The theft took fifteen seconds. Serena calmly walked onto the grounds, picked up the baby dragon, and left with the energy of a woman returning a library book, not stealing military property.
She carried Onyx through the castle corridor at a brisk pace before anyone noticed he was gone.
Onyx's head rested on her shoulder, and every few steps he would exhale through his nostrils in a long, theatrical sigh that communicated how happy he was to be liberated from prison.
He had executed every drill Thornton called with mechanical perfection. And done all of it with the vacant, dead-eyed compliance of a prodigy who had been asked to count to ten for the forty-seventh consecutive session.
"I know, buddy," she said against the top of his head. "We're getting you a bath."
Onyx chirped once. Soft. The chirp of a dragon who had heard the word "bath" and had already begun mentally preparing for bubbles.
