The Fox And The Last Dragon

Commander Qi's eyes narrowed, his antlers shifting slightly as he studied Kane's face.

The younger agent maintained his composure, but Qi hadn't survived centuries in the Bureau without learning to spot half-truths.

"There's something you're not telling me, Ashwood." He let the statement hang in the air, watching Kane's ears twitch nervously.

After a moment, Qi sighed heavily and straightened some papers on his desk.

"But I suppose that's nothing new. Very well—your proposal is approved. The Bureau could use eyes inside Veyr Corp."

Kane's shoulders relaxed visibly.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet." Qi pulled a thick folder from his drawer and dropped it on the desk with a heavy thud.

"Standard undercover operation paperwork. I need it completed before you leave the building."

Kane stared at the stack with undisguised horror.

"All of it?"

"Every page." Qi's scarred face remained impassive, but something like amusement flickered in his eyes.

"And Ashwood?"

"Sir?"

"Try not to embarrass us. Or get yourself killed."

Kane tucked the folder under his arm with a grimace.

"I'll do my best, sir."

"That," Commander Qi said dryly, "is precisely what worries me."

Kane shuffled out of Qi's office, the stack of paperwork nearly slipping from his grasp as he navigated to his desk.

He slumped into his chair and attacked the paperwork with the enthusiasm of someone facing a root canal.

His pen scratched across page after page, his ears flattening in annoyance.

"Liability waiver... psychological evaluation consent... next of kin..." he muttered, scribbling his signature.

He yanked open his desk drawer and began emptying it into a cardboard box—a spare holster, some case files, and a half-empty bag of fox treats he'd deny owning if anyone asked.

A shadow fell across his desk.

"Cleaning out your desk, Ashwood?" Ginsei's voice carried its usual silky venom. "Finally managed to get yourself fired?"

Kane glanced up to see his rival's ice-blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction, his pale braid draped over one shoulder.

"Actually, I'm going undercover at Veyr Corp." Kane couldn't help the smug smile that spread across his face.

"Commander Qi's orders. High-priority investigation."

Ginsei's expression froze, scales briefly shimmering beneath his skin.

"You? Infiltrating Veyr? That's... unexpected."

"Isn't it?" Kane tossed his security badge into the box.

"Don't worry, I'm sure there'll be plenty of spirit violations for you to investigate while I'm gone."

Kane dumped the completed paperwork on Rina's desk with a flourish.

"Fastest paperwork completion in Bureau history," he announced, ignoring her skeptical eyebrow raise.

"I'll believe that when Commander Qi doesn't send it back with red marks all over it," she muttered, but accepted the stack.

Kane found Cyrus in the lobby, standing apart from the bustling agents like a dark statue.

"You're still here. I half-expected you to abandon me," Kane said, approaching the dragon.

Cyrus checked his watch. "It's not like I had a choice."

"Well, good news—I'm officially your new assistant." Kane grinned.

"Commander Qi approved the undercover assignment without hesitation."

"Without hesitation?" Cyrus's eyebrow arched skeptically.

"Minimal hesitation," Kane amended.

"The important thing is, he never asked about our... situation." He gestured vaguely at his chest, where the karmic seal lay hidden.

"No awkward explanations about magical bonds or crippling pain. Just a standard undercover operation."

"How fortunate," Cyrus said dryly.

Kane stepped away from the bureau entrance, tugging at his collar where the seal pulsed beneath his shirt.

"We need to stop by my place. "I just need to grab some things," he said, falling into step beside Cyrus.

Cyrus's jaw tightened. He checked his watch with deliberate slowness.

"I have a conference call in two hours."

"It'll be quick," Kane promised, already heading toward the Bentley. "I'm not exactly a hoarder. Just clothes, toiletries, and my gaming console."

"Would you prefer that I borrow your shirts instead? Though they might be a bit large on me."

The mental image of Kane swimming in his tailored clothing seemed to disturb Cyrus deeply.

Cyrus unlocked the car with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his ancient soul.

"Thirty minutes. No more," he said, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Twenty," Kane countered, buckling his seatbelt. "I've practiced packing in a hurry."

Cyrus raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he pulled away from the curb; the Bentley moved like a beast barely held in check.

They drove through progressively narrower streets as Kane directed Cyrus away from downtown's gleaming towers toward the Old District.

Weathered brick buildings with fire escapes replaced glass skyscrapers.

"Left here, then second right," Kane said, pointing toward an alley barely wide enough for the luxury car.

Cyrus frowned as potholes threatened his vehicle's suspension.

The car crawled past graffiti-covered walls where ancient spirit sigils mixed with modern tags.

"Turn left at the next light," Kane directed.

"And just so you know, my building doesn't have private parking. Or an elevator. Or... well, much of anything, really."

Cyrus's expression darkened as he parked the Bentley on a cramped street lined with aging apartment buildings.

The neighborhood was a far cry from his polished downtown penthouse.

"You live here?" he said, making no effort to hide his distaste.

Kane shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Bureau salary doesn't exactly scream luxury living."

They climbed four flights of narrow stairs, Kane wincing at each piece of peeling wallpaper and suspicious stain.

He'd never been embarrassed about his apartment before, but seeing it through Cyrus's eyes made him hyperaware of its shortcomings.

At his door, Kane fumbled with his keys, then froze.

"Something's wrong." His voice dropped to a whisper.

The door hung ajar. The lock was splintered.

Kane instinctively reached for his gun.

Cyrus moved forward silently, placing a restraining hand on Kane's shoulder. His eyes flashed red as he pushed the door open.

The apartment was destroyed.

Furniture overturned, possessions scattered, walls marked with deep gouges. Not a random burglary—this was a deliberate, violent search.

"Someone knew you were coming back," Cyrus murmured, scanning the wreckage.

"And they wanted to send a message."