Around three hours later I’m sitting at McConnell’s. Half the burger was gone. The other half was drowning in fry grease and existential dread.

  My phone buzzed.

  Once.

  Then again.

  Then five more times like it was trying to catch fire too.

  Cam:

  “Jade, how did your painting catch fire”

  Me:

  “Idk”

  Cam:

  “Class ended early”

  He sent a photo of cops talking to Professor Klein. He was still red.

  I need a lawyer.

  Cam:

  “I’m on the way to McConnell’s”

  Me:

  “Already here.”

  I dropped my phone next to the fries and stared at the canvas again. It leaned against the vinyl booth like a guilty dog, charred edges curled like it had been left too close to the sun. The eye was still there.

  Still open.

  Still unblinking.

  I took a sip of orcish mood and glared at it. “You better not blink or whisper anything creepy. I’m one weird noise away from dropkicking you into traffic.”

  No response. Just the quiet hum of a Friday afternoon burger joint and a kid at the next table stabbing his chicken nugget like it owed him money.

  The bell over the door jingled. Cam walked in, spotted me instantly, and made a beeline for the booth like he was storming a crime scene.

  He slid in across from me and immediately looked down at the canvas.

  "...Yo."

  “That’s all you’ve got?” I said. “Yo?”

  He pulled out his phone, angled the screen so I could see the zoomed-in photo of Klein with his arm bandaged and a very official-looking police officer talking to him.

  “Yo,” he repeated. “You might get expelled. Campus security’s been crawling the art building.”

  I’m dreading calling my parents about my art catching fire. I know they can just pay off the dean, but I would never hear the end of it. Like when I slapped that elf in middle school locker room. She pushed me for my lunch money, and I cracked her cheek bone.

  “Cam, I might have to make a call with my mom and dad.” I said bowing my head.

  “Your parents are so kind, I’m sure they’ll understand.” He said gently.

  No, they will grab me by my pointy ears and chew my hybrid ass out like how, her mini-Griffin plays with his chew toys.

  And that thing doesn’t just chew.

  It shreds.

  My mom would probably pace in circles around the house with a wine glass and a verbal dagger, alternating between “You’ve humiliated the bloodline” and “What were you thinking, starting fires with public art?”

  And Dad? He’d go quiet. That dangerous, I’m-smiling-but-I’m-drafting-an-execution-order.

  “Cam,” I whispered, “if I don’t make it through this, delete my sketch folder and clear my browser history.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What’s in your sketch folder?”

  “Nothing illegal.”

  “…Now I really want to know.”

  “You’ll see when I die or disappear.”

  Cam leaned back in the booth, arms crossed, giving me a mock-serious look. “You know, the more you say things like that, the more it sounds like I’m your designated post-death handler.”

  “You are,” I said flatly. “It’s in the will. Right after ‘don’t let my parents cremate me in gold leaf.’”

  He snorted. “Noted. ‘Protect the cursed sketch folder. Scatter ashes nowhere near elves.’ Got it.”

  I laughed a real laugh and I surprised myself. It felt good for exactly three seconds. Then I glanced at the canvas leaning beside us.

  The eye was still open.

  Still watching.

  Only now… the pupil had shifted.

  Just a little.

  Just enough that it was looking slightly more left than it had been before.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I froze.

  Cam was still talking, something about me needing a burner phone or a fake name, but I couldn’t hear him over the drumbeat in my chest.

  Is it moving.

  Or alive. Or haunted. Or… something.

  “Hey, Cam,” I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the canvas.

  “Yeah?”

  “You still have that lighter on your keys?”

  “Uh… yeah?”

  I slid the cursed object across the table toward him. “If this thing blinks, you know what to do.”

  He pushed it back to me. “I’ll give you the lighter, since you have a 2019 Pegasus type M.”

  “Right, then will you go with me?” I asked.

  He huffed and looked at me. “Can you teach me how to drive a stick?”

  I rolled my eyes, “what about if I can go tell that girl you like—”

  He flushed pink.

  “So, you’re riding passenger.” I smiled and padded his shoulder.

  We got in my car and threw the painting in the trunk. We hit the highway just as the sky turned gold and violet, the kind of cinematic sunset that made everything feel temporarily less haunted.

  “Where are we going?” Cam asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said. “Just... away.”

  He stared ahead, fingers drumming the window edge. “Should I be worried you’re the one driving while possibly possessed?”

  I smirked. “Please. I’m always a little possessed. This is just Tuesday.”

  As we pulled farther from the skyline, the glowing arches of Maven City faded in the rearview. Buildings gave way to hills, hills to trees, and streetlights to the slow, creeping dark.

  The canvas thumped once from the trunk.

  We both froze.

  “…Please tell me that was a speed bump,” Cam muttered.

  “We’re on a flat highway,” I said.

  “Right. Cool. Great.”

  I gripped the wheel tighter.

  Another thump. Louder this time.

  Then nothing.

  Cam didn’t speak. Neither did I.

  But I could feel it now—heat blooming through the floorboards. A rising hum in my bones. The kind of energy that said:

  You’re not running away. You’re running to something.

  The third thump hit like a warning.

  The fourth was followed by the unmistakable sound of something scraping.

  Cam flinched. “Okay. Nope. Pull over. Pull over right now!”

  I swerved onto a shoulder off-ramp near an abandoned gas station — the kind with the broken pumps and the flickering "OUT OF ORDER" sign that might’ve been from before either of us was born. The sun was gone. Just fading light and buzzards circling the sky.

  I popped the trunk.

  The canvas was split open down the middle. Not burned. Not torn.

  Unraveled.

  And sitting right in the middle of it—like it had always belonged there—was a creature.

  Cat-sized. Thirty pounds, tops.

  All sleek charcoal and silver markings like ink bleeding through velvet.

  Its body was long and narrow, with two sets of limbs—forelegs and back talons—and paper-thin wings curled like folded fans against its spine.

  Its eyes were slitted green. Bright. Unblinking.

  “Cam,” I whispered, “don’t make any sudden movements.”

  He took one look and made a very sudden movement: a high-pitched yelp and a full-body shuffle behind me.

  The creature blinked once. Then stretched. Like a cat waking from a nap.

  Then it spoke. Not out loud. Not with a mouth.

  In my head.

  “I’m hungry. Do you have any meat?”

  I froze.

  And blinked.

  “What?” I asked aloud.

  “I said, I’m hungry do you have anything to eat?” She asked in a very feminine voice.

  I crossed my arms, “first who are you and are you a dragon?”

  She stretched her legs like a cat again. “Yes, I am a dragon. More like your dragon I do not have a name just yet, but please can I have something to eat.”

  Cam who was hiding behind my back. “Are you speaking to it?”

  I turned to look behind me, “yes.” Then I turned to look at the lizard. “So, was it you that burned my assignment?”

  She just snorted. A puff of warm air curled from her nostrils and scattered the ash still clinging to the trunk carpet.

  “Technically,” she said, “you burned it. I merely responded to the call.”

  I blinked. “You sound like a motivational poster.”

  Cam peeked around my shoulder again. “Did it burn it?”

  “Yes,” I said, still watching her. “Apparently I summoned a dragon with art school trauma.”

  The dragon—my dragon? —gave a delighted little trill and leapt lightly from the trunk, landing beside my foot. Her wings rustled but didn’t open.

  She looked up at me with her glowing eyes. “Your thoughts painted the gate. I simply followed the thread through.”

  “Okay, cool,” I muttered, “so we’re doing the cryptic chosen-one thing now.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, almost pouting. “You dreamed me into the waking world. I came hungry. I am hungry.”

  Cam cleared his throat. “Okay but like... does it eat people?”

  She snorted again, “Tell the human that he will not call me a mere object!” She snapped.

  I pick up the heavy dragon, “we don’t have food with us, but if you can torch this panting, we can get you something to eat.” I scratched her head.

  “Deal. And I want more scratches,” she purred, leaning into my hand like she’d just claimed me as her emotional support human elven hybrid.

  Cam made a face. “How can you understand that thing it’s not speaking?”

  I smiled, “she in my head but can you pull the panting out of the trunk and place it in the wet grass?”

  “Fine your buying dinner on the way back.”

  My dragon just looked back up at me with a slow blink that said everything. I placed her down and she made an audible in-hale. As soon Cam move away from the panting, she exhaled shooting out a golden jet of fire

  The heat coming off her jet was intense. As I was watching her, my body was thoroughly warmed when she stopped blowing fire.

  “There I torched it, and can I be fed now?” She pranced like a pony and the painting was smoldering.

  She is a little flamethrower.

  I blinked three times.

  “Before we go, do you have to do anything?” I asked.

  Without a word, she walked over to the smoldering remains of the painting and lifted her leg.

  Cam choked. “Is she seriously—”

  “Yup,” I said flatly, rubbing my eyes. “She’s marking her territory.”

  “I thought dragons were majestic.”

  “She is. Majestically unhinged.”

  The sizzling sound hit the air like holy water on a cursed relic.

  Cam backed up. “Nope. That’s enough magic for me today.”

  The little flamethrower-in-disguise gave a very pleased flick of her tail and strutted back to me like she'd just performed a sacred ritual instead of peeing on a flaming art project.

  “I feel better now,” she declared, practically glowing with pride. “And hungry. Still hungry.”

  “Right,” I sighed, scooping her back up. “Let’s go feed my demon lizard child before she decides to flamethrower the glove box.”

  “She’s not riding in the back?” Cam asked as I slid behind the wheel.

  “No, she’s riding in my lap,” I said pushing the clutch in and pushing the push to start.

  The car growled to life and the entertainment system came to life flashing anime pictures.

  Cam groaned. “Gods, you have to teach me drive a stick. This car’s way too hot to be wasted on someone that barely drives.”

  “I do drive.” I said proudly. “And no one drives the Pegasus, but me.”

  My dragon let out a pleased chirp, adjusting herself in my lap like a smug weighted blanket. She curled her tail around the gear stick possessively.

  “She knows she’s the favorite,” Cam muttered, pulling the seatbelt across his chest.

  “She’s the only one who didn’t make fun of my anime wallpaper,” I shot back.

  “What’s anime?” the dragon said in my head.

  My mouth dropped open, then clicked shut. “When we get back to the dorm we are watching Swords Adventure, on Truelulu.”