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The whole evening had become increasingly surreal. Drake brought out food, Keegan ate enough for three people, and Ignatius somehow managed to look completely relaxed while his mate investigated what was beginning to resemble a crime.

It took longer than I'd expected, which was oddly reassuring.

Doryu didn't tap six keys and magically produce Ash's father's bank statements. He asked questions, searched public records, followed property information and corporate registrations, then disappeared down digital paths that stopped making sense to me within minutes.

I looked across at him. Keegan and Drake had moved into the kitchen, while Doryu remained absorbed in his laptop at the dining table.

I barely touched my plate.

Every time my phone lit with a notification, my attention snapped toward it before I could stop myself.

None of them were Ash, and eventually, I turned it face down.

Ignatius noticed. Of course he fucking did. “He’s more than a teammate.”

“You don't know me well enough to make that assumption.”

“No,” Ignatius agreed. “But I know dragons.”

My shoulders tightened instinctively.

There were things about me I didn't discuss with other dragons unless absolutely necessary, and my nature was near the top of that list. Ignatius knew what I was because the council knew. That didn't mean I wanted him examining what it might mean for Ash, especially when I'd spent most of the last twenty-four hours trying very hard not to examine it myself.

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“I didn't say it did.”

“You didn't need to.”

The irony of the words wasn't lost on me, and apparently not on Ignatius either because his mouth twitched briefly before his attention shifted toward my phone.

“I've spent most of my adult life making sure people don't matter too much,” I admitted.

I wasn't entirely sure why I was telling him. Maybe because Ignatius already knew enough about lifebound dragons that I wouldn't have to explain the parts that sounded insane even to me, or perhaps I was simply tired enough to stop pretending I had everything under control.

He didn't offer sympathy.

I appreciated that.

“I got very good at leaving first. If someone wanted more than I could give them, I walked away, and if they started looking at me like I was the answer to every fucking question they'd ever had, I walked faster. It worked for a long time.”

“Until Ash.”

There was no judgment in the observation, which somehow made it harder to dismiss.

I thought about Ash laughing on my couch, his body warm against mine, and the expression on his face after his goal two days ago. There had been something in that look I'd wanted so badly to believe belonged entirely to him that I'd almost managed to forget why believing it scared me.

Almost.

My mother had taught me what happened when attachment became something else.

Melanie had provided a more recent reminder.

Different circumstances, different people, but the same sick question had followed me for years.

How much of this was them, and how much of it was me?

Ash had never behaved like Melanie. He hadn't pursued me relentlessly or treated a few moments of attention as though I'd promised him something. Half the time he seemed more inclined to argue with me than worship me, and yesterday he'd proven beyond any reasonable doubt that he was perfectly capable of telling me to back the fuck off.