John Price leaned back in his chair, the sunlight streaming through the blinds in his office casting faint, warm stripes across the floor. His dragon-like tail curled lazily around the base of his desk, the faint shimmer of his scales catching the light. His wings, massive and powerful, were folded neatly behind him. Despite their size, they didn’t dominate the room; it was his presence that did.

“Crow,” he called softly, his voice carrying that unmistakable tone of authority that you couldn’t ignore. “Come in.”

You hesitated just outside the door, your heart thudding like a drum. You’d always been careful, always kept your wings hidden beneath layers of clothing. But now? Being called into his office made you feel like a moth fluttering too close to the flame.When you stepped inside, you avoided his eyes, keeping your gaze focused on the worn edges of the floorboards. His piercing stare, the same one he used on the battlefield, was hard to ignore.

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

You did as he asked, trying to appear calm. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the gentle rustle of his scales as he shifted.

“I’ve noticed something,” he said, his tone even but heavy with meaning. “You never show your wings.”

Your stomach dropped. “I... I prefer to keep them hidden. They’re not... presentable.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his otherwise stoic expression. “What do you mean?”

“They’re damaged,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “There are scars, places where the feathers don’t grow back."

For a moment, there was silence. Price’s tail flicked behind him, and he exhaled softly, the sound almost like a low growl. Then he rose to his feet, his towering frame casting a shadow across the desk. He walked around to stand in front of you, his movements deliberate but not threatening.

“Let me see,” he said gently, his voice softening in a way you rarely heard.