“You’re lying.”
“I’m many things, Ms. Feng. A liar isn’t one of them.”
He stepped closer. The books around them rustled, pages whispering in languages she couldn’t identify.
“You have a gift. You can see through the veils we wear, read the contracts we write, understand the laws that govern us. It’s rare. Perhaps one in ten million.”
She backed toward the door, but the shelves had rearranged themselves. The path was gone.
“I’m leaving.”
“You could try.” He didn’t move to stop her. Didn’t need to. “Walk out, forget all of this. But then what? Back to student loans that never stop growing? The negative balance your roommate covers when rent’s due? The radiator your landlord pretends doesn’t exist?”
She stopped. “How do you know about my radiator?”
“I know everything about you, Ava Feng.” His voice softened on her first name. “Columbia Law. Top five percent, despite working two jobs. Parents who run a restaurant in Queens, who sacrificed everything for the American dream. They think you’re going to save the family. Bring honor to the Feng name.”
Her eyes burned. “Stop.”
“A grandmother who died when you were twelve.”
Her composure cracked.
“Who left you a jade pendant you wear under your shirt even now.” His gaze dropped to her collar. “A pendant that’s been warm against your skin since you walked into this building. Getting warmer the longer we talk.”
“Don’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t talk about her.”
But Victor continued, relentless. “She raised you when your parents were working eighteen-hour days. Taught you to read. Told you stories about hungry ghosts and fox spirits and things that wore human faces.”
“Kunlun jade,” Victor said. “Sacred stone. One of five that predate written history. It wards against possession, anchors the soul, and—most relevant to you—allows the wearer to see through supernatural glamours.” He tilted his head. “Your grandmother knew what she was giving you, even if she never explained why.”
He paused. His gaze dropped to the pendant, then away — too quick, too deliberate.
“She knew things,” he said carefully. “More than most humans. More than she should have.”
“Knew what things?”
But he was already moving to another shelf, the moment closed. “She said it would protect you from hungry things, yes?”
She heard herself whisper the words. Twelve years old again, sitting at her grandmother’s bedside. “I thought she meant bad men. Street violence.”
“She meant us.”
The room pressed in around them. Books whispered. Something creaked in the shadows above.
“This is insane. You’re telling me my boss is a demon? That I work for hell’s law firm?”
“Not Hell. Nothing so pedestrian.” He moved to another shelf, pulled down a slim leather volume that looked disturbingly new. “And you don’t work for us yet. Not truly. This week was a test.”
“A test.”
“To see what you’re made of.” He held up the book. “Your salary, signing bonus, loan forgiveness: all real. The work is real. The only difference is knowing who you’re working for.”
“Who I’m—” She heard her voice rising, couldn’t stop it. “You’re demons.”
“Everyone has their talents.”
“What happens if I say no? If I walk out right now and never come back?”
