(Out-of-Band. Non-Canonical. No dragons were harmed because none could exist.)

  Jake leaned back in his chair, boots hooked on the desk edge, staring at the paused video on Trent’s laptop.

  “Okay,” Jake said, squinting. “But hear me out. Space dragons.”

  Trent didn’t even look up. “Already better than most meetings.”

  “Right? Massive. Armored. Ancient. Like… cosmic apex predators.”

  “They breathe plasma,” Trent added helpfully. “Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” Jake said. “Guardians of the void. You know. Roar across the stars.”

  Howard stopped typing.

  That should have been Jake’s first warning.

  Trent grinned. “I’m picturing them perched on asteroids like gargoyles.”

  Jake snapped his fingers. “Yes! That. See, Howard gets it.”

  Howard turned slowly in his chair.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

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  Jake waved a hand. “C’mon. It’s just a thought experiment.”

  Howard stood, walked to the whiteboard, and picked up a marker with the quiet resolve of a man about to ruin a childhood.

  “Space,” he said, writing the word.

  Jake nodded. “Great start.”

  Howard drew a box under it.

  NEAR-VACUUM

  He turned back. “Explain how it roars.”

  Jake opened his mouth.

  Closed it.

  “Well,” Trent said carefully, “maybe it doesn’t need air?”

  Howard nodded. “Then there’s no sound.”

  Jake frowned. “Okay but like—intimidation roar. Vibes.”

  Howard drew another box.

  BIOLOGY

  “Any organism that size requires mass,” he said. “Mass implies inertia. Inertia implies momentum. Momentum without reaction mass means it cannot maneuver.”

  He added another word.

  BALLISTIC

  Jake stared at the board. “So you’re saying it just… drifts?”

  “Until it intersects something,” Howard said. “At which point it becomes debris.”

  Trent blinked. “A majestic debris.”

  Howard underlined the word.

  “Debris,” he repeated.

  Jake tried again. “Okay but what if it’s magic?”

  Howard capped the marker.

  “Then it isn’t a dragon,” he said. “It’s a violation.”

  Trent snorted.

  Jake folded his arms. “You’re telling me a giant fire-breathing space lizard couldn’t exist.”

  “I’m telling you,” Howard said, “that if it tried to roar, the moisture in its throat would flash-boil, its eyes would rupture, and any metallic scales would cold-weld together.”

  He paused.

  “Briefly.”

  The room was quiet.

  Trent broke first. “So… no roaring.”

  “No roaring,” Howard agreed.

  Jake sighed. “Man. You really know how to kill a vibe.”

  Howard sat back down and resumed typing.

  “Reality,” he said without looking up, “is very good at that.”

  Jake glanced at Trent. “Still worth thinking about.”

  Trent nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Howard added, flatly, “No dragons.”

  Jake smiled. “Fine. No dragons.”

  He waited a beat.

  “…What about space turtles?”

  Howard’s typing stopped again.