The kitchen felt like it was shrinking. Between the 7-foot-tall man in scorched armor and the six-eyed shadow creature currently melting into a puddle of black slime on my floor, there wasn't much room left for me to breathe.
"You're late," he whispered again.
His voice was a low vibration that seemed to bypass my ears and rattle my very bones. He didn't look like a dream anymore. In the harsh, flickering light of my kitchen, I could see the sweat on his brow and the jagged, violet-tinted blood seeping from a tear in his side.
"I'm not late," I stammered, clutching my frying pan like a shield. "I'm Ava. I'm a barista. You've got the wrong apartment, the wrong girl, and you're definitely in the wrong century!"
The man—Valerius, if the dream was right—didn't flinch at the pan. He looked around my apartment with a mix of confusion and pure, royal disgust. His golden eyes lingered on my stack of unpaid bills and the half-empty bag of cheap cat food on the counter.
"This is how you live?" he rasped, his voice dropping an octave. "In this... box? Surrounded by the smell of dying metal and rot?"
"It's called a studio apartment, and the 'rot' is yesterday's trash," I snapped, my fear turning into a strange, defensive anger. "Now, get out before I call the police!"
"The police?" Valerius tilted his head, the jagged bone crown on his head catching the orange light of the streetlamp. "Are they your personal guard? Do they possess magic stronger than a Dragon King's?"
I opened my mouth to explain what a 911 dispatcher was, but a heavy, rhythmic thudding at my front door cut me off.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
"Ava! Open up! I heard glass breaking and someone screaming!"
It was Miller, my neighbor from 4B. He was a retired cop who spent his days watching the hallway through a peephole and his nights listening for any excuse to play the hero.
"Hide," I hissed at Valerius.
"A King does not—"
"A King is currently trespassing!" I whispered, grabbing his armored arm. He was hot, like a radiator running at full blast. "If Miller sees you, he'll call a SWAT team, and they won't care about your crown. Move!"
I shoved him toward the small walk-in closet in the hallway. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he saw the genuine terror in my eyes. He stepped into the darkness of the closet just as the front door swung open.
Miller stepped in, holding a heavy-duty flashlight and a baseball bat. He scanned the room, his light flickering over the melted window and the puddle of black sludge.
"Ava, what happened?" Miller demanded, stepping over the glass. "It smells like a forest fire in here. And what's that... stuff on the floor?"
"I... I was making a smoothie," I lied. It was the worst lie I'd ever told. "And the blender exploded. It was a very... chemical smoothie."
Miller looked at the window. "A blender melted your glass? And turned it into wax?" He pointed his flashlight at the floor, where the black sludge was starting to hiss and evaporate. "And since when does a smoothie smoke?"
"It's a new health trend," I said, my voice rising in pitch. "High-energy. Very high-energy."
Miller wasn't buying it. He began to walk toward the hallway, his flashlight beam cutting through the dark toward the closet door. "Stay behind me, Ava. I think someone's still in the house."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Miller, wait! It's just a mess, really—"
Miller reached for the closet door. "Come out with your hands up!"
He pulled the door open.
I held my breath, expecting Valerius to take Miller's head off with that broken sword. Instead, the closet was empty. Only my winter coats and a box of old shoes remained.
"Nothing," Miller muttered, looking confused. He turned back to me, but as he did, his flashlight caught something on my kitchen counter.
Lying next to my toaster was the heavy black scale I had picked up earlier. It was glowing with a deep, rhythmic gold light.
"What is that?" Miller asked, reaching for it.
"Don't!" I yelled.
But he touched it.
The moment his fingers brushed the scale, a wave of golden energy erupted from it. Miller didn't even have time to yell. He was thrown backward as if he'd been hit by a car, slamming into my kitchen table and sliding to the floor, out cold.
"Miller!" I ran to him, checking his pulse. He was breathing, but he was out.
The shadows in the corner of the room began to knit together. Valerius stepped out of the darkness, his eyes flashing with irritation. He hadn't left; he had simply become part of the dark.
"Your guard is weak," Valerius said, looking down at Miller. "He touched a Dragon's Mark with the soul of a commoner. He is lucky to be alive."
"You did this!" I turned on him, my eyes stinging with tears. "You break into my house, you destroy my window, and now you've killed my neighbor!"
"He is not dead. He will wake with a headache and a memory of a gas leak," Valerius said, stepping closer. He looked exhausted. The purple blood was flowing faster now, staining the floorboards. "But I... I cannot stay standing much longer. The air in this world is thin. It lacks the breath of life."
He slumped against my refrigerator, the heavy metal denting under his weight. He looked at me, his gaze softening for a split second.
"Ava," he whispered. "The shadows that followed me... they weren't just scouts. They are the hunters. If you do not help me, they will find you too. And they won't ask for the debt. They will just take the life."
He slid down the side of the fridge, his head hitting the floor with a dull thud. He was unconscious, a magical king from another dimension, bleeding out in my kitchen while a retired cop lay fainted on my rug.
I looked at the wreckage of my life. The sun was starting to rise, and I had a shift at the cafe in three hours.
"Great," I whispered. "I'm going to lose my job over a dragon."
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