Look.

  Just because it wasn’t the right kind of scale doesn’t mean it had to go to waste.

  That’s what I told myself as I dropped the brittle little red scrap into a bubbling pot of vinegar and broth and watched it like it was dying all over again. The steam hissed up, thick with sour heat and something faintly... reptilian.

  I gave it a stir. The scale dissolved clean, left behind a reddish shimmer like glitter from hell.

  Nice. Fancy.

  Behind me, Dragon finally cracked an eye open.

  “No,” he said.

  I didn’t turn. “No what?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  He groaned into the moss. “Saya, that was a wyrm scale.”

  “Yeah, and now it’s ”

  “You’re insane.”

  “You’re dramatic. I added wild greens. And noodles.”

  He sat up, slowly. Sniffed the air once. His brow furrowed.

  “…Is that… rice vinegar?”

  I grinned. “”

  Another sniff. Closer this time.

  “Wild gingerroot?”

  “Maybe.”

  He leaned over the pot, gave it a long, slow inhale, then exhaled with a reluctant sigh.

  “…You used ”

  “Yours, mine, stolen from a smuggler’s noodle cart in Port Ulisha—does it matter? It’s soup. And it smells divine.”

  He squinted. “It’s probably cursed.”

  “Cursed soup’s still soup.”

  We stared at each other.

  I handed him a bowl.

  He took it.

  Grumbled the whole time, of course.

  But he slurped the first bite.

  Then the second.

  Then looked at me with deep, resigned shame.

  “…Damn it.”

  I smirked. “Good?”

  He didn’t answer.

  But he asked for seconds.

  Which is basically an apology in Dragon.