My dragon is afraid of flying

The guest room hallway of Pension “Zum schiefen Mond” smelled like soap, wet wood, and old paper. Mila Mandelbaum stood with one hand on her suitcase handle and the other on the doorframe, trying to breathe like she belonged here. The inn had been quiet all evening, the kind of quiet that felt like it was listening. She told herself it was just mountain weather and tired nerves.

Then, from the laundry closet at the end of the hallway, something made a sharp, happy sound. “Meow.” It came again, closer this time, like a cat testing a new room. Mila froze. Her first thought was that she had missed a detail in the rental agreement. Her second thought was worse: she had not brought a cat.

The closet door was small and painted the same deep blue as the trim. It looked ordinary, except for the brass knob that had small scratches like tiny claws had worried it before. Mila reached for the knob. Her fingers hovered for a second, because her life had taught her that curiosity always came with consequences.