“Maybe the dragon’s not so secretive after all,” says Shyan as the old man hurries away. “That old guy’s got the message, at least.”
“This is a place of misery,” says Abia. “People feel it.” She closes her eyes, lets her fingers trail over the rough door the gang knows conceals the entrance to the dragon’s manse. “It radiates from within.”
“Are you certain that is not the fabulous wealth resonating from within?” Cang asks. He’s not even watching, instead keeping his eyes on the street as a lookout.
At that moment Abia’s finger lands upon a knot of wood of subtle hue, differently shaded than the wood around it. With a gentle, soft click, the knot depresses and the door swings open.
“Here goes nothing,” says Shyan.
Logan Bright — Works 