The Fox And The Last Dragon

Kane and Cyrus stepped into the elevator, descending from the penthouse in uncomfortable silence.

A subtle shimmer of magic erased Kane's fox ears and tail, leaving him looking fully human—if unusually silver-haired.

The elevator doors opened to the gleaming lobby. Kane immediately turned toward the building's exit.

"Where are you going?" Cyrus asked, frowning as Kane headed toward the glass doors.

"The bus station's two blocks that way." Kane pointed vaguely eastward. "I can catch the 42 downtown; it should get us to the Bureau in about forty minutes."

Cyrus stared at him with genuine bewilderment. "Bus station?"

"Yeah, you know—those big metal things with wheels that stop every two minutes and smell like desperation and old sandwiches?" Kane grinned.

"Don't tell me, the great Cyrus Veyr Drakhal has never experienced public transportation."

Without responding, Cyrus turned and walked toward a discrete door near the back of the lobby. He pressed his palm against a sleek black panel, and the door slid open with a soft hiss.

"This way," he commanded.

Kane followed him into another elevator—smaller, requiring a key card—that descended deeper than the building's main floor.

"Secret lair?" Kane quipped. "Very supervillain chic."

The doors opened to reveal an underground garage that gleamed under soft ambient lighting.

A collection of vehicles stood in perfect formation: a midnight blue Aston Martin, a silver Bentley, a matte black Lamborghini, and several other vehicles Kane couldn't immediately identify.

"Pick one," Cyrus said, as casually as if offering a selection of appetizers.

Kane's mouth fell open. "You're kidding."

"I never kid about transportation." Cyrus walked toward the Bentley.

"And we're certainly not taking a bus."

Kane whistled as he slid into the Bentley's passenger seat, running his fingers over the leather interior.

"I could get used to this."

Cyrus started the engine with a gentle purr and guided the luxury vehicle out of the garage and onto the morning streets of Feilun.

The car moved effortlessly through traffic, gliding between lanes as if the road itself made way for them.

"This beats standing shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers trying not to make eye contact," Kane remarked, watching the city blur past his window.

The usual forty-minute commute that involved two buses and a ten-minute walk was rapidly shrinking.

Traffic parted before them. Stoplights seemed to stay green just long enough. Even the notorious downtown congestion felt like a minor inconvenience rather than the soul-crushing gridlock Kane battled daily.

"How are you doing this?" Kane asked, gesturing at yet another green light.

"Doing what?" Cyrus kept his eyes on the road, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Before Kane could press further, the imposing structure of the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs headquarters came into view—a glass and steel monolith disguised as an ordinary government building.

"That was..." Kane checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes is fourteen minutes too long," Cyrus muttered, pulling into a reserved parking space that Kane had never noticed before.

The Bureau's lobby buzzed with the usual morning activity—spirits and humans in various states of bureaucratic frustration.

A tiny fire sprite zipped past Kane's head, chasing a flustered intern, while two water spirits bickered near the ID scanners, dripping a trail behind them.

Kane tried not to fidget. Reporting in with a dragon at his side and a karmic curse burning in his chest wasn't exactly covered in Bureau protocol training.

He nodded to the security guard, flashing his badge.

"Morning, Terrence! This is—"

"Mr. Drakhal," the guard stammered, straightening his posture.

"Sir. We weren't expecting... I mean, welcome to the Bureau."

Heads turned as they crossed the lobby. Conversations halted mid-sentence. A junior agent nearly walked into a column.

"Popular, aren't you?" Kane whispered.

Cyrus's expression remained impassive. "Infamous is more accurate."

"Kane!" Rina appeared from the forensics wing, tablet in hand. She stopped short at the sight of Cyrus, her professional demeanor faltering for just a moment.

"Mr. Drakhal. This is... unexpected."

"Hi, Rina," Kane grinned. "Long story."

"I bet," she replied, recovering quickly.

"Whatever it is, it'll have to wait. Commander Qi wants to see you."

Kane's smile faded. "Well, that's just perfect."

"Is there a problem?" Cyrus asked.

"Only that Qi's probably going to kill me before this life debt thing gets a chance to."

"Your impending disciplinary action is not my problem," Cyrus stated coldly. "I'll wait here."

He moved toward a sleek waiting area and settled onto a black leather sofa.

Several agents scrambled to vacate the adjacent seats.

Kane hesitated at Commander Qi's office door, straightening his rumpled shirt and running fingers through his silver hair.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked and entered.

Commander Qi stood by the window, bronze antlers catching the morning light, his scarred face set in a familiar scowl.

The qilin spirit turned slowly, his eyes widening momentarily at the sight of Kane.

"Ashwood. You're alive." His voice carried genuine surprise beneath its usual gravel.

"Given your latest stunt, I wasn't entirely sure I'd see you again."

Kane managed a weak smile. "Good morning to you too, sir."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Qi's voice rose as he stalked toward his desk. "Infiltrating a suspected trafficking hub without backup or an extraction plan?"

Kane winced. "I had reliable intel—"

"You had a death wish," Qi cut him off.

"Your recklessness could have compromised months of investigation. Not to mention getting yourself killed."

The commander's antlers seemed to glow with suppressed anger.

"The only reason you're not suspended is because Cyrus Drakhal personally called to clarify certain... misunderstandings."

Kane blinked in surprise. "He did?"

"Yes. Apparently, you stumbled onto something bigger than your pay grade." Qi's expression softened marginally.

"Though I'm still deciding if your luck makes you blessed or cursed."

Kane shifted uncomfortably. If only Qi knew how literally his words applied now.

"I apologize for the unauthorized operation, sir," Kane said, lowering his eyes in practiced contrition.

"But I might have stumbled onto an opportunity."

Commander Qi raised an eyebrow, his antlers catching the light.

"I'm listening."

"Mr. Drakhal has offered me a position as his personal assistant at Veyr Corp. I could work undercover, gathering intelligence from the inside." Kane kept his voice steady and professional.

"No one would suspect a Spirit Bureau agent working directly under Drakhal's nose."

Qi studied him for a long moment, his scarred face unreadable.

"Interesting timing," he finally said. "And Mr. Drakhal is aware of this arrangement?"

Kane shrugged casually.

"He approached me with the offer himself. Said someone with my... unique perspective might be useful."

Commander Qi's antlers twitched with suspicion. He drummed his fingers on the desk, eyes narrowing as he considered Kane's proposal.