She shakes her head. “No. Magnus isn’t dense—he’s a brilliant CEO who can smell bullshit at fifty paces. What stings isn’t the lie about your job. It’s that you don’t believeyou—just you—are enough. And if you don’t believe it, why should anyone else?”
Her words land like a punch to my stomach. I glance down at my hands. “I wanted to be someone he could be proud of. Not just the kid from the mailroom who got a lucky break to be Vanessa’s assistant.”
“First,” Amara says, holding up a talon-sharp finger, “assistants run the world. Don’t you dare insult yourself.Second, ambition isn’t the enemy. You can want more for your career and still be honest about where you are.”
Her gaze sharpens, pinning me. “Jamie, you came to Labyrinth Solutions because you wanted more. You put in your time in the mailroom. I pulled strings to get you this shot, and your first instinct was to fake it instead of own it. What if you’d just told the truth? Maybe things would’ve ended the same—or better. But if you keep shapeshifting to please everyone else, you’re going to disappear.”
My throat tightens. “What if the real me isn’t enough?”
Amara exhales slowly, shaking her head. “That’s the nastiest lie you tell yourself. And it’s the only one that’ll ruin you.”
Silence stretches, thick as wet cement. My chest aches, but this time it’s not heartbreak—it’s the truth gnawing at my gut.
“I want to fix this,” I whisper.
Amara’s smile is small but fierce. “Then do it. Not as Junior Strategist Jamie. Not as Assistant Jamie. Just as… you. Messy, scared you. If they can’t handle that, fine—you’ll survive. But if you keep hiding, you’ll lose everything for sure.”
I nod, blinking hard.
She claps her hands once, businesslike. “Good. Now, wipe your face before Vanessa comes and finds you. She’ll add ‘manage emotional leakage’ as a development goal in your next performance review.”
A weak laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, and it feels good.
“There he is,” Amara says, grinning like a cat with cream. “The Jamie Torres I know. The one who has teeth.”
“Do I, though?” I mumble.
“Yeah.” She stands, handing me a tissue. “Now use them.”
18
HUMAN INTERVENTION
MAGNUS
The conference tablestretches like polished glass, long enough for a small army. Around it sit the city officials, each striking in their own way. Councilman Grath, a dragon in a sharp navy suit, stone-gray scales glinting under the lights. Maribel, a lamia, coiled gracefully in her chair, her emerald scales catching every flicker of the overhead glow. A harpy delegate from the transit authority, feathers sleek, pen poised between talons. And two humans, a man and a woman—he’s fair and clean-cut, and she’s got warm, honey-toned skin and glossy black hair—smiling, nodding, and holding their own with steady confidence among such impressive company.
On the other side, me. And at my right, Vanessa,perched like a vulture ready to swoop, her lipstick the color of fresh blood.
This meeting is supposed to be mine. Our campaign. Months of work I honed in the last few weeks with… Jamie. But Vanessa’s voice slices through the room before I can even finish my opening remarks.
“—and of course, the campaign hinges on celebrating what makes us unique at every level,” she says, her smile like a knife. “Magnus and I have worked tirelessly, but as Head of Creative, I’ve pushed this vision to where it needs to be.”
Head of Creative. That’s Jamie’s work. Jamie’s notes she’s pawing through like she has any clue what went into what he’s crafted. I clear my throat.
“Yes,” I say, forcing calm. “Uniqueness is?—”
Vanessa barrels over me. “So, the concept is: everyone living and working together, side by side. Posters, bus ads, digital campaigns. It’s all simple enough.”
Simple enough. She says it like it’s been handed to her, shrink-wrapped, easy. Like Jamie didn’t pour himself into it. Like I didn’t watch him sharpen every detail until it sang.
I glance at my notes. Without him, they read like a foreign language. Phrases I recognize, but no melody. My tongue hangs heavy in my mouth.
Viktor Valance, a vampire councilman, clears his throat, fangs flashing. “That’s all very… pleasant, Ms. Voss. But what’s the hook? Every campaign claims uniqueness. What’s going to make this one… sing?”
Vanessa blinks. “Ours is authentic.”
The room tilts. I want to back her up, to add weight, but the words stick. Authentic. Without Jamie’s pitch, without him, it feels like we’re playacting.
