Kane's face fell as he watched his perfect throw go astray.
Then, impossibly, the ring straightened mid-flight.
A faint shimmer of crimson energy—so subtle it could have been a trick of the late afternoon light—guided the plastic hoop directly onto the center bottle.
The booth operator's jaw dropped.
"Well, I'll be damned. Never seen anything like that."
Kane turned to stare at Cyrus, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, expression perfectly neutral.
"Did you just—"
"The wind died down at the right moment." Cyrus's voice carried no inflection whatsoever.
The booth operator handed Kane the enormous plush dragon, muttering about freak wind patterns and impossible shots.
Kane held the oversized plush dragon against Cyrus's shoulder, studying both faces with exaggerated seriousness.
"You know what? On closer inspection, this doesn't look like you at all."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow.
