I get to my feet, grabbing my mug. I should rinse it before I use it again. There’s a thin layer of caffeinated sugar around the rim. Ah, it's probably good for one more cup.

“Want one?” I ask as it's only polite. Ether bobs up and down for a few moments indecisively.

“Yeah, go on then, why not?” they say. A mug appears from inside the ball of light. I don't question where it was being kept before that. Sometimes it’s best not to ponder with creatures that are more magic than being.

I make my way over to the precinct's kitchenette. There is always coffee here. The admin gnome always keeps it topped up and brewing. He also always seems to bring in sugared worms, which aren’t really to my taste. Dragons are omnivorous but we aren’t great lovers of insects in our diet. I try not to look at the writhing creatures. Maybe I’d stomach them better if they were dead first?

After adding an unhealthy amount of sugar to both mugs, I pour the dark caffeinated goodness into the mugs and dutifully carry them back to my desk.

Ether's light is spiking erratically when I get there. I wonder what has got them so worked up when I see him.

Henry is here.

I slop my coffee all over myself when I come to a sudden stop.

I need to shake this off.

“Ah, yes. The dragon one,” Henry says. “He was most charming yesterday. I believe I am meant to make a statement.”

He hasn't seen me, or at least he is pretending he has not. I slam the coffee down on a nearby desk, ignoring the look Gleerob gives me as I commandeer his desk. I can't do anything about the brown stain that is spreading down my front though.

I put on my most professional face.

I remind myself I don't know anything about Henry Thistle.

He could be a serial murderer.

“Mr. Thistle. Thank you for coming." I try my best to keep my tone as clinical and professional as possible.

Ether bobs towards me, their sharp pulsing slowing to a more calculated ebb and flow of rainbow colours.

“Should I accompany you, Special Agent Hedge?” Ether asks.

“No need,” I say, kicking myself as I do. My basic instinct is to get Henry on his own, and though I can fight most of the urges, that one slipped through.

I must be more careful.

“Right that direction,” I gesture in front of me towards the interview rooms.

Henry is by my side instantly, though he did not seem to go from there to here. “Lead the way.”

I suppress a shiver and start to walk. I’m surprised when Henry keeps pace with me. His footfalls are still muted, but I can see his black, polished shoes hitting the ground.

“White hair and scales that shimmer in the light…” Henry looks me up and down. “A dragon?”

“I am,” I say, feeling self-conscious.

“They are so rare to find these days. I’m perhaps the only person who sees them, and that is long after they are beyond speaking,” Henry’s voice is low, mournful, even as his expression doesn’t shift.

“We are a kind who keeps to themselves.” I hope he doesn’t detect the high-pitched panic to my voice. “You know how dragons are. We prefer the company of our possessions mostly.”

“And yet, here you are, Special Agent Hedge.” He puts his hands in his pockets. It is such an ordinary gesture that it puts me even more off-guard. “A strange occupation for a breed who traditionally recluse themselves in puberty.”

“I wanted to help people. Dragons have excellent senses,” I say. “We can detect fear. It’s useful in catching people who don’t want to get caught.”

“I suppose being able to transform into a large reptile spitting fire also helps in the apprehension of criminals,” Henry muses as we turn a corner down the grey, listless corridor of the precinct.

My skin prickles with embarrassment.

“I don’t make a habit of transforming into a lizard for every common criminal!”

“I didn’t mean to suggest you would,” Henry replies. “Is this our interview room, Special Agent?”

I stop. I had been so engrossed in our conversation that I nearly walked past the interview suite.

Get. It. Together.

“Yes. Let’s head inside.” I open the door for Henry.

His suit jacket brushes against me as he passes and my stomach flips uncomfortably.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Thistle,” I say, gesturing to the uncomfortable looking plastic seat in front of the grim metal table.

Henry is sat down before I have the chance to close the door behind us. I hastily take my own seat, learning over to press the button to start the recording so that we have evidence of his statement.

“Before we begin, I have to check Special Agent Hedge. Am I a suspect?” Henry asks.

I force myself to look him in the eye.

Professionalism, Jax, professionalism.

“You are a Person of Interest to us.”

Henry leans back in his chair and smiles a slow smile that has too many teeth.

“Well then, Special Agent Hedge. Please tell me what Avalon’s only mortician can do for you.”