights, and the crystal chandelier crashing in a shower of sparkling fragments.

Kane leaned forward, studying each frame for any hint of supernatural activity.

Nothing. Just chaos and terror, exactly as the Bureau intended.

"Eyewitnesses report hearing loud cracking sounds moments before the incident," the anchor continued, her expression appropriately grave.

"Fortunately, no deaths or serious injuries were reported, thanks to the quick evacuation efforts of restaurant staff and emergency responders."

Kane chuckled, shaking his head at the screen.

He’d been the one screaming at terrified diners to run while Cyrus faced down a fear-feeding spirit on the roof.

"Additional casualties were prevented when structural engineers arrived on scene to assess the building’s integrity," the anchor added.

Structural engineers. Right.

Because Ginsei and the containment team totally looked like construction experts.

"City officials are conducting a full investigation, ensuring no such incident will happen again."

Kane snorted, muting the television.

"Gas leak. Classic."

Behind him, Cyrus emerged from the kitchen, immaculate in a charcoal suit despite the early hour.

He carried his coffee like it was fine wine.

"I see you’re enjoying the morning news." Cyrus observed, settling into the armchair beside the sofa.

He scrolled through his phone with casual indifference, as if watching news coverage of their near-death experience was merely morning entertainment.

Kane switched to another news channel, finding similar coverage.

The same sanitized narrative, the same carefully edited footage that showed destruction without revealing its supernatural cause.

"At least no one got clear video of you going full dragon mode," Kane muttered, remembering the terrified faces recording everything until he’d destroyed their phones.

"That would’ve been a nightmare to explain."

A ghost of a smile touched Cyrus’s lips as he continued scrolling through his phone, reading what appeared to be morning reports.

"The BSA deserves credit where it’s due," Cyrus said, setting down his coffee cup with the soft clink of porcelain against marble.

"Their cover-up protocols have improved considerably since the incident at the harbor last year."

Kane raised an eyebrow, remote still in hand as another news channel cycled through the same sanitized footage.

"You were involved in that?"

"Peripherally." Cyrus stood, adjusting his cufflinks.

"A particularly aggressive water spirit decided the shipping lanes needed... reorganizing. The original story blamed it on a freak tidal surge."

"And people actually bought that?"

"Humans have a remarkable capacity for accepting convenient explanations over uncomfortable truths."

Kane clicked off the television, tossing the remote onto the coffee table, where it landed beside his empty cereal bowl.

"Fair point."

"If you’re quite finished with your morning entertainment, we should head to Veyr Corp." Cyrus checked his watch.

"I have a conference call with our Singapore office in an hour, and Isabelle mentioned several matters requiring immediate attention."

Kane stretched, joints popping after sleeping on the couch again.

"Right, let me grab my jacket."

Kane snatched his jacket from the back of the dining chair, checking his pockets for his phone and wallet.

The familiar weight of his concealed pistol pressed against his ribs—a comforting reminder that he wasn’t completely defenseless, even if Commander Qi seemed to think otherwise.

The elevator descended smoothly, opening to reveal the underground garage’s collection of luxury vehicles.

Cyrus led Kane to a sleek silver BMW M8, its lines aggressive yet understated compared to the flashier options surrounding it.

Kane slid into the passenger seat, immediately appreciating the car’s responsive handling as Cyrus navigated the garage’s tight turns.

The engine purred with restrained power, nothing like the Lamborghini’s roar or the Bentley’s stately rumble.

"I still can’t believe you own this many cars," Kane said, watching the city blur past as they emerged onto the street.

"Each serves a purpose."

"And today’s purpose is flying under the radar?"

Cyrus’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Something like that."

Kane adjusted his seatbelt, watching the city transform around them as they approached the financial district.

Glass towers stretched toward the sky like crystalline monoliths, their surfaces reflecting the morning light in brilliant flashes.

The streets bustled with purpose—suited executives clutching coffee cups, delivery trucks weaving between lanes, and the constant pulse of commerce and ambition.

The familiar gleam of the sixty-story building appeared ahead, its corporate logo etched in brushed steel against black granite.

Kane had seen it before, but approaching it now felt different. Like stepping into Cyrus’s true domain rather than just visiting.

The elevator whisked them toward the fifty-ninth floor, classical music playing softly as floors flicked by in ascending numbers.

Kane watched Cyrus’s reflection in the polished steel doors—spine straight, expression neutral, every inch the CEO who commanded thousands of employees and millions in revenue.

"Mr. Drakhal, welcome back."

Isabelle Winters stood waiting as the elevator doors parted, her steel-gray hair pulled into its characteristic severe bun.

Her pale blue eyes swept over both men with a professional assessment.

"Ms. Winters." Cyrus stepped out first, already reaching for his phone as it buzzed with notifications.

"I trust the quarterly projections arrived from accounting this morning?"

"On your desk, along with the Singapore contracts requiring your signature." Isabelle fell into step beside him, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

"The legal department also flagged several regulatory issues that need immediate review."

Kane trailed behind them, watching employees straighten as Cyrus passed. Conversations quieted, and heads turned with respectful deference.

"Kane." Cyrus paused outside his office. "I need your help to review the quarterly supply chain reports and cross-reference them with our international shipping manifests. Flag any discrepancies."

Kane blinked. "Supply chain reports?"

"Ms. Winters will provide you with the necessary files." Cyrus’s tone brooked no argument.

"I want a comprehensive analysis by this afternoon."

The office door closed with a soft click, leaving Kane standing in the hallway with Isabelle.

Busywork. Glorified data entry disguised as important assistant duties.

Kane forced a smile, swallowing his irritation.

"So, where exactly are these thrilling supply chain reports?"

Isabelle’s expression remained impassive, but Kane caught the faintest hint of amusement in her pale eyes.

"This way, Mr. Ashwood. I believe you’ll find the assignment more... illuminating than you expect."