Page 14 of Dragon Chaos Around

She was down there. Center of the floor, hard hat on, gesturing at a structural blueprint with one hand and holding her phone to her ear with the other. The hard hat sat slightly askew over her dark hair, which she’d pulled into a ponytail that swung when she turned. Work clothes today—fitted jeans, construction-appropriate boots, a cropped jacket over a tank top that his gaze was not following along the exposed line of her collarbone.

He was up here. Reviewing floor plans. That was why he was on the mezzanine. Floor plans required a vantage point. The mezzanine provided a vantage point. The fact that the vantage point also provided a direct line of sight to the convention floor where she was working was coincidental and irrelevant.

“The structural modifications for the corridor are ahead of schedule,” he said. “I’m assessing the spatial impact on the adjacent vendor zones.”

“You assessed the spatial impact yesterday. From this exact spot. For forty-five minutes.” Rowan leaned on the railing with the easy posture of a predator at rest. “And the day before that. You’ve been up here so often this week, the security team thinks you’re running surveillance.”

“I run surveillance on all major construction activities within my venues.”

“You haven’t personally surveilled a construction site since we built the London office in 1987.”

“That was a significant project.”

“That was a thirty-story building. This is a woman in a hard hat.”

Chaos turned from the railing, the floor plans squared under one arm. The posture of a man who was not watching a construction site because a specific woman was on it.

“Report on the talent confirmations.”

Rowan sighed. The sigh of a man whose patience had been tested across four centuries. He produced his tablet.

“Final guest list locked. One hundred fourteen panels confirmed, including the twelve new-format villain debates that your convention director designed.” The emphasis on your convention director was subtle enough to qualify as professional and pointed enough to qualify as provocation. “Celebrity meet-and-greet schedules finalized. The voice cast reunion panel for Celestial Ronin: The Forgotten Gate is confirmed for Saturday prime time—full original cast, which took me three months of negotiation and a promise that the green room would stock a very specific brand of Japanese whiskey.”

“The brand?”

“Yamazaki 18. Two bottles. A small price for the biggest panel reunion in convention history.” Rowan scrolled through his tablet, but his attention remained split—half on the data, half on the spectacle of a nearly eight-hundred-year-old dragon king finding excuses to visit a mezzanine walkway every afternoon. “Sterling & Mane has confirmed the rare villain comics showcase. Rune Sterling team is curating personally. And Lark Coleman’s Villainette pop-up has been allocated a prime floor position—she’s designing a custom installation.”

Chaos nodded. The convergence of the series’ creative universes at his convention—the Axan Dark panels, the Celestial Ronin reunion, Sterling & Mane’s showcase, Villainette—represented the culmination of strategic relationships he’d cultivated for years. Each piece interlocking. Each creative world adding depth to the whole.

His gaze drifted to the floor below. Involuntary. His dragon offered no explanation for the behavior.

Alani had moved. She was crouched beside a set piece—a twelve-foot villain silhouette that would anchor the first zone of the immersive corridor—and her hands moved over the surface with the focused intensity of a craftsman assessing structural integrity. Her fingers traced joints. Tested seams. She pulled out a multi-tool from her jacket pocket and adjusted a bolt with three quick turns.

Her hands. Creating, adjusting, building. Hands that engineered costumes and transformed convention floors and gestured with the kinetic vocabulary of a woman whose body participated in every idea her mind produced.

He didn’t need an explanation.

He needed the five weeks to end.

“The Villains’ Ball.” He pulled his attention back to Rowan with the disciplined wrench of a man hauling an anchor from deep water. “Catering status.”

“Confirmed. Twelve courses. Villain-themed cocktail menu. Orchestra booked—a sixty-piece ensemble playing villain themes from across every medium. Alani has submitted a proposal for the Ball’s immersive elements—atmospheric design, lighting, set pieces. I left it on your desk.” Rowan paused. The grin surfaced—a reef breaking water. “She has strong opinions about the ice sculpture.”

“There’s no ice sculpture.”

“Exactly. She has strong opinions about that.”

Chaos closed his eyes. Behind the lids, the afterimage of Alani crouched on the convention floor with a multi-tool burned against the dark. His dragon hummed—a low, resonant satisfaction that vibrated through his ribcage with the consistency of a second pulse.

Five weeks. Five weeks of shared territory, shared budgets, shared air. Five weeks of her treating his convention with the reverence it deserved while arguing with him like she’d been training for the event her entire life.

He opened his eyes. Looked at the floor plans in his hand. Looked at the mezzanine railing. Looked at Rowan, whose expression communicated the quiet amusement of a man watching history repeat itself.

“I’ll review her proposal tonight,” Chaos said.

“I’m sure you will.”

“The Ball is my domain. Her proposal will require substantial revision.”