The ballroom feels suffocating—too many glittering gowns, too much forced laughter. You need air. Slipping out through a side door, you find yourself in the garden, where the cool night wraps around you like a balm.

You wander, letting the quiet settle your nerves, until a shimmer of red catches your eye. At first, you think it’s silk, caught in the moonlight. But as you step closer, you realize it’s something else entirely—scales.

Leaning against a marble column stood a dragon. His horns gleamed, his tail curled lazily at his feet, and smoke curled from his lips.

“You’re far from the party,” he says, his voice a low, resonant rumble.