Elly’s hands gripped the steering wheel like it had personally offended her. Knuckles pale, jaw set, eyes locked ahead. The cheery sky-blue hatchback felt smaller than ever as it swerved a little too close to the bumper in front of us.

  “Uh,” I said carefully, “you realize lanes are sort of… not optional, right?”

  She didn’t answer, just pressed harder on the gas.

  The light ahead turned yellow. Elly flicked her wrist almost casually—and it flipped back to green. Traffic surged forward under her command.

  “Right. Because why obey rules when you can bully reality instead,” I muttered.

  Normally that would earn me a smirk, or at least a jab about my complete lack of parallel parking skills. Instead, Elly’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line.

  And then she swerved—hard. A horn blared as we slid too close to a passing SUV. My heart tried to escape through my throat.

  “Elly!”

  She blinked. She actually blinked, like she’d just remembered she had eyes.

  “Pull over,” I said firmly.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You nearly murdered us and the good people of the Honda. Pull. Over.”

  A long silence. She inhaled sharp through her nose, then cut across two lanes and jerked into the lot of a strip mall. The car idled, trembling faintly, while she sat rigid in the driver’s seat.

  I reached for the handle. “Switch.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Elly.”

  Her protest died. She slid out wordlessly, and I did the same. We crossed paths as she stalked around the hood and flopped into the passenger seat with all the grace of a cat thrown into a bathtub. I slipped behind the wheel, adjusted the seat, and tried not to notice her still-trembling hands.

  We pulled out. The silence stretched, brittle as glass.

  Finally, I said, “So… chili cheese fries?”

  Her head snapped toward me. “What?”

  “You look like you need chili cheese fries. And I need onion rings. And maybe we both need root beer floats to pretend the world isn’t falling apart.”

  For a moment, she stared like I’d grown a second head. Then, grudgingly: “Chili cheese fries. And a float. Large. With whipped cream.”

  “Atta girl.” I swung into the drive-thru of a neon-lit burger joint. The speaker crackled, a too-cheerful voice announcing, “Welcome to Burgertown, where every bite’s a battle! Can I take your order?”

  I glanced at Elly. She muttered, “Chili cheese fries, large root beer float.”

  I relayed the order, then added, “Bacon cheeseburger, onion rings,” I hesitated, “and extra ketchup packets.”

  Elly turned slowly, horror dawning. “Did you just—no. Absolutely not. You can’t voluntarily ask for ketchup.”

  “It’s a condiment. A noble sauce with history and dignity.”

  “It’s tomato sugar paste. The devil’s jelly. The only thing worse is mayo, and at least mayo admits it’s an evil emulsion.”

  “Don’t you dare slander ketchup. This country was built on—”

  “Onion rings are the superior fried side, and you ruin them with ketchup?” She clutched her float cup like it was holy water. “You’re a monster.”

  The bag passed through the window. The smell of fries and grease filled the car. For the first time since Jade’s office, Elly’s mouth twitched into something almost like a smile.

  Which was exactly the point.

  We ate in silence for a while, parked under a flickering streetlight in the corner of the parking lot. Her float made obnoxious slurping noises through the straw. My onion rings burned my tongue, but it was worth it.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Finally, she broke. “We can’t tell Lily.”

  I swallowed. “You’re kidding, right? She deserves to know what Jade pulled.”

  “No. She deserves to sleep at night without worrying she’s chained to dragon debt collectors or responsible for our debt on her behalf.” Elly stabbed at her fries with a pair of pinching fingers like they’d wronged her. “If she finds out, she’ll either martyr herself or burn the city down. Neither helps.”

  She had a point there. “So, what, we just… what? Pretend we’re Jade’s errand boys now?”

  Elly’s eyes flashed. “Better us than her. That was the point.”

  “And what about you, Elly? You didn’t have to do this. This is my mess.”

  Her jaw tightened. “I made the call. I’ll live with it and keep you alive in the process.”

  “You nearly ran a guy off the road after making that call.”

  “I was… distracted.”

  “Panicking,” I corrected.

  She glared. “Oh, don’t you psychoanalyze me. Just because you—”

  The phone buzzed.

  We both froze.

  I dug it out of the greasy bag of fries and napkins where I’d shoved it earlier. The “burner” Jade had given us, its black casing etched with faint metallic lines, sat sleek and heavy in my palm. The lines shimmered when tilted, like draconic scales just beneath the surface.

  The background flashed a logo in smug corporate font: HOARDLINK MOBILE.

  A tagline slid beneath it: “Unlimited Plans. Unlimited Power. (Roaming charges may apply across dimensions).”

  I snorted. “Oh, perfect. I’ve been assimilated into Dragon Verizon.”

  Elly leaned close, her shoulder brushing mine. “Do not click anything. Dragons write contracts into the Terms of Service.”

  The phone buzzed again. A new text appeared. The letters glowed faintly gold, then faded as I read them aloud:

  TASK #1: DISCREET ARRIVAL:

  ADDRESS: 147 HARLOWE STREET.

  INSTRUCTIONS: DO NOT WEAR RED. KNOCK THREE TIMES. BRING EXACT CHANGE.

  I stared. “What the hell does ‘don’t wear red’ even mean?”

  Elly stole one of my onion rings, bit into it, and chewed with malicious glee. “Means dragons are picky eaters.”

  I dropped my head against the steering wheel. “This is my life now. Great.”

  The address and instructions sat on the burner phone screen like it had teeth. I read it three times, like the words would eventually sprout footnotes or maybe an apology. They didn’t.

  Elly leaned over the center console, root beer float straw sticking out of her mouth like an IV line for sugar. “Well. That’s comforting.”

  “No red,” I repeated. “What does that even mean? Like, no red shirts? No red cars? Do I have to stop eating hot sauce to qualify?”

  She flicked the straw against her cup and gave me a look sharp enough to cut a sandwich in half. “Don’t joke. It’s important. If Jade said it, it matters.”

  “Or,” I said, waving my final onion ring like a lawyer presenting evidence, “she’s screwing with me for fun. She could just have well of said for us to show up dressed as clowns in bikinis.”

  “She doesn’t screw with people for fun,” Elly shot back. “That’s me. Dragons screw with people for power.”

  That shut me up. For about six seconds. “Okay, but… exact change. What kind of money are we talking here? Dollars? Euros? Canadian loonies? I have like, three Sacagawea dollars in my desk drawer—do those count as exact change, or just as proof I don’t clean?”

  Elly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It won’t be normal money. Probably tokens. Or blood weight. Or something equally valuable to Alterkind. Exact change means no shorting, no rounding up. They want a price, and they want it precise.”

  “Where am I supposed to get any of that stuff?”

  “I can handle that part. I know a guy. We’ll hit it on the way to our appointment.”

  “Supernatural Venmo,” I muttered. “Great. Does it come with cash back rewards?”

  “Daniel.” Her voice had that dangerous edge—the one where I couldn’t tell if she was going to yell at me or laugh. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s a little funny,” I said, softer.

  She didn’t answer. She just stared out the windshield, chewing her lip. The half-eaten chili fries sat abandoned in her lap, a graveyard of melted cheese and lukewarm regret.

  I reached into my hoodie pocket, the familiar weight of the small charm pressing against my fingers. I tugged it out—a thin piece of silver etched with designs I didn’t pretend to understand. “Well, at least I’ve got this. Never leave home without it.”

  Her head whipped toward me. “You—wait, you kept it?”

  “Of course I kept it.” I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s my good luck charm. Literally. I survived that rescue mission with it in my pocket, so it must work, right?”

  She blinked at me. Once. Twice. Then she shoved her float into the cup holder and scrubbed at her eyes like she’d just gotten dust in them. “Idiot,” she muttered, voice thick.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  “No.” She pushed her seat back and pointed at me. “Hoodie. Hand it over.”

  I hesitated but clumsily shrugged out of one sleeve and then the other. I passed it over. She twisted in her seat, folding up her legs beneath her. Then she tugged at the edge of my hoodie and began murmuring under her breath. Her fingers danced quick sigils into the fabric, each glowing faintly before sinking into the threads.

  I sat very still. The smell of ozone and sugar drifted through the car, mixing weirdly with the scent of fast food grease. It was absurd. It was terrifying. It was… us.

  Finally, she sat back, drained. “There. That should hold. Protection, camouflage, a little luck boost if things go south.”

  “South is my default direction,” I said with a playful wink I only half felt, but if the jokes stopped, I might feel truly afraid.

  She didn’t even roll her eyes this time. She just looked tired. “Daniel… ride or die, right?”

  The lump in my throat made swallowing any more onion rings impossible. I let the last one cool in the carton. “Ride or die,” I said quietly.

  I started the car, while she typed in the address. The GPS chirped, cheerful as hell, like it wasn’t guiding us toward probable doom. “Turn right in 300 feet.”

  My stomach gurgled. Hers answered resoundingly.

  Elly groaned, pressing a hand against her side. “God, if we die tonight, bury me with chili fries.”

  I pulled out onto the street. “You’ve got it. No red. Exact change. Greasy food ghosts haunting me forever.”

  The car rolled into the night. And Harlowe Street waited.