I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon/emperordragon
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Lucas's Perspective
I woke up at seven sharp, just like I always did. So routines stick, even when the rest of your life doesn't. My mind wasn't really engaged yet, but my body knew the drill. I kicked off the sheets and rolled out of bed with a practiced motion, landing lightly on my feet. The floor was cool under my skin, grounding .
First ca the stretches—slow, deliberate movents to shake off the stiffness of sleep. Then the workout. Push-ups until my shoulders ached, dips between the desk and bed fra until my triceps trembled, followed by a series of pistol squats that made my thighs burn like they were on fire. It wasn't about looking good. It was about control, focus, discipline. Richard always used to say, "You don't need a gym if you know how to move your own body." I hadn't believed him at first, but he wasn't wrong. The man was rarely wrong about things like that.
By the ti I was drenched in sweat and breathing hard, I felt more awake—more there. I laced up my shoes and stepped outside, pulling in a long, steady breath of the morning air.
The Lockwood estate's backyard wasn't anything like a normal yard. Calling it a "yard" was underselling it in every way. It was sprawling—more like a personal nature preserve tucked behind a mansion. Winding gravel paths carved through neatly trimd hedges and carefully placed trees—massive oaks and maples that had probably stood there longer than I'd been alive. Flowerbeds dotted the space, filled with bright, vivid colors that changed with the seasons. I couldn't na half the plants, but soone clearly put a lot of work into keeping them alive.
The air was cool, with that distinct bite that still clung to the tail end of dawn. The kind of cold that woke you up from the inside out. I broke into a jog and let my legs carry . The crunch of gravel underfoot was a steady beat, joined by the distant sounds of birds chattering in the branches above. No cars, no sirens, no voices. Just rhythm and breath. It was peaceful. In a place like this, you could almost forget the rest of the world existed.
When I ca back inside, I was loose, ward up, and steady. My heartbeat had cald, and the fog in my head had cleared. I showered quickly—just hot enough to cut the chill, just long enough to wash the sweat away—then dried off, ran a towel through my hair, and made my way downstairs.
The house was already alive in its quiet way. Susan was seated at the long dining table with a steaming mug of tea in one hand and the morning paper spread open in front of her. She looked up when I walked in but didn't say anything—just offered a small, polite nod before turning a page. That was fine with . Things between us had been tense before, awkward and stiff like we were strangers stuck under the sa roof. But after last night's dinner, sothing had shifted. We still weren't talking much, but it didn't feel strained anymore. Just... quiet.
Jenny was in mid-sentence when I entered, caught up in the middle of so story about a class project from the previous week. She was animated, hands flying through the air as she talked, nearly knocking over her juice in the process. I slid into the chair across from her and caught her eye. She grinned, then jumped right back into her tale like I'd always been there.
The sll of breakfast hung in the air—toast, scrambled eggs, the sharp bitterness of coffee mingled with sothing sweet, maybe jam or fruit. It was one of those calm, uneventful mornings. Just the three of us, a quiet house, and the hum of routine. No tension, no raised voices, no unspoken things bristling under the surface. Just... ease.
When most of the plates had been picked clean and the conversation had started to lull, I set my cup down and looked over at Susan. She glanced up, eyebrows raised slightly in expectation.
"You don't need to ask Patrick to handle school drop-offs anymore," I said casually. "I've got my license. I can take Jenny and to school from here on out."
There was a pause. A small one. Then Susan nodded slowly, setting her teacup down with care. "Your grandfather's car collection is in the garage. Take whatever you like."
I didn't react much, but across the table, Jenny froze—her fork suspended halfway to her mouth, eyes wide like she couldn't quite believe what she'd just heard.
"Wait... any car?" she asked, her voice full of awe.
Susan gave the faintest hint of a smile. "Any car," she confird.
Jenny was out of her chair before I even stood up, motioning wildly for to hurry. "Co on!"
The garage—if you could even call it that—was sothing else. It wasn't just a space to park vehicles; it was a shrine. A museum of speed and design and history all rolled into one. Rows of gleaming machines lined the floor, each one spotless, as if they'd just been detailed for a car show. There were vintage muscle cars with curves like old movie stars, high-end sports cars that looked like they'd eat the road alive, and a few rare models I was pretty sure belonged in a collector's vault.
Jenny did a slow lap, trailing her fingers along the polished surfaces like she was picking out a pet, wide-eyed and reverent. She didn't say much—didn't have to. Her whole body was practically vibrating with excitent. I could almost hear her thoughts speeding faster than any engine in the room.
She ca to a stop in front of a low, sleek coupe, jet black with soft curves and a posture like it was ready to pounce.
"This one," she said with conviction. There was no hesitation, no second guess. "This one."
I walked around to the back, checking the badge. Porsche 911 Carrera. ant about as much to as the Latin nas of the flowers outside. But she looked at it like it was made of magic.
The keys were hanging on a nearby rack. I grabbed the one with the Porsche logo and clicked the fob. The headlights blinked in response. Jenny let out a noise sowhere between a squeal and a laugh, then threw open the passenger door and slid inside like it was her rightful throne.
I climbed in after her. The leather was cold against my back. I pressed the ignition and the engine roared to life—deep and smooth, like it knew exactly what it was capable of. Jenny grinned so wide I thought her face might split.
"Yeah," she said, settling into the seat. "This'll do."
I eased the car into reverse, backed out of the garage, and turned us toward the long drive that wound down from the estate. As the tires touched the pavent and the open road ca into view, I glanced into the rearview mirror. The Lockwood estate—massive, elegant, and quiet—grew smaller behind us.
Morning stretched out in front of us, full of possibility.
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