The Fox And The Last Dragon

Kane whistled as they entered the penthouse, relieved to see several shopping bags neatly arranged by the entryway.

"Thank god. The boutique delivered already." He grabbed the bags, the tissue paper crinkling as he hefted them.

"Wasn't looking forward to sleeping in my birthday suit on your fancy couch."

"I wouldn't have allowed that," Cyrus said flatly. He removed his coat, hanging it in the closet without a single wrinkle.

Kane carried his haul to the living room, dumping the bags onto the couch. He rummaged through them, pulling out silk pajamas in deep burgundy.

He straightened his already-perfect posture and glanced at Kane, who was still pawing through his new wardrobe.

"I'll shower first and retire for the night." His tone was clipped and efficient.

"The bathroom is down the hall to the left. Towels are in the cabinet."

Kane held up a pair of silk boxers, examining them with appreciation.

"Roger that, boss man."

"And Kane—" Cyrus paused at the hallway entrance, his silhouette sharp against the dim lighting.

"Don't disturb me once I'm in my room."

Kane's ears twitched with curiosity.

"What, you turn into a pumpkin after midnight?"

"No. I simply value my privacy." Something in Cyrus's voice shifted, taking on an edge that wasn't there before.

"My bedroom is off-limits unless there's an emergency."

"Define emergency?"

"Imminent death. Yours or mine." Cyrus's eyes flickered with that dangerous red glow.

"Anything less, and you'll find I'm not pleasant when my solitude is interrupted."

Without waiting for a response, Cyrus disappeared down the hallway, leaving Kane alone with his thoughts and shopping bags.

"Sweet dreams to you too, roomie," Kane muttered, looking around the luxurious space that would be his home for the foreseeable future.

Kane finished organizing his new clothes, setting aside an outfit for tomorrow.

The penthouse fell silent except for the distant sound of running water—Cyrus in the shower.

He wandered to the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the glittering cityscape below.

His reflection stared back at him, the karmic seal faintly visible through his shirt.

Kane traced it with his fingertips, still processing the bizarre turn his life had taken.

One minute he was investigating a dangerous dragon CEO, and the next he was living with him, magically bound.

His phone buzzed. Commander Qi's message was brief: "Status update required by morning."

Kane typed a quick reply: "Settled in. Will report findings tomorrow."

He pocketed his phone and sighed.

The double life was beginning already—assistant to Cyrus, spy for the Bureau. The karmic bond pulsed lightly as if sensing his conflicted thoughts.

Down the hall, the shower stopped.

Kane retreated to the couch, gathering his pajamas.

He'd need to tread carefully in this arrangement, especially with his suspicions about Cyrus's connection to the trafficking ring.

"Just another day in the life of Agent Ashwood," he muttered to himself. "Living with the enemy."

Kane heard Cyrus's footsteps padding down the hallway, followed by the soft click of a bedroom door closing. He headed for the bathroom.

When he flipped on the lights, Kane froze in the doorway.

"Holy spirits."

The bathroom was a masterpiece of luxury. Gleaming black marble stretched across the floor and up the walls.

A rainfall shower dominated one corner, enclosed in seamless glass with no visible hardware.

The showerhead itself was the size of a dinner plate, suspended from the ceiling like a chrome moon.

Kane ran his hand along the marble countertop, tracing his fingers over the gold-plated faucets.

The mirror spanned the entire wall, making the already massive space seem infinite.

"And here I thought dragons hoarded gold in caves," he muttered, placing his clothes on a heated towel rack.

He stepped into the shower enclosure, frowning at the control panel lined with a dozen unlabeled buttons.

"Of course it couldn't just be hot and cold."

After some experimental pressing, water cascaded from above at the perfect temperature.

Kane closed his eyes as the water enveloped him, washing away the day's tension.

"I really could get used to this," he whispered, letting the steam rise around him.

Kane toweled off and slipped into the silk pajamas, which felt impossibly soft against his fur.

He padded quietly into the living room, his body exhausted but his mind stubbornly alert.

The city lights beckoned through the wall of windows. Kane's stomach growled, reminding him that burgers hours ago weren't enough.

"A midnight convenience store run would be perfect right now," he murmured, imagining the comforting mediocrity of instant ramen.

Kane reached for the door handle but stopped.

An uncomfortable tightness spread across his chest where the karmic seal lay hidden beneath silk. He took another step toward the door, and the sensation intensified—a warning.

He sighed, dropping his hand.

The magical bond was already asserting its boundaries. He physically couldn't leave without Cyrus, not without triggering agonizing pain for them both.

"Prisoner in a penthouse," Kane muttered, turning back to the dark expanse of the living room. "Fancy prison, but still a prison."

He settled onto the couch, tail twitching with frustration.

Kane's stomach growled again, louder this time. He glanced down the hallway where Cyrus had disappeared.

"What's the point of a fancy prison if I can't raid the kitchen?" he muttered.

He padded silently across the living room, his fox instincts making each step soundless.

The kitchen was as immaculate as the rest of the penthouse—all gleaming surfaces and hidden appliances that blended seamlessly into the cabinetry.

Kane pulled open the massive refrigerator and whistled low. It was stocked with gourmet ingredients, exotic fruits, and several containers of what looked like raw meat.

Very raw meat.

"Dragon diet," he murmured, pushing aside a container of something that might have been still moving.

After assembling a midnight sandwich that would make any gourmet chef die inside, Kane's curiosity got the better of him.

The penthouse seemed too perfect, too normal for a centuries-old dragon.

"Every dragon has a lair," Kane whispered, running his fingers along the walls, searching for hidden panels or suspicious seams.

He checked behind artwork, under rugs, and inside closets, finding nothing but expensive furnishings and impeccable organization.

He moved to the study; his fingers traced along an ornate bookshelf filled with ancient tomes.

When he pulled on a leather-bound volume titled "Draconic Lineages," the entire shelf shifted with a soft click.

"Gotcha."