The Fox And The Last Dragon

Cyrus stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.

Kane moved with surprising efficiency around the space, flipping pancakes with one hand while arranging wagyu beef steak on a plate with the other.

The fox's ears twitched at Cyrus's arrival, but he didn't turn around.

"Morning, roomie," Kane called over his shoulder.

"Coffee's fresh. Black, right?"

Cyrus blinked, momentarily disarmed by the domesticity of the scene.

His kitchen—a showpiece he'd designed for aesthetics rather than function—had never seen actual cooking before.

"What are you doing?" he finally managed.

Kane slid a perfect golden pancake onto a waiting stack.

"Making breakfast. Figured if I'm going to be your assistant, I should be... assistive." He turned, offering a steaming mug of coffee.

Cyrus accepted the mug, inhaling the rich aroma. The coffee was exactly how he preferred it—strong enough to wake the dead.

"You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice lacking its usual edge.

"Take it as my way of apologizing for the whole man cave invasion." Kane slid the plate of rare steak and golden pancakes across the counter.

Cyrus stared at the food with narrowed eyes.

"Dragons don't require mortal sustenance."

"Yeah, yeah. You and your gold flakes." Kane waved dismissively, his tail swishing behind him.

"But you ate fries last night, so clearly you enjoy food sometimes." He pushed the plate closer.

"Just try it. I make excellent pancakes."

"This is unnecessary." Cyrus remained standing, coffee in hand, regarding the offering with suspicion.

Kane leaned across the counter.

"Are you seriously going to make me eat alone on my first morning here? That's cold, even for you."

Something flickered across Cyrus's face—annoyance, amusement, or perhaps both.

With a resigned sigh, he settled onto a barstool and picked up a fork.

He cut a precise triangle from a pancake, examining it with the scrutiny of someone inspecting a questionable contract.

After a moment's hesitation, he took a bite.

Kane watched, tail twitching with anticipation.

Cyrus chewed slowly, his expression carefully neutral. Then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders relaxed.

"These are... acceptable," he conceded, cutting another piece.

By the time he'd finished two pancakes, Cyrus had stopped pretending to be merely tolerating them.

The dragon's reluctant enjoyment was evident in the methodical way he savored each bite, though he'd never admit it aloud.

Kane slid into the seat across from Cyrus, his plate heaped with a medium-rare steak and a towering stack of pancakes that threatened to topple.

He reached for a crystal wine glass—clearly meant for something far more sophisticated—and filled it with orange juice from a carton.

"So," Kane said between bites, syrup dripping from his fork, "why does someone who doesn't 'require mortal sustenance' keep a fully stocked kitchen?"

Cyrus dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I don't personally stock anything."

"What, does the food fairy visit while you're sleeping?"

"The penthouse has a butler service," Cyrus explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "They handle groceries, cleaning, laundry, and other mundane necessities."

Kane paused mid-bite. "Wait—there are people who just... come in here?"

"Human servants, yes. They arrive when I'm out. It's been arranged this way for years." Cyrus sipped his coffee.

"They're discreet, well-paid, and thoroughly vetted."

"And they just... maintain everything?" Kane glanced around the immaculate space with new understanding.

"That explains why your place looks like a magazine spread."

"Did you imagine I spent my evenings dusting?" A hint of amusement flickered in Cyrus's eyes.

Kane shrugged. "I figured you had some fancy dragon magic that kept everything perfect."

"Magic has its uses, but even I recognize human efficiency in certain areas."

Kane leaned back in his chair, considering this new information.

"So these butler people—when will they be showing up? Should I be, you know, hiding my tail?"

"Don't worry about it." Cyrus cut another piece of steak with surgical precision.

Kane nodded, absently twirling his fork.

"So what's on the agenda for today? First day as your official assistant and all."

"We'll be going to Veyr Corp headquarters." Cyrus stood, placing his napkin beside his now-empty plate.

"You'll need to be briefed on protocols, security clearances, and your cover story."

"Cover story?" Kane's ears perked up.

"Yes. While you are indeed my assistant now, we need a plausible explanation for your sudden appearance." Cyrus's eyes narrowed slightly.

Kane's fork clattered against his plate.

"Huh, I hadn't thought about that." His tail twitched with sudden anxiety. "What's your plan?"

Cyrus's expression remained impassive, but something like satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

"I've already handled it. Your background now shows you graduated with honors in Business Administration from Westlake University."

"You falsified my credentials?" Kane's ears flattened briefly before perking up again.

Cyrus straightened his already-perfect tie.

"I don't leave details to chance. Your employment history now shows internships at respectable firms with excellent recommendations. Nothing flashy enough to invite scrutiny, but impressive enough to justify your position."

Kane stared at him, fork suspended midair. "That's... thorough."

"I am nothing if not meticulous. Finish your breakfast. We leave in twenty minutes."

Kane shoveled the remaining pancakes into his mouth, chewing frantically as Cyrus disappeared down the hallway.

He gathered the plates, stacking them haphazardly in the sink before rinsing them.

His ears twitched at the sound of a door closing—Cyrus preparing for the day. Perfect timing.

Kane pulled out his phone, glancing over his shoulder before tapping out a quick message to Commander Qi:

Still alive. Heading to Veyr HQ today. Maintaining cover. No signs of trafficking connection yet.

He hesitated, then added: Will report anything suspicious.

Kane's thumb hovered over the send button. The karmic bond tugged at his chest—a constant reminder of his conflicted position.

With a quick exhale, he hit send, then immediately deleted the conversation thread.

Kane ducked into the bathroom, selecting a charcoal gray suit from his new wardrobe.

He slipped it on, adjusting the perfectly tailored jacket that somehow made his shoulders look broader.

Then, Kane styled his silvery hair with careful precision, taming the usual bedhead into something sleek and professional.

After a moment's hesitation, he reached for a crystal bottle on the counter—Cyrus's cologne.