The Dragonborn of Raymonds High

The Rescue

Under the flickering light, the metal batons glinted coldly.

The safeties on the pistols clicked off.

Predatory gazes swept over Jones, thick with malice—the air itself seemed ready to ignite.

“Officer,” Jones said evenly, his tone calm yet edged with danger, “I suggest you don’t test me. Let Bob go. I don’t want to cause a massacre. But if you push me… you’ll regret it.”

“Regret?”

Jem sneered, his lips curling in disdain. “You’re the one who’ll regret it! That idiot Bob’s already had a taste of our hospitality. Next, it’s your turn. Take him to the holding cell! I’ll call young master Henry—he’ll want to watch what becomes of you. Maybe even enjoy your screaming.”

“What did you do to Bob?” Jones demanded, voice sharp with fury.

“Who told that fool to keep his mouth shut?” Jem’s grin turned cruel. “He refused to accuse you of stealing the watch or of trying to murder Henry, so I had to… loosen his tongue a little. Pity—he’s still alive.”

“That’s illegal!” Jones roared, fists clenching as the heat of his dragon blood surged within him. “How dare you administer torture so brazenly!”

“Law?” Jem barked out a laugh. “In my precinct, I am the law!”

At his shout, several officers raised their weapons and rushed at Jones.

But before they could reach him, a tall figure stepped through the doorway.

Richard.

He carried his signature black umbrella, which he leveled calmly at Jem’s chest. His voice was cold, imperious.

“Who gave you the courage to be insolent toward the heir of our family?”

“...Heir?” Jem blinked, momentarily stunned.

He could bully a street kid without consequence—but a family heir? That was suicide.

Still, when he glanced at Jones, dressed plainly in a worn jacket and scuffed shoes, his doubt returned. “Quit bluffing! You think—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Richard had taken out a single sheet of paper—an official document bearing the unmistakable seal and signatures of the city’s mayor and chief of police.

There was only one line written across it:

“All public officers within this city must comply unconditionally with the bearer’s directives.”

For a moment, Jem thought he’d gone mad. That seal—those signatures—couldn’t possibly be forged. His heart dropped into his stomach.

This wasn’t a nobody. Henry had lied to him. This was someone untouchable—a true scion of power!

“M-my apologies, sir. I didn’t realize who I was dealing with. I—I deeply regret my behavior!” Jem’s tone flipped instantly, cruelty melting into servile flattery. He bowed low, trembling. “Please forgive me, my lord. I’ll do anything to make amends—anything!”

“Take me to Bob. Now,” Jones said icily, his patience gone.

“Yes, yes—of course! This way, my lords!”

Jem bent nearly double as he led the way, his arrogance utterly gone, replaced by the obsequiousness of a beaten dog.

They soon arrived at the detention cell.

When the door creaked open, Jones froze.

Bob lay inside, barely conscious.

His fingers were twisted at unnatural angles; his body soaked in sweat and blood. Beneath his torn shirt, bruises and gashes crisscrossed his chest and abdomen—each one a testament to torture.

“Bob!” Jones rushed to him, grabbing his shoulders. “Stay with me! I’m here! Don’t close your eyes—don’t you dare give up!”

At the sound of his voice, Bob’s eyelids fluttered. He managed to rasp weakly, “Jones… what are you doing here? It’s dangerous… You have to go…”

Then, with a shuddering breath, he slipped back toward unconsciousness, mumbling incoherently, “You’ve always been my brother, Jones… since that fight back in school… I knew it… you were real… This place… it’s dangerous…”

“You bastards…” Jones’s rage erupted like fire. He turned and struck Jem across the face.

SLAP!

The sound echoed through the corridor. Jem crashed to the floor, his cheek swelling instantly. Pain flashed across his face—but he quickly scrambled up, kneeling, bowing low.

“If this will calm your anger, my lord,” he said meekly, “please… strike my left cheek as well.”

Jones glared at him in disgust. “Pathetic.”

He turned back to Bob, checking his pulse, his expression hardening with resolve.

“Richard! The nearest hospital—now!” he barked.

Jem immediately dropped to his knees again, kissing the dusty leather of Jones’s worn boot as though it were a holy relic.

Even that filthy shoe, he treated with reverence—anything to earn forgiveness from the man he’d just tried to destroy.