Mortals favored drama in their naming conventions, which made research unnecessarily theatrical.
Even so, my pulse jumped. I didn’t appreciate the physiological response. I preferred clarity when I worked. Distance. Objectivity.
But I already knew what I would find.
I traced the entry.
Granted direct access to dragon leadership. Historian. Genealogist. Last recorded human permitted full archival reach prior to the era of secrecy.
The last.
I exhaled slowly.
Before I could read further, the air shifted behind me.
Caliban appeared a moment later, his dark hair perfectly in place, his striking features schooled in that ever-present composed expression, his stance saying he was ready for anything. He wore the same tailored coat he preferred for travel, the one reinforced with fireproof lining. The scar along his left hand caught the light from the lamps, a quiet reminder of the oath he had taken for my family. He carried calm the way other men carried their wallets—without thought and always availablewhen needed.
“Alpha,” he said. “You seem distressed. Should I prepare medical supplies or emotional support?”
“Neither.”
“Emotional support, then.”
“No.”
“Very well. Understood.” A pause, then Caliban said, under his breath, “Definitely emotional support.”
I refused to acknowledge it, though that strategy had never once discouraged him.
“You need to see something,” I said, pulling the compendium toward me.
Caliban stepped to my side without hesitation. He had been beside me for as long as I could remember. My father had hired him as my steward when I was a child, though he’d been my guard and instructor as well.
He had been the one to walk beside me through lessons I did not excel at and navigated the silences my father did not know how to bridge. When my father’s expectations became too heavy, Caliban absorbed what he could without comment.
My father trusted him in ways he had never trusted me. I had learned to live with that.
Mostly.
After my father died, Caliban did not leave, even though his contract had been with my father and not with me. He did not offer platitudes or attempt to manage my grief. He simply remained. He took over what needed doing when I could notdo them. He stood watch when I could not sleep. He learned my routines before I realized they had changed.
He was the closest thing to a brother I would ever have, and I respected him fiercely.
I tapped the entry in the compendium. “Caballero was granted direct access to dragon leaders. He was the last human to have had that kind of access to our world. This man documented our bloodlines, migration patterns, and the magical decay. We should have traced this sooner.”
To my irritation, Caliban was typing on his new phone.
“Caliban,” I said. “I am explaining something important.”
“I’m listening.”
“You are typing.”
“I’m gathering information. I can type and listen at the same time.”
I stared. He kept scrolling.
My father would have confiscated the device and said it was evidence of intellectual laziness and an affront to discipline itself.
