Dragons don't exist,she told herself for the thousandth time since yesterday, the mantra feeling more desperate than convincing.There's a logical explanation for all of this.
But logic had taken a serious beating when Ben had rushed over after her panicked phone call, touching the artifact with the clinical detachment of someone handling any other piece of ancient stone. Nothing. No glow, no hum, no supernatural reaction whatsoever. Just Ben standing there looking concerned while she tried to explain why she was practically vibrating with unexplained energy.
"It's like it knows me," she'd whispered to him, the words feeling ridiculous even as they left her mouth.
Ben had offered to stay the night, his practical nature warring with genuine worry for her wellbeing. But Maple had sent him home with assurances she couldn't quite believe herself—that wrapping and containing the artifact would solve the problem, that she'd figure everything out after talking to her mother.
Famous last words.
Now, dragging herself out of bed felt like emerging from a fever dream. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror looked exactly as haggard as she felt—dark circles under eyes that seemed too bright, hair that had given up any pretense of cooperation, and a pallor that suggested she'd been living on desperation and anxiety for weeks rather than hours.
She splashed cold water on her face, hoping to shock some semblance of normalcy back into her system, then pulled on jeans and a sweater with movements that felt mechanical and disconnected. Coffee. She needed coffee and then she needed answers, preferably in that order.
The doorbell's sharp chime nearly sent her jumping out of her skin, her nervous system apparently deciding that all sounds now qualified as potential threats. She pressed a hand to herracing heart, took a steadying breath, and moved toward the front door with steps that felt uncharacteristically uncertain.
It's just Mom. Mom and whatever expert she's bringing to help sort this mess out.
But when she opened the door, her mother wasn't alone with some dusty academic colleague or museum consultant. Standing beside Dr. Marie Westen was a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine—petite, perfectly put-together, with snow-white hair styled in an immaculate bob and wearing a designer pantsuit in electric blue that somehow managed to be both professional and playful.
"Maple, darling," her mother began, her voice carrying that blend of worry and exasperation that had characterized most of their interactions." "This is Gerri Wilder. Gerri, my daughter Maple."
The tiny woman stepped forward with a confidence that seemed to fill the entire doorway, her bright blue eyes taking in Maple's disheveled appearance with an expression that managed to be both sympathetic and knowing.
"Oh, honey," Gerri said, her voice carrying a warmth that felt like being wrapped in cashmere, "you look like you've been completely unraveling overnight. When your mother called and described your situation, I knew we needed to act fast."
Maple blinked, still processing the fact that this elegant stranger was somehow connected to whatever supernatural nightmare she'd stumbled into. "I... please, come in."
She stepped back, ushering them into her living room with movements that felt disconnected from her body. The space that had always been her sanctuary—filled with carefully organized books, artifact replicas, and the controlled chaos of her research—now felt like a stage set for a conversation she wasn't prepared to have.
"Something is happening to me," Maple said without preamble as they settled onto her couch, her voice coming out more raw than she'd intended. "I need help figuring it out, both legally and... and whatever else this is."
Her mother's expression shifted into the familiar territory of maternal concern mixed with professional irritation. "Maple, I've told you repeatedly that chasing these dragon fantasies would eventually get you into serious trouble."
"Marie," Gerri interjected smoothly, her voice carrying an authority that seemed to defuse the brewing argument before it could fully form, "let the poor dear finish her story. This sounds absolutely fascinating already."
Fascinating?
As if Maple's potential mental breakdown was some kind of entertaining puzzle to be solved.
But there was something in Gerri's tone—a combination of genuine interest and underlying certainty—that made Maple feel like maybe, for the first time since this whole mess began, someone might actually believe her.
"So yesterday, Ben and I went to Trigg Corporation land," Maple began, her voice gaining strength as she fell into the familiar rhythm of reporting facts. "I'd heard rumors about a dragon artifact hidden somewhere in the canyon region. I know it was illegal, I know it was reckless, but something was pulling me there. Like I had to find it."
Her mother opened her mouth, probably to launch into another lecture about practical decision-making, but Gerri's subtle hand gesture silenced her.
"Well, we found it," Maple continued, the memory still feeling surreal. "This red rock, shaped almost like a heart, fits perfectly in your palm. At first it looked completely ordinary, but when I traced the triangle carved into its surface..."
She paused, remembering the moment when her world had shifted on its axis.
"It started glowing from the inside, and heat flooded my entire body, like it recognized me somehow. Ben touched it later and nothing happened—no glow, no reaction, nothing. It only responds to me."
Gerri's eyes had gone wide during the description, but not with the skepticism Maple had expected. Instead, there was something that looked almost like wonder, mixed with a satisfaction that seemed oddly out of place.
"Could I see this artifact?" Gerri asked, her voice carrying a breathless quality that made Maple's stomach clench with new anxiety.
Maple nodded, moving to the cabinet where she'd stored the childhood treasure chest that now housed something far more significant than childhood memories. The small wooden box felt heavier than it should, as if the artifact inside had somehow gained mass overnight.
She placed it on the coffee table and lifted the lid, unwrapping the layers of cloth with movements that felt both reverent and terrified. The moment the red stone was exposed to air, she felt that familiar pull—warmth spreading up her arms, her heart rate increasing, every nerve ending suddenly more alive.
