Chapter 98: His Soul, His Treasure

Kane settled onto the far end of the couch, leaving a careful buffer of space between them.

Cyrus sat on the opposite end, his posture as rigid as a boardroom presentation.

The silence stretched until Kane cleared his throat.

"So." He clasped his hands together, adopting his most professional tone.

"Let’s approach this logically. You’ve made an offer—"

"An offer?" Cyrus’s eyebrow arched dangerously high.

"—and I need to evaluate the terms and conditions." Kane gestured between them with mock seriousness.

"What exactly are the deliverables here? Mutual affection? Exclusive partnership agreements?"

Cyrus stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

"Are you treating my feelings like a contract negotiation?"

"It’s easier than treating them like feelings," Kane shot back, then immediately winced.

"Sorry. That came out wrong."

The air between them felt charged and electric.

Cyrus processed Kane’s words, peeling away the defensive sarcasm.

"Easier than treating them like feelings," he repeated slowly. "Because feelings are... complicated for you too."

Kane’s fingers twisted in his lap.

"I didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to." Cyrus shifted slightly closer, testing the waters.

"Kane, when you said you need to evaluate the terms—does that mean you’re considering it? Us?"

The question hung between them like a held breath.

Kane’s amber eyes flicked up to meet his, then away again.

"I don’t know how to do this," Kane admitted quietly.

"I’ve spent weeks thinking I was investigating you, then protecting myself from you, then figuring out how to work with you. And now you’re telling me you love me and I—"

He stopped, running both hands through his silver hair.

"I can’t untangle what I feel from everything else that’s happened."

Cyrus leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Then don’t untangle it. Just tell me—when I said I loved you, what was your first instinct? Before the panic, before the logic. What did you feel?"

Kane’s breath caught in his throat.

"Relief," he whispered, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

Cyrus went very still.

"Relief that someone finally said it out loud, or relief that it was me?"

Kane’s hands clenched in his lap.

"Both. Neither. I don’t—" He exhaled shakily.

"Relief that I wasn’t imagining it. The way you look at me sometimes, like I’m something precious you’re afraid to break. The way you saved me, not just from that spirit but from falling off buildings and my own stupidity."

He finally met Cyrus’s eyes.

"Relief that maybe I wasn’t going crazy thinking about what it would feel like if you kissed me."

The confession hung between them like a bridge neither dared cross.

Cyrus’s crimson eyes searched Kane’s face.

"And after the relief?"

"Terror," Kane admitted with a bitter laugh. "Complete, bone-deep terror that I’d mess this up somehow."

"Kane—"

"I broke into your apartment. I invaded your privacy. I’ve been lying to you about my investigation from day one."

"And I knew about the investigation from the beginning," Cyrus said quietly.

Kane’s eyes snapped to his.

"I knew you didn’t trust me. Still don’t trust me, or Veyr Corp." Cyrus’s voice held no accusation, only certainty.

"But my feelings for you are real regardless."

Kane studied Cyrus’s face, searching for deception and finding none.

"I know you’re not lying," he said finally.

A ghost of a smile crossed Cyrus’s lips, and he shifted closer on the couch.

"Kane, you didn’t break into my life. I chose to take you in. I could have healed you and left you at the warehouse."

His crimson eyes held Kane’s steadily.

"I chose to let you stay. I chose to bring you to galas and restaurants and amusement parks. I chose to show you my private spaces, my collections, my weaknesses."

Kane’s breath caught as Cyrus continued.

"I haven’t let anyone into my life the way I’ve let you in. Not Elias, not even Isabelle."

Kane’s heart hammered against his ribs as Cyrus’s words sank in.

"Why?" The question burst out of him like a dam breaking.

"Why did you save me in that warehouse? Why were you even there?"

Cyrus went very still, his crimson eyes flickering with something Kane couldn’t read.

"You’ve been wondering about that."

"Yeah, this whole time." Kane leaned forward, needing this answer more than air.

"You appeared out of nowhere like some avenging angel. A dragon spirit doesn’t just stumble across a Bureau operation by accident."

Cyrus was quiet for a long moment, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

"I was tracking the same trafficking ring you were," he said finally.

"Following leads about spirits being captured and modified with synthetic binding agents."

Kane blinked. "You knew about the synthetic agents before Rina’s investigation?"

"Veyr Corp has been monitoring unusual spirit disappearances for months. When I traced the operation to that warehouse—" Cyrus’s jaw tightened.

"I arrived expecting to find evidence. Instead I found you, bleeding out on the floor."

Kane studied Cyrus’s face, noting the careful control in his expression.

"There’s more to it than that."

Cyrus’s eyes met his.

"There always is with you."

Cyrus’s crimson eyes searched Kane’s face, weighing his words carefully.

"There’s something else about that warehouse," he said finally. "Something I haven’t told you."

Kane leaned forward, sensing the gravity in Cyrus’s tone.

"When I found you bleeding on that concrete floor—" Cyrus paused, his hands clenching into fists.

"It wasn’t the first time I’d seen you dying."

The words hung between them like a confession.

Kane’s breath caught. "What do you mean?"

"The labyrinth beneath St. Aveline’s showed us memories, Kane. Not just recent ones." Cyrus’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"I’ve saved a silver-white fox before. Centuries ago."

Kane stared at him, amber eyes wide with disbelief.

"You think I’m—that we’ve—?"

"Not reincarnated," Cyrus corrected, his voice careful and measured.

"Your soul didn’t die and return. It’s the same soul, Kane. The same spirit essence, carried forward through time."

Kane stared at him, processing the distinction.

"You’re saying I’m immortal? That I’ve been alive for centuries?"

"Spirit lifespans are... complex. Some sleep for decades, awakening when the world needs them. Others live continuously but forget their past when trauma becomes too great." Cyrus’s crimson eyes searched Kane’s face.

"Your memories were buried, not erased."