Key players from Labyrinth Solutions are already around the table, each more commanding than the next. Zephyr, a smoke wraith, drifts lazily above her chair, leaving a faint haze that makes her part of the table look like a clouded stage. Clang, a metallic armadillo, rattlesevery time he shifts, sending little plinky echoes across the room. Flick, a luminescent dragon, changes colors with every point he makes—blue for agreement, pink for doubt, and neon green whenever he thinks someone’s bluffing. And then there’s Selene, the only other human, her rich brown fingers tapping her pen as she scribbles furiously in her notebook.
I sit across from Magnus, my stomach doing somersaults. He’s calm, composed, horned and broad-shouldered and entirely too magnetic, while I feel like a rookie being quizzed on multiplication tables I never learned. The room hums with energy, magic, metal, and faint smoke, but all I can focus on is him—and the part of me that keeps whispering,don’t mess this up.
“And Jamie,” Magnus says, drawing me into the conversation, “your work on the media kit proposal is exceptional. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Cue the guilt. I can feel my face heating, my stomach twisting. He’s praising me publicly, and I’m acutely aware that this… this isn’t technically my role. I’m from the mailroom, a fraud masquerading as a junior strategist. And yet, he’s looking at me like I belong. Like I’m the one he’s been waiting for.
After the meeting, Magnus drapes a hand over my shoulder. “You handled that beautifully.” I do my best to smile like I’m confident. Like I deserve it. Inside, I’m panicking. Because even though I do deserve his praise, the lie seems to override any pleasure I should feel in taking it.
Lunch isn’t any easier. My mind is half on thesandwich in front of me and half on Magnus’s laughter, the memory of our Saturday together pulling my focus. Him holding me in his strong arms. Kissing me. Running his hands through my hair as he smelled it. Teasing me as we lay in his bed. Calling me hislittle man. I try to shove the memory away, but it’s stubborn, curling around my brain like smoke.
I’m back in my office, staring out the window, trying to focus, when my phone rings.
Vanessa.
“Jamie, darling, how did the big planning meeting go?”
There’s a swell of background noise—laughter, clinking glasses, an entire room buzzing behind her.
“It went well. At least I think it did.”
“And Magnus? Was he satisfied?”
My stomach flips. I yank my feet off the desk. “Um, yeah. Pretty sure he was satisfied with my performance.”
Flop sweat has taken over my forehead and shirt. I’m pretty sure my ass crack is slicker than a slip and slide.
“Amazing. I knew you could handle things. Hold on a sec, sweetie.” The line goes muffled, like she’s cupping the receiver, but I can still hear her calling out: “Of course, Fernando—more champagne! More champagne for everyone!” Then she’s back, brighter than ever. “Sorry, darling. Just a little party. For me.”
“Right,” I say weakly.
“Now, listen—the next meeting is the big one. The pitch to the city. Today was just the setup.”
“Oh.” Acid burns the back of my throat. The onewhere we pitch the campaign to Crownpoint. My chance to prove myself. To please Magnus. To keep perpetuating the lie.
“No worries, Jamie. I’m coming back. This little soirée in my suite is my going-away party.”
I sit up straighter in my chair. Vanessa’s chair. “Uh—coming back? As in… when?”
“Soon,” she says, drawing the word out like a threat wrapped in a bow. “Dr. Karesh says my recovery is ahead of schedule, and honestly, you wouldn’t believe these veneers. They’re perfect. No one will ever know.”
“Wow,” I manage, my throat dry. “Perfect.”
She laughs, bright and sharp. “Oh, Jamie, I knew you’d hold things down while I was gone. BR said you were just the right candidate. Reliable. Smart. And they were correct. I mean, for a mailroom drone. But don’t get too comfortable without me, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice.
She hums a tune I’m not familiar with. “Good. Because I want everything ready when I’m back. No surprises.”
My pulse jumps. My stomach drops. My lie—the one I’ve been leaning on—feels like it’s on the verge of collapsing.
When the call ends, I just stare at the screen for a long second, my reflection pale and sweaty in the glass. I take a deep breath and whisper, “Only until I prove myself.”
And just when I think I can’t possibly handle onemore thing, Greg materializes like an IT orc prophet, his cart overflowing with enough tangled cords to choke the entire city grid.
“Jamie,” he says flatly, “you need to tell him.”
“Tell who what?”
