I adjusted my sunglasses in the rearview mirror of the Nissan and glanced at Lena.
"Remember—you're Natasha Romanoff. Cold, professional, and for the love of God, don't smile. FBI agents don't smile."
Lena shot me a glare, fidgeting with her fake badge. "This alias is dumb."
I shrugged. "Could be worse. Dean got stuck as 'Phil Coulson' for three years. You're lucky I didn't make you Agent Groot."
She rolled her eyes. "So what's your name this time?"
I smirked, grabbing the dossier from the backseat. "Agent Fury."
Lena groaned and thumped her head against the window. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Ready, Agent Romanoff?" I said, stepping out of the car.
"I'm gonna throw you out a window," she muttered.
We pushed through the glass doors of the Cedar Rapids Police Department, which smelled like burnt coffee and middle-aged depression. The guy at the front desk—O'Malley, according to his crooked nametag—looked up from a crossword puzzle with the enthusiasm of a DMV worker on Ambien.
I slapped our badges on the counter. "Agent Fury, this is my partner, Agent Romanoff. We're here about the antique shop fire. Arson Task Force."
Lena's badge slipped from her hand and clattered on the desk. She tried to recover it smoothly. Failed.
I sighed. "New partner. Still learning the ropes."
O'Malley raised a brow. "FBI's already been through here."
"Different department," I said, flashing my best bureaucratic smile. "We're here for the weird stuff."
He gave me a look that said I know bullshit when I smell it, but after a second, he jerked his head toward a hallway. "Follow me. Body's still in the cold box."
As we walked, Lena leaned close. "Did you really have to pick Nick Fury?"
"What, you wanted Hawkeye? Dude's just a guy with a bow. You've seen my knife collection."
She snorted. "Point."
The morgue hit us like a wall—freezing, sterile, and laced with the sharp tang of chemicals and charred meat. O'Malley opened a drawer and slid out a blackened corpse. Most of the flesh was scorched beyond recognition, the mouth frozen mid-scream.
"Razor Anderson," O'Malley said, flipping through a clipboard. "Owned a place called 'Relics & Rarities.' Forensics says the fire started inside him. Temperature spiked over two thousand degrees. Instant incineration. Everything else in the shop? Untouched."
I leaned in, heart already thudding.
Dark Vision, engage.
Faint gold specks shimmered along the body—trails of ancient fire, concentrated and precise. I'd seen it once before, in a nest outside Reno. Dragon's breath. Only this wasn't messy or wild like a pissed-off drake.
It was…surgical.
Lena stayed quiet, but I saw her knuckles go white as she stared.
"Why didn't the shop burn down?" she asked.
"Good question," I muttered. "Dragon fire usually leaves a path of destruction, not a precision strike."
Then I noticed it—on Razor's wrist. A tan line, sharp and defined. "He was wearing something when he died. Bracelet, maybe. Heavy."
O'Malley flipped through the evidence log. "No jewelry listed."
"Check with your inventory team," I said. "Might've been taken before you logged it."
He grunted but made a note.
Outside, Lena exhaled sharply and leaned against the car.
"So… dragon?"
"Yep." I tossed her the keys. "And whatever it killed him for wasn't just jewelry. We're dealing with a relic hunter. Something shiny. Old. Dangerous."
"Should we call Sam and Dean?"
"Not yet," I said. "Let's see what we're dealing with before the cavalry rolls in."
Razor Anderson's place was a rundown bungalow on the edge of town, the kind of house that still had plastic-wrapped furniture and fading curtains from the Reagan era.
A tired woman answered the door—Marla Anderson. Red eyes, trembling hands, clutching a chipped teacup like it was the last thing holding her together.
"Ma'am," I said, flashing my badge. "I'm sorry for your loss. We just have a few follow-up questions."
Marla nodded and let us in. The living room smelled like grief and too much lavender air freshener.
"I already told the other agents everything," she said, settling on the edge of the sofa.
Lena sat beside her, voice soft. "We think your husband might've been targeted. Was he acting strange? Mention anything… unusual?"
Marla's fingers trembled. "He called me that night from the shop. Said he'd finally gotten his big break—an artifact a private collector wanted him to authenticate."
"What kind of artifact?" I asked, kneeling near her.
"Gold. Old. Said it had carvings. Snakes or dragons, he wasn't sure." She got up and went to a drawer, pulling out a printed photo. "He took a picture. Sent it to me."
The image showed a thick, ornate armlet—pure gold, with serpentine patterns etched deep into the metal. The design coiled into itself, an endless loop of scaled horror.
The moment my eyes touched it, Psychic Echoes slammed into me like a freight train—
—darkness, wet stone, a cavern lit by molten cracks, something massive stirring beneath centuries of rock—
I staggered back, pulse racing.
Lena caught my arm. "What did you see?"
"Nothing good," I muttered. "Did Razor say where he got this?"
Marla shook her head. "Only that it was part of a private collection. He didn't even tell me the buyer's name. Just that they were meeting at the shop. He never came home."
Lena's jaw tightened. "We'll find who did this."
I nodded my thanks to Marla, but my mind was already racing as we stepped outside. The pieces were falling into place.
Back in the car, I pulled out my flip phone—yes, 2007, don't judge—and speed-dialed Bobby.
"Tell me you ain't dead," he answered.
"Not yet," I said. "We're on a dragon hunt. Got a lead—some relic called the Ouroboros Armlet. Picture shows coiled serpents. Glows like it's radioactive."
Silence.
"Bobby?"
"That ain't just dragon bait, Marcus," he said finally, voice low. "That's a key."
"A key to what?"
"To waking something older than dragons," Bobby muttered. "There's old lore—back before the Book of Revelation, before demons and angels had names. Things that slept beneath the world. Sealed by runes, relics, bloodlines. That armlet? It's one of the seals."
I stared at the road. "And it just popped up in Iowa."
"Yeah. Which means someone's poking at things they shouldn't."
"Like a dragon?"
"Or worse," Bobby said. "If that seal breaks…"
He didn't need to finish.
I hung up and stared at the horizon. Lena was watching me from the passenger seat, her eyes asking a thousand questions.
"Don't say it," I muttered.
"Say what?"
"That this is insane. Because it's worse than that."
Lena swallowed. "You think this thing… woke up when I got the stone?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth? I didn't know.
I mean aren't dragons wanted to free Eve? Why would they wanted to free Kharon now? or is some of the dragons worship Kharon? Haihh, I dont know anymore.
But anyways Kharon was watching. I could feel it. Like cold fingers at the base of my neck. Lena's powers were growing, shifting—becoming something else. Something… compatible.
I wasn't the only monster magnet anymore.
And if the Ouroboros Armlet was the first of many seals?
Then we were already out of time.