Page 135 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

The stairs felt steeper than usual after the day. Max made it up slowly, pausing once on the second landing while I rubbed his shoulder and told him he was a champion. Rafe stayed behind us, close enough to help if needed, not close enough to make me feel crowded. That also got to me. He was learning the shape of care around me instead of just bulldozing the room and calling it help.

When we reached my door, I had convinced myself the evening was almost over.

Then I unlocked the apartment, nudged the door open, and heard myself ask, “Have you ever flown with someone on your back?”

Rafe stilled beside me.

I turned slowly, because apparently my mouth had decided to run its own independent legal practice today. “In dragon form. Obviously. I’m not asking if you’ve given anyone a piggyback ride, although now that I’ve said that, I do have follow-up questions.”

His gaze stayed on mine. “Yes.”

My pulse jumped. “Yes to which part?”

His mouth lifted at one corner. “Dragon form.”

“Right. Good. Naturally.” I swallowed. “Who?”

“My father, when I was younger. My mother, a few times after the Fog took her flight but before it made it difficult for her to tolerate altitude.”

The image was so unexpectedly tender that I forgot to be embarrassed for a second. Rafe carrying his mother through the sky. His father trusting him enough for flight. The Virellis, all that severity and devotion, lifted above the world together.

“Oh,” I said. “That’s lovely.”

“It was,” he said simply.

Max nudged my hip, reminding me that the door was open, and he had a strict post-adventure routine that involved water, dinner, and collapsing dramatically near my bed.

I stepped inside, then turned back to Rafe. “Would you fly with me?”

The question landed in the space between us, and for one long moment, he only peered at me.

I’d surprised him. Truly surprised him. I saw it before he smoothed it away: the slight lift of his brows, the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his attention sharpened on my face, checking whether I meant it.

“Yes,” he said.

The word was low. Careful.

My heart thumped stupidly.

“Now?” I asked, smiling despite myself.

This time, he didn’t answer immediately.

The hallway went very quiet around us. Somewhere below, a door shut. Max stepped into the apartment and looked back at both of us, deeply unimpressed.

Rafe’s gaze moved from me to my dog, then to the narrow hallway and my open door.

“Now,” he said.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Then reality arrived, carrying a clipboard and several concerns. “I need to get Max settled first.”

“Of course.”

He followed me inside, and my apartment had never seemed smaller.

It wasn’t bad, I reminded myself with almost aggressive loyalty. It was clean and warm. It was me. Books stacked neatly under the front window and tables because shelf space was imaginary. A thrifted chair by the radiator, reupholstered by Octavia after I found it on a curb and insisted it had “good bones.” The tiny kitchen had two mugs drying beside the sink, one chipped bowl, one pot on the stove, and Max’s medication organizer arranged beside the fridge with more precision than pretty much anything in my own life.