I was the one who saw Izzy first. She was tucked in the corner of the tank, the smallest of the bunch, looking like she had no business sharing space with the bigger, bulkier lizards. I nudged Timmie and whispered, “Hey, since you love dragons so much, maybe you need a bearded dragon.” 

Timmie laughed, ready to brush it off. Then Izzy started moving. Not just a shuffle, but a full-on performance—head bobbing, arms lifting in slow circles, tiny claws spread wide. She waved at us like she’d been waiting for her audience all along. 

Timmie’s eyes went huge. “She’s waving at me.” 

I grinned. “Looks like she just claimed you.” 

That was all it took. The joke turned into a certainty, and Timmie was already telling the clerk which one she wanted. When they handed her over, Izzy fit neatly in Timmie’s palm, so small she barely seemed real. But she was warm and alive, her tail curled tight, her dark eyes steady. She wasn’t just another lizard in a tank. She was Izzy. 

From that day, her rules started to take shape right alongside Wick’s. 

Rule Six: Pick your human early and make sure they know it. A little dance and a wave go a long way. 

Rule Seven: Even the tiniest dragon can rule the room if she acts like she was born to.