CHAPTER 44: SCENIC ROUTE TO THE GALLOWS

Riley was now certain.

The heavens were mocking him.

Out of all the days to behave themselves, today? Really?

For someone who had regularly attracted assassins, death threats, minor explosions, natural disasters, and an impressively consistent series of misfortunes—where were they now?

Nowhere. That’s where.

No surprise curses. No freak accidents. Not even a bird poop from the sky.

The weather was perfect. The sky was so blue it looked doctored. The sun was shining with the smugness of someone who knew exactly what was coming.

A flawless day, ideal for people who weren’t driving straight into their own professional funeral.

Riley gripped the steering wheel, eyes twitching.

Where were the thunderstorms when you needed them?

The hail?

The stampede of delinquent minotaurs?

How come not a single shady figure had tried to follow him today? Usually, there’d be at least one suspicious shadow by now.

And don’t even get him started on the traffic.

The one time—the one time—he actually wanted a jam, the roads were clearer than a baby’s conscience.

Every single red light turned green before he even reached it.

He had even considered driving in loops, slowing down to the point where pedestrians were overtaking him. But no—this cursed path practically guided him like some divine freeway to doom.

He stared at the empty highway.

He wanted to scream.

So he did.

"GAAAAAAH!"

The inside of his car echoed with his despair.

Why. Why was fate like this?

No distractions. No interventions. No meteor showers. Just a perfectly paved road to regret.

And worst of all?

It ended exactly where he didn’t want to be.

The Ministry.

Riley reluctantly turned into the dedicated arrival zone. A special detached area for vehicles, carriages, enchanted brooms, and even the occasional elemental skateboard. The only banned method of entry, apparently, was magical produce—particularly pumpkins enchanted into wagons. Something about pest infestations and an incident involving a beetle uprising last year.

Normally, there’d be a line.

A group of frazzled attendants trying to direct traffic. A few wizards arguing over broom docking fees. A screaming child riding a carrot like a rocket.

But today?

The lot was empty.

So empty, Riley could practically hear his fate humming ominously in surround sound.

He wanted to weep.

This was divine betrayal.

On any other day, he would’ve celebrated. Thrown a party. Bought a muffin.

But today?

Today, it felt like the universe had handed him a sharpened sword and pointed him toward the gallows.

Riley sagged into his seat. He stared up at the flawless sky with betrayal in his heart and regret in his bones.

Then he sighed.

He had no choice. He had to keep breathing. He had to move.

And he had to load the groceries.

Of all the indignities.

Still, he reached for the trunk. He popped it open and began transferring everything into a large preservation bag, grumbling like a man on the edge.

Patties, buns, veggies, sauces... snacks for the brat’s birthday.

Provided, of course, he lived long enough to hand them over.

He clenched the last jar of pickles like it owed him rent.

"Well," he muttered bitterly, "guess we’ll see if I survive long enough to serve lunch."

Whose fault was this?

Seriously. Riley demanded an answer.

Was it the dragons? For sending him to buy groceries?

Was it his own fault? For ever going home that one fateful day and returning with the curse of continued employment?

Maybe it was his conscience. That annoying little voice that always whispered, "Do the right thing," and then promptly threw him into mortal danger.

Or—wait. Maybe it was Kael.

Yes. It was probably Kael’s fault.

Who else could suddenly call him, in the middle of a tense situation, and make it ten times worse by showing up with his face on a magical projection visible to hostile fish people?

No, scratch that.

It was the merfolk.

Definitely the merfolk.

Beings who had already seen him embarrass himself once should not be allowed to witness a sequel. Riley was convinced that the only solution now was to eliminate all witnesses.

And yet... apparently, the root of this entire catastrophe was something far more mundane.

A missing contract.

That’s it. That’s the grand reason he was nearly turned into sushi.

A single document meant for today’s high-level meeting had gone missing. One that Riley had already prepared days ago—only for it to be scooped up accidentally by a clueless employee and spirited away to the wrong department.

Kael, who really needed that, had no choice but to call Riley to figure out where it had gone.

Which would’ve been a reasonable request.

If he hadn’t done it right when Riley was trying to survive a suspicious group of merfolk.

And if Kael hadn’t also been the one who told him to go buy groceries in the first place.

So now, the mighty dragon lord had to search for the document himself—but he needed Riley to tell him where to look.

Fair enough.

Except what greeted him wasn’t a calm, helpful explanation.

It was Riley’s voice, loud and clear, practically echoing off the magical relay:

"HONEY!"

The fire that sparked from Kael’s hearth could’ve lit a city block.

It wasn’t rage.

Well. Not exactly.

It was something else. Something hot, yes—but not the usual brand of "I will smite this fool."

Kael stood still. Expression unreadable. Like a mountain deciding whether to erupt or not.

And yet, behind him, the fireplace flared with a sudden burst of flames.

The room temperature jumped at least ten degrees.

Those who knew Kael glanced at the fire and said nothing.

He didn’t say a word either.

Which was alarming.

He had planned on denying it, especially with this many beings present, but the words wouldn’t come out.

He just stood there, one brow twitching, as Riley spun around and began shouting about the police, their last date, and "those very friendly people" asking for them.

It didn’t make sense.

Until Riley tilted the projection.

And Kael saw them.

Figures just out of focus. Lurking too close to a human establishment. A place no merfolk should be near unless they were absolutely certain no one could see them.

That was when it clicked.

Kael knew exactly what was going on.

Riley was warning him.

So Kael responded.

And played along until Riley got into the car.

But because Riley didn’t know he was in a meeting, he tried to apologize and nearly blurted out everything—including the issue with the merfolk.

Kael cut the projection before he could say too much.

Even if they tried to explain it now, would anyone believe them?

Absolutely not.

It was too late for damage control. The entire room had already heard Riley’s dramatic plea to avoid a second police dispatch.

So Kael simply leaned forward.

Tilted his head.

Smirked just a little.

And said it.

"See you soon... honey."

Let the world believe what it wanted.

Riley was his, anyway.

And ever since that fateful day, when the world tried to take something from him, Kael had made a quiet vow.

No one would ever succeed again.

He watched the projection vanish, unusually satisfied.

Kael’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous kind of amusement as he leaned back in his seat.

Let them talk.

People said he was resistant to change.

But look at him. Who’s laughing now?