Page 25 of Zachary

He shrugs, reading my expression correctly. “We’re starting over, right? And you just stepped up and did us a huge service. The least I can do is make you a hot drink.” A tiny grimace. “Plus I really need one right now.”

I hear that loud and clear. “Tea, please. There should be some in that container.” I point. “I’m going to open the vault, if you don’t mind?”

He waves me off, already turning toward the designated “break” area. “Of course.”

As I always do upon arrival, I assemble the vault handle the way Cam showed me and pull the door open. I need to use a tiny bit of magic to assist because it’s so heavy. I have more muscle than Cam, but not quite as much as the demons I’m surrounded by.

Garrett and Asher have already turned on all the lights in the cave, including the ones near the vault entrance that light the first few yards inside. There are other, more portable lights waiting inside the vault for me to move around and arrange as I need them, but as I told Zac on Saturday, until I’m sure of which items can bear electric light exposure, I’m not taking any risks. My magic has been very useful in that regard.

I do my usual morning walk up the left aisle to the back of the vault, returning via the right aisle to the front. I don’t expect anything to have moved or be different from how I left it, but it makes me feel better to check. The preservation spells that were placed on everything when they were stored still hold strong, even so many years after the death of the dragon who laid them. It’s testament to her strength and the passion she had for this task.

I wish I could be even a quarter of the dragon she must have been.

“Ronan?”

I turn from staring blindly at the table where her message is burned into the surface. Zac is standing right outside the doorway to the vault, a steaming camping cup in each hand. He’s been an absolute stickler for abiding by the security protocols put in place, never placing so much as a single foot inside the vault except for the time I needed help with a heavy item and asked him to come inside. That, more than anything, convinced me that he didn’t know about the surveillance devices.

I join him outside the vault—I never bring food or drink inside—and take the cup he offers me. “Thank you.” We stand there, sipping and mostly avoiding each other’s gazes.

This is weird.

It’s clear that we both want to make this truce work, but neither of us knowshow. Zac would probably be better at it than me, but I’m sure he feels disadvantaged after this morning.

Luckily, as I drink my tea (the bag kind, but still good) and relax a little, I remember the tips my support group gave me last night.

I clear my throat. “How was babysitting yesterday?”

He gives me a startled look, then a hesitant smile. It’s a demon smile, so I only see it because I’m paying very close attention. But it’s still a smile, right?

“It was good. I took the kids—my little cousins, Chloe and Isaac—skating. The rink won’t be there much longer, so they’re eager to get as much time on it as they can.” He hesitates for a second. “I know it might not feel like it to you, but spring is definitely on the way.”

“I-I’ve noticed it’s not always as snowy.” I hadn’t, really, but Zoe pointed it out yesterday, and I don’t think she’ll mind me borrowing her knowledge.

My phone dings in my pocket, but I ignore it.

“Yeah,” Zac says. “Technically, it’s already spring, but it looks different up here than it does elsewhere.”

The conversation lags. That was a good start though, right? We actually spoke.

“So, uh,” he says, “I heard you and Zoe went to the snow village yesterday.”

My phone dings again, but I’m not letting it distract me. Zac’s talking to me. “Yes, she came to introduce herself properly, and then when she found out dragons can self-regulate our body temperature, she decided I’m her new best friend.”

He gives me a startled look, probably at the babble of oversharing. “Really? You can self-regulate body temp? I didn’t know that.”

Oh. I shrug. “Why would you? Unless you know a dragon personally, it’s not something that comes up in trivia quizzes.”

“So all this gear”—he gestures at my parka and hat—“you don’t need it? Why do you wear it?”

I snort. “I’m trying to fit in.”

His laugh isamazing. Not from an objective perspective—it’s just an ordinary laugh—butImade it happen. He’s laughing because of something I said. And not at me, in a mean way. I made a joke, and he laughed.

My phone dings again. And again.

He gestures toward my pocket. “Do you need to get that? It sounds like it might be important—your phone normally doesn’t go off.” His face flushes. “Not that I mean—”

“No, you’re right,” I say to forestall him thinking I’m offended by the implication that I have no friends. “I need to check it.” Maybe something’s happened to Steffen? But surely they’d call, not text.

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