Requesting an audience with a dragon sounded better in theory than in practice.

  I’d texted Jade’s Hoardlink number with all the tact of a kid asking if Mom could pick him up early from school: Need to talk. Urgent. I expected silence. Maybe a passive-aggressive emoji. Instead, I got a one-line reply that landed like a summons:

  WEST PARK. NOON. BRING THE SUCCUBUS.

  So now I was sweating under an oak tree, trying to look like I belonged anywhere near Lily in her killer blouse and pencil skirt. She walked with the kind of calm grace that made heads swivel, her copper hair catching every scrap of sunlight. My shirt was wrinkled, my sneakers scuffed, and I looked like the kid brother she’d been forced to drag along.

  “Relax,” Lily murmured, brushing her hand along my arm. “You look fine.”

  “I look like a guy about to get mugged by a tea set,” I muttered.

  She smiled—small, secretive—and for a second her eyes softened in a way that made my chest tighten. Then the look vanished, replaced with the poised mask she wore for anyone not named Daniel Mercer.

  The “meeting place” wasn’t a park bench or a café patio like a normal person would choose. It was a pavilion that hadn’t been there yesterday. Silk screens rippled in the breeze, embroidered with cloud motifs. A low lacquered table gleamed at the center, set with a porcelain teapot and cups so delicate I was afraid to breathe on them. Jade sat waiting for us, a picture of perfect posture in a deep green cheongsam, her hair pinned with jade combs.

  The world bent around her.

  Humans strolled past the pavilion without a glance, dogs tugged leashes to sniff at flowers, and kids shouted by the fountain. Not one of them noticed the dragon sipping tea at the heart of their park.

  “Daniel Mercer,” Jade said as we approached. Her smile was a crescent moon—beautiful, cold, and sharp. “And Lilith, honored guest. Sit.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. It was gravity.

  I lowered myself onto the cushion across from her, trying not to look like I was kneeling to royalty. Lily settled beside me, every movement measured, her own aura clashing with Jade’s like perfume on smoke.

  “You asked for this meeting,” Jade said, pouring two cups of floral-scented tea. Her claws gleamed briefly, clinking on the delicate cups before they smoothed back into manicured nails. “Speak.”

  Straightforward. Good. I liked straightforward. Except my throat decided to tighten at that very moment. I cleared my throat.

  “It’s the Collectors,” I managed. “We’ve seen them. They’re… taking people. Not killing. Not feeding. Taking. Flattening them like photos and vanishing. They’ve already circled me twice. And…” I hesitated, because Jade’s gaze was pinning me like a bug under glass. “And they took Elly’s car.”

  Something flickered behind her eyes, reptilian for half a breath. “The Curator’s hands,” she said softly, like she was savoring the words. “The game reveals itself.”

  She passed one of the cups to Lily, who took it with both hands, a practiced move almost.

  “You knew?” I blurted.

  Her smile never shifted. “I suspected.”

  “Suspected?” My voice cracked. “And you didn’t warn us?”

  “Warn you?” She tilted her head. “Daniel, you mistake our arrangement. You are not my partner. You are my contracted employee.”

  She took a sip of her own tea to punctuate the declaration.

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  That stung worse than it should have. I clenched my fists under the table. “Then consider this worker asking for better conditions. Straightforward jobs. No more riddles, no more fortune cookie missions. If you want me alive enough to do your errands, maybe give me a fighting chance?”

  Her gaze lingered on me, unblinking. Then she reached for the teapot once more and poured my cup herself. Steam curled between us, carrying notes of jasmine and smoke.

  “The straightforward path, Daniel Mercer, is a trap. Those who walk it are seen. Predictable. Eaten. I maneuver you because it keeps you alive.”

  “Feels more like it keeps you entertained,” I muttered.

  “Both can be true.” She raised her own cup with the serene menace of someone who could roast me alive in one breath.

  Lily shifted beside me, her knee brushing mine. Her voice was gentle but firm. “He’s not wrong to be frustrated.”

  Jade’s eyes slid to her. “And what do you think, little flame? Do you believe he deserves better treatment?”

  Lily’s lips parted. For a heartbeat, I saw hesitation—then something else broke through, raw and unguarded. “I think he deserves honesty. He saved me. He… means more to me than I realized.”

  My breath caught.

  She flushed but didn’t look away. “If you’re going to use him, you’ll have to go through me.”

  The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

  Jade studied Lily the way a cat studies a bird that dares to puff its chest. Then she laughed softly, a sound like glass chimes. “Ah. Passion. Always the succubus currency. Perhaps it will serve.”

  She set her cup down and slid a small parcel across the table. A red envelope, like a Chinese New Year gift, heavy with something that clicked faintly inside. “Your fourth task.”

  I didn’t touch it. “Already?”

  “You will not rush. You will plan,” Jade said. “Unlike the others, this one will not tolerate improvisation. You have… a week.”

  Lily frowned. “And if we refuse?”

  Jade’s teeth flashed, too sharp for human. “You will not. Debt unpaid is a chain, and I am very good with chains.”

  I swallowed hard, staring at the envelope. Every instinct told me not to open it here, not under her eyes.

  Jade rose gracefully, attendants folding the silk screens behind her. “Enjoy your tea. We will speak again soon.”

  She left without looking back, her heels clicking soft as raindrops on stone. The pavilion shimmered once, then simply wasn’t there. Just grass and an empty path.

  The porcelain cups, still in our hands, steamed quietly between us.

  I leaned back, exhaling. “Well. That wasn’t terrifying at all.”

  Lily smirked faintly, but her hand found mine under the table. Her skin was warm, steady. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

  And for once, I didn’t argue.

  The park looked different without Jade in it. Quieter, softer. Like the whole place had been holding its breath and finally let it out the moment she left.

  Lily and I walked side by side down the gravel path, shoes crunching in the silence. I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket, still rattled, while she walked with her arms loose, easy, like she hadn’t just stood toe-to-toe with a dragon.

  After a block, she slipped her hand into mine.

  I stiffened automatically. Not because I didn’t want it—but because I wasn’t sure what it meant. With Lily, every touch carried weight. Every glance, every brush of skin was charged in ways normal people couldn’t even process.

  “You don’t have to—” I started.

  “I know,” she said. Her voice was low, softer than I’d ever heard it. “I want to.”

  We kept walking. The late afternoon sun painted her hair in copper fire, her blouse clinging in ways that had already earned us glares from three separate women we passed. I risked a glance, and she was watching me with a small, knowing smile.

  “You let me in,” she said finally. “After all that pushing and prodding, after all the times you tried to shut me out… you trusted me enough to tell me everything.”

  “That doesn’t make it safe,” I said, throat tight.

  “No,” she agreed. “But it makes it honest. And honesty matters more to me than safety.”

  I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t know what to do with her, period. She was danger wrapped in silk, all teeth and tenderness, and somehow, she was looking at me like I was worth the risk.

  She stopped walking, tugging my hand to make me face her. For a moment, I thought she was going to scold me again or tell me I smelled like secrets the way she always did.

  Instead, she leaned in, surprising and scaring me for a dozen reasons all at once.

  “We can’t. Your powers. You know what happened last time.”

  “So, pull back on yours. I have a feeling that you can if you want to, and feelings are my thing.”

  I frowned. Was that even possible? I was so distracted by the idea that she laid one on me without me short-circuiting her. It wasn’t dramatic—no dip, no fireworks. Just a soft press of her lips against mine. Warm, steady, brief.

  When she pulled back, her eyes searched mine, looking for something, I wasn’t sure I had to give.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “For keeping me safe. But more than that—for letting me help keep you safe. I needed that.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to make a joke or deflect, but nothing came out. My brain short-circuited somewhere between holy crap Lily just kissed me, and Elly is going to kill me. And I didn’t fry her!

  So, I just squeezed her hand back.

  Her smile was small but real. “Good. That’s enough for now.”

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, her hand never leaving mine. And for once, I didn’t pull away.