Pythorus made a thoughtful humming sound. “The Drakkon’s reaction was…intense.”
“That’s one word for it,” Elian muttered.
She laughed again, warmth spreading through her chest. It felt good, this ease, this shared amusement, this brief escape from the weight of their purpose. Moments like these reminded her that even amid danger and divine conspiracies, they were still a family navigating the absurdities of life together.
The basilisk took another measured sip, his expression softening. “Your sister possesses remarkable determination.”
“That’s a polite way to say terrifying,” Elian said.
“Accurate,” she agreed.
A sudden crash shattered the easy warmth of the moment. Sharp, heated, and distinctly territorial voices rose near the bar. The low hum of conversation faltered as attention shifted toward the disturbance.
A cluster of young basilisks had gathered near the counter, their forms coiling and uncoiling with restless energy. They spoke over one another in loud, swaggering tones, all posturing bravado and puffed pride, their hoods flaring slightly as they argued.
One of them struck the bar with a heavy palm, rattling glasses.
Another hissed something sharp in response.
The tension in the room thickened.
Beside her, Elian straightened slowly. The teasing ease drained from his expression, replaced by focused attention. His gaze fixed on the arguing group, pupils narrowing slightly. “I feel something,” he murmured.
She turned toward him. “What kind of something?”
His brow furrowed. “Magical.”
The single word settled heavily between them.
Elian’s sight of auras rarely stirred without reason. He saw what others could not, the shimmer of power, the signature of enchantments, the subtle currents of divine or unnatural energy. If something had caught his attention, it was never insignificant.
Liora didn’t hesitate. She tipped her glass back and drained the last of the glowing liquid in a single swallow. The sharp taste burned down her throat as she set the cup down with a decisivethudagainst the table.
“Well,” she said, pushing her chair back, “I guess we should find the lovebirds then.”
Understanding flashed immediately across Elian’s face while Pythorus’s golden eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
Earlier that evening, when they had seen Zara and Pythorus on their “date,” Hektor had reacted like a storm given form, silent and utterly focused. Without a word to anyone else, he had seized Zara and dragged her from Pythorus, hauling her outside the restaurant while they watched in stunned fascination.
The aftermath had promised drama.
The arguing basilisks near the bar suddenly broke apart, their agitation sharpening into purpose. With sharp hisses and muttered challenges, they began moving toward the exit, broad shoulders bumping into each other and tables as they went.
Pythorus uncoiled smoothly. “I think we should check out what’s happening,” he said calmly, though the alert tension in his posture betrayed his readiness.
“Yeah, there’s something there,” Elian rolled his shoulders. “I definitely want to know what that aura is.”
Without another word, the three of them followed. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, more had gathered. Phones were out, recording the chaos like it was the evening’s entertainment.
Before she could say more, two unmistakably familiar figures emerged at their side: Hektor and Zara. The Drakkon stood rigid and alert, every line of his diamond-scaled body coiled with tension, while Zara wore a distinctly unimpressed expression, irritation sharpening her gaze.
Liora leaned close. “I think,” she whispered dramatically, “we need to triangulate.”
Elian nodded earnestly. “We have a feeling about these guys.”
Zara arched a brow. “Really? Now?”
“Chaos tends to shake loose magic,” Pythorus only shrugged. “Might as well use the opportunity.”
