Fractures And Frost

The two assistants flanked Madam Xiu as she rose, their movements synchronized with practiced precision.

She gave Kane one last penetrating look that made his skin prickle beneath his suit.

After they departed, Isabelle lingered at the doorway.

"I'll prepare the necessary resources for your search, sir." She closed the door with a soft click, leaving Kane and Cyrus alone.

Kane waited until he was certain they were truly alone before speaking.

"So...do you want to tell me what just happened? And what exactly is this Midnight Chalice?"

Cyrus paced to the window, his reflection superimposed against the city skyline.

"A powerful artifact that hasn't been seen in over three centuries." He turned, eyes narrowed. "And Madam Xiu knows exactly where it is."

"Then why challenge you to find it?"

"Because this isn't about artifacts." Cyrus's voice hardened. "It's about testing my capabilities, my resources... and now, you."

"Me?" Kane's tail twitched beneath his suit.

"Her kind has always been this way," Cyrus said, loosening his tie slightly.

"Pixiu spirits are collectors by nature. They hoard treasures, knowledge, and especially debts. The challenge is merely another form of transaction."

Kane slumped into a chair, tail twitching beneath his suit. "So what are we supposed to do now? Chase after some ancient cup that hasn't been seen in centuries?"

Cyrus turned from the window, his expression unreadable. The afternoon light cast sharp shadows across his face as he studied Kane with renewed intensity.

"Before we proceed, I need to know something." His voice dropped lower. "Have you been honest with me, Kane?"

Kane's ears flattened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"The shard." Cyrus's words fell like stones between them. "Why do you need it?"

Kane's breath caught.

He hadn't told Cyrus about the shard or his doubts about the trafficking operation's link to the artifact.

"I don't—"

"Your apartment was ransacked looking for it." Cyrus cut him off.

"I saw your reaction when Madam Xiu revealed her piece. You recognized it immediately."

Kane's mind raced. The karmic bond made lying difficult, but the truth could be dangerous.

"It was evidence from a case," Kane finally said.

"Three months ago, I raided a black market den. The shard was there—it can control spirits, bend their will. I turned it in to Evidence."

He met Cyrus's gaze. "But someone thinks I kept it. Someone connected to the trafficking operation... possibly connected to Veyr Corp."

Cyrus's expression darkened, a flicker of dragonfire reflecting in his eyes.

"So you still suspect me."

The silence between them was as eerie as a live wire.

Cyrus maintained his impassive expression, yet a fleeting glimpse of potential hurt flashed through his eyes.

Kane opened his mouth, then closed it. The apology died on his tongue.

Despite everything, despite the bond, despite Cyrus saving his life, a stubborn part of him still harbored suspicion.

The evidence pointed somewhere in Veyr Corp, and Cyrus stood at its center.

Without a word, Cyrus turned and walked toward the door, his shoulders rigid beneath his tailored suit.

"Wait—what am I supposed to do now?" Kane called after him, half-rising from his chair.

Cyrus paused at the threshold, his hand on the doorframe. He didn't turn around.

"You're the investigator here, Agent Ashwood." His voice was cool and distant. "I suggest you investigate."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt more final than a slam would have.

Kane slumped back in his chair, ears drooping.

The karmic bond tugged at his chest as Cyrus moved farther away—a physical reminder of a connection that seemed to be fraying in other ways.

He stepped into the hallway, glancing toward Cyrus's main office.

Through the glass partition, he could see the dragon hunched over his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard.

His face was set in rigid lines, jaw clenched tight.

Kane hesitated. To reach his adjoining office, he'd need to walk directly through Cyrus's space.

The thought of crossing that invisible barrier of tension made his fur bristle beneath his suit.

He turned and headed in the opposite direction, following signs toward what he hoped was a break room or kitchen.

The pantry was mercifully empty when he arrived.

Sleek appliances gleamed under recessed lighting, and a high-end coffee machine beckoned from the counter.

Kane fumbled with the settings, eventually producing something that smelled strong enough to clear his head.

He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, inhaling the rich aroma.

The pantry door swished open behind him.

Kane's ears twitched at the sound of precise, measured footsteps—the unmistakable click of expensive heels against marble flooring.

Isabelle Winters approached the refrigerator, her steel-gray hair pulled into its perfect bun, not a strand out of place.

She didn't acknowledge Kane's presence as she retrieved a bottle of water.

"Ms. Winters," Kane ventured, "do you know anything about this Midnight Chalice?"

She turned, fixing him with those pale ice-blue eyes. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"I literally just left the conference room with you, Mr. Ashwood." Her voice was crisp, each syllable precisely enunciated. "I know exactly what you know—which is nothing."

She twisted the cap off her water with a practiced motion.

"If you're attempting to gather intelligence, I suggest a more subtle approach." A hint of frost edged her words."

She took a measured sip, her gaze never leaving his face.

"I've worked for Cyrus for over fifty years, Mr. Ashwood. What you really want to know about isn't some chalice—it's him." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Isn't it?"

Kane didn't flinch. There was no point denying what she could clearly see.

"It's equally important for my job," he admitted. "I need to understand who I'm working for."

Isabelle set her water bottle down. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"I don't know why he's taken you as his personal assistant." Her tone sharpened like ice fracturing. "Nor that you're qualified for it."

She straightened her already perfect posture.

"Cyrus Veyr Drakhal is the last of his kind. He survived the fall of dragonkind through sacrifice and strategy you cannot begin to comprehend."

Kane's ears flattened slightly at her intensity.

"Whatever game you're playing, whatever you think you're investigating—tread carefully." The frost in her voice crystallized.

"If you harm him, there are those of us who will ensure you regret it."

She picked up her water and moved toward the door, each step a precise statement.

"And Mr. Ashwood? He doesn't need an assistant. He needs an ally. I suggest you decide which you are."