Phei had lived with Melissa and her family for ten years after his parents' death.
Ten years as a Maxton, the Charity Case.
And ten years under a roof where kindness came in secret, cruelty came dressed as discipline, and affection, when it came at all, had to move quietly through the cracks like something illegal.
Until everything came apart:
Until his dragon breath burned that house, that name, that family, and every polished lie wrapped around them into ashless nothingness.
Sometimes, standing in the middle of his life now, Phei still found it strange that so much of his past had been built inside rooms that never truly belonged to him; the Maxton mansion had given him shelter, yes, but shelter was not the same as home:
A cage could have walls, warmth, maids, meals, expensive floors and old paintings too. Humans liked decorating prisons and calling them inheritance.
Very artistic. Very diseased.
In all those years, he had never celebrated a meaningful birthday of his own.
