Morning in the ruins of the dojo felt… awkward.

  Not quiet—awkward.

  Stone blocks were stacked in strange angles. Wooden beams leaned where they absolutely shouldn’t. A support pillar was somehow upside down. Lucky stood in the middle of it all, hands on her hips, dirt smudged on her face, smiling proudly.

  “Okay,” she said. “I think this works.”

  Sir Dracks stared.

  He didn’t yell. He didn’t even move at first. His golden eyes just scanned the damage—not from Heaven this time, but from enthusiasm. Fang stood nearby, arms crossed, wings twitching slightly like he wanted to say something but knew better.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “That beam,” Sir Dracks said slowly, pointing. “Is load-bearing.”

  Lucky blinked. “Oh. Uh. It looked lonely over there.”

  Fang snorted before he could stop himself.

  Sir Dracks exhaled through his nose. Not angry—restrained. “This dojo was not built on aesthetics.”

  Lucky shrugged. “I wasn’t here when it was built.”

  That sentence hit harder than she meant it to.

  Sir Dracks turned away, tail dragging across the stone. “Exactly.”

  The silence after that was thick. Lucky shifted, suddenly unsure. She hadn’t meant anything by it—she just wanted to help. She always did things how they made sense to her. That had usually worked.

  Sir Dracks walked inside without another word.

  Lucky watched him go, the smile fading. “Did I mess up?”

  Fang hesitated. “…He just needs space.”

  Lucky nodded, but her chest felt tight.