Chapter 1

Sage’s phone chimed with a message:

*Casey can you take my shift? I’m not feeling will I just got my period and its giving me bad cramps. *

Casey stared at the message, still half-asleep and trying to decode Mika's auto-correct disaster through bleary eyes. She'd been curled up on Jordan's lumpy couch for maybe three hours, having finally crashed after a late-night writing session that had somehow turned into reorganizing her entire manuscript outline at 2 AM.

"Well," she mumbled to herself, pushing copper hair out of her face, "so much for sleeping in on my day off."

She thumbs-typed back: *Of course! Feel better. Heating pad and ibuprofen are your friends. What time do you need me there?*

The response came back almost immediately: *10 AM opening shift. You're a lifesaver! I owe you coffee.*

Casey glanced at her phone's clock: 8:47 AM. Just enough time to shower off yesterday's grease smell, grab her Burger Blast uniform from her backpack, and catch the bus across town to the Crossroads Complex. She'd been pulling extra shifts anyway to build up her couch-surfing fund—Jordan was great, but she couldn't impose forever.

As she stumbled toward the bathroom, her laptop caught her eye, still open to the document she'd been working on. Chapter twelve of her dragon novel stared back at her, cursor blinking accusingly at the half-finished sentence about elemental fire magic.

"Later," she promised it, the same promise she'd been making for weeks. "After work. I swear."

But even as she said it, she felt that familiar tug of restlessness, like something important was waiting for her just out of reach.

The shower at Jordan's place had exactly two settings: arctic blast or scalding inferno. Casey opted for the scalding, hoping it would shock her system into something resembling alertness. As steam filled the tiny bathroom, she found herself thinking about the dream she'd had—something about golden coins spiraling through the air, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and move when she wasn't looking directly at them.

Weird. She'd been having variations of that dream for months now, ever since she'd started the dragon series. Occupational hazard of writing fantasy, probably. Spend enough time imagining magical worlds and your subconscious starts getting creative.

Twenty minutes later, she was jogging toward the bus stop, hair still damp and her Burger Blast polo wrinkled from being stuffed in her backpack. The morning air had that crisp October bite that made her think of pumpkin spice and changing leaves, though the city streets showed little evidence of autumn beyond a few stubborn trees clinging to their yellowing foliage.

The bus was typically crowded for a Saturday morning, filled with a mix of early commuters, weekend workers, and the occasional tourist clutching maps and looking confused. Casey squeezed into a seat near the back and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her notes app where she kept random story ideas and character observations.

*Dragons in modern world—how would they adapt to technology? Banking? Social media?*

The note was from three weeks ago, and she'd never followed up on it. Another brilliant idea abandoned for the practical necessity of paying rent and buying groceries. She was starting to recognize the pattern: burst of creative inspiration, furious note-taking, then reality crashing back in the form of work schedules and bills.

As the bus rounded the corner toward the Crossroads Complex, Casey caught sight of the building's distinctive architecture—all glass and steel, but with these subtle curves that reminded her of something organic, almost reptilian. She'd always found it oddly beautiful, especially the way the morning light caught the metallic accents that spiraled up the sides like—

Like scales, she realized with a start.

How had she never noticed that before? The building's exterior gleamed with iridescent panels that overlapped just like—

"Next stop, Crossroads Complex!" the driver announced, jolting Casey from her architectural epiphany.

She hurried off the bus, backpack bouncing against her spine. The complex loomed above her, catching the morning light in ways that made those scale-like panels shimmer with colors that shouldn't be possible from simple metal and glass. Blues and golds that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them. Just like the coins in her dream.

"Get it together, Casey," she muttered, pushing through the main entrance. "You're sleep-deprived and over-caffeinated. Buildings don't have scales."

The food court was already bustling despite the early hour. Weekend shoppers clutched coffee cups and browsed storefronts while the fountain at the center—the Dual-Flow thing with its weird hot and cold water streams—created a soothing background noise. Casey had always found that fountain oddly mesmerizing. Something about the way the waters never quite mixed, maintaining their separate temperatures even as they spiraled around each other.

She checked her watch—9:42. Still time to grab coffee before her shift.

As she approached Java Junction, she noticed a tall man in a crisp charcoal suit examining the fountain with unusual intensity. Something about his posture seemed off—too still, too focused for someone just admiring public art. When he tilted his head, the light caught his eyes at an angle that made them flash gold.

Casey blinked. Just a reflection from the fountain's metallic elements, surely.

The man suddenly looked up, his gaze locking with hers across the food court. For a heartbeat, Casey felt something like recognition—not of his face, which she'd never seen before, but of something deeper, more instinctual. Then he nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself, and walked briskly toward the east exit.

"The usual, Casey?" called Prisha from behind the coffee counter.