The Ethics Commission courtyard was never meant to hold a dragon.

At 4:12 a.m., Harold Draven landed in the exact center of the floodlit square (silver wings spread wide, claws gouging marble that had once been Blackwood property). Rain hissed into steam where it touched his scales. The storm had followed him from the city center (ordinary rain now, but still falling like the sky itself was washing the world clean).

He lowered his head.

Agnetha Blackwood (mortal, ...