The Gilded Dragon's worn sign creaked in the night breeze as Caden pushed through the heavy oak door. The familiar scents of stale beer and old wood did little to calm the storm raging within him. Scales stirred restlessly beneath his skin, agitated by the events of the day and the constant, gnawing pull towards Lyra that he couldn't explain.
Eòin was already waiting in their usual booth, a concerned frown replacing his typical easy grin. As Caden approached, Eòin slid a glass of whiskey across the scarred wooden table. "You look like hell warmed over, mate."
Caden sank into the booth, gratefully accepting the drink. He took a long swig, hoping the burn would dull the ache in his chest. "Thanks for meeting me," he said, his voice rough with exhaustion.
Eòin leaned forward, his golden-br
