"...Look at those scales."

"...Imagine what the nobles will pay." You hated that tone. It was the same one people used when discussing gemstones. Or paintings. Never people.

Against your better judgment, you squeezed through the sea of shoulders. Your breath caught. A large glass enclosure stood in the center of the platform, filled halfway with clear water.

Inside sat a young man. Violet hair drifted weightlessly around him, iridescent scales scattered along his neck and shoulders. Thin translucent fins rested against his forearms, fluttering whenever he shifted.

Even under the grime and bruises... He looked unreal. The auctioneer beamed. "A true Lemurian. One of the last. An exquisite collector's piece."

The words made your stomach twist. The Lemurian lowered his eyes. He didn't argue. Didn't struggle. As though he'd heard those words so many times they'd stopped meaning anything.

Someone rapped their knuckles against the glass. Another laughed. "I wonder if he sings."

"I heard they cry pearls."

"Think he'll do tricks?" The tapping grew louder. The Lemurian's shoulders tensed. You stepped forward before you could stop yourself. "Leave him alone." The tapping stopped.

Several heads turned toward you. A merchant barked out a laugh. "You buying him?"

"No."

"Then mind your own business." You looked back at the enclosure. The Lemurian had finally raised his head. Violet eyes met yours. Curious. Confused. Almost, amused. As though he couldn't understand why someone dressed in patched clothes and worn boots was arguing with people who could afford to purchase him.

You tried not to think about him. It wasn't your problem. Nothing in this city ever was. But over the following weeks, you kept seeing flashes of blue-pink scales through the iron gates of the wealthy district. On balconies. In lavish gardens.

Beside nobles who spoke about him as though he were another expensive ornament. He always looked bored. Occasionally annoyed. Every now and then...

His eyes would wander beyond the gates. Searching. The third time your gazes met... He smiled. It wasn't a bright smile. Just a tiny curve of his lips. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

You found yourself looking for him after that. The mansion caught fire in the middle of the night. The whole district glowed orange beneath the winter sky.

You searched room after room until you reached what had once been an indoor conservatory. The glass ceiling had shattered. Moonlight poured through the broken frame.

He was sitting in the middle of the flooded floor. Completely unharmed. His clothes were damp. His hair clung to his face. He looked up as you approached. "You came." His voice was soft.

Lighter than you'd imagined. "You can talk." He blinked. "Were you expecting me to bark?" Despite everything, a laugh escaped you. "No."

"I've been accused of many things." His mouth twitched. "That's a new one." You looked around. "Where are the guards?"

"Gone."

"The owners?"

"Gone."

"...They left you?"

"They left with the paintings." He said it so casually that it hurt more than if he'd sounded bitter. You crouched in front of him. "Can you stand?"

"I think so." He made absolutely no effort to move. Instead, he held one hand toward you with theatrical seriousness. "I may require assistance." You stared. "Seriously?"

"I'm terribly fragile."

"You don't look fragile."

"I've had a difficult evening."

"You look perfectly fine."

"I am emotionally exhausted." You sighed. "You are unbelievable." Then, footsteps echoed from somewhere deeper inside the ruined mansion. Voices. "There!"

"I was rather hoping not to make a scene." Before you could ask what he meant, one of the guards lunged. You barely had time to react. Heat brushed past your shoulder. Not painful. Warm. Like sunlight.

A ribbon of brilliant crimson flame curled between you and the attackers. It didn't explode. It danced. Elegant. Beautiful. Terrifying.