Charlie kept his head down as he walked through the neighborhood, hands stuffed into the hoodie's damp pockets. The sky had dimmed, that sort of late-afternoon grey where the sun didn't know if it wanted to stay or go. Cars passed. A dog barked. Normal stuff.
But something felt… off.
He noticed it when he stopped at a corner—an older woman walking her poodle gave him a double take. Then, two kids on bikes slowed down, whispering and glancing back at him. A guy in a delivery van honked once, but not in a road-rage kind of way—more like he recognized him.
Charlie blinked, unsure if he was being paranoid. Maybe the hoodie was too loud. Maybe his hair was weird. He kept walking.
By the time he reached his street, even the guy mowing his lawn across the road paused to wave, just a little too enthusiastically.
"Okay…" Charlie muttered under his breath. "What is going on?"
When Charlie opened the front door, Alfred was already rushing down the hallway.
"There you are!" he blurted, practically grabbing Charlie by the shoulders before pausing. "You okay? Are you hurt?"
Charlie blinked, arms full—hoodie, groceries, and the strange leather bag all bunched against his chest.
"I'm good," he mumbled, just before Alfred pulled him into a quick hug. It was awkward, half because of the stuff in Charlie's arms and half because Alfred wasn't the hugging type. Usually.
"Right. Sorry," Alfred said, stepping back quickly and taking the groceries from him. "Come on in."
Charlie kicked off his shoes and followed him into the kitchen, setting the leather bag carefully on the counter.
"You scared the hell out of me, you know," Alfred said. "What you did was stupid. Brave, but stupid."
Charlie frowned. "I literally just walked home."
Alfred pulled out his phone. "No, no. This happened on your walk home."
He turned the screen toward Charlie. A TikTok was playing—shaky phone footage, already edited with dramatic music. A girl stumbling into traffic. A blur of someone—Charlie—rushing in. The truck screeching. People yelling. Then, freeze-frame, zoom on Charlie's face.
"Oh," Charlie said, staring at himself on screen. "Right. That."
"You're on, like, three different angles already. And it's on the news," Alfred added, nodding toward the TV in the living room, where a news anchor was rehashing the clip.
"I'm fine," Charlie repeated. "Just got some puke on my jacket. That's why I went to the laundromat."
Alfred grimaced. "Gross."
"Yeah."
A moment passed. Alfred looked at the bag Charlie had set down. "That hers?"
Charlie nodded. "Fell when I pulled her out of the way. No ID inside. I figured I'd hold onto it—y'know, since I'm the only one who actually saw her up close."
Alfred's tone softened. "Makes sense."
Charlie didn't mention the weird metal bracelet. Or how it felt warm in his hand earlier—almost like it pulsed. He just gave a shrug and looked toward his room.
"Anyway, I'm gonna shower. Feel...off."
"Go ahead. Just hurry," Alfred called after him. "Your mom's gonna see all this soon. And when she does... she's calling."
Charlie sighed. "Of course she is."
He picked up the leather bag again and carried it into his room. He dropped it onto the floor beside his desk, stripped off the freshly washed hoodie, and headed to the bathroom.
*****************
"Camelot," the old man muttered, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief and memory. He was facing the dusty window now, half-talking to himself. "You say you're from Camelot. Sent here by a dying master... magic and all that."
Irdra sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of the half-lit room, nibbling half-heartedly on a slice of coarse bread he'd handed her. She didn't say anything. Not yet.
The old man chuckled dryly, scratching at his grizzled beard. "You came to find a knight.'" He shook his head, not even bothering to look at her. "All with a fancy leather bag that had everything she needed to finish her quest."
Irdra gave a quiet, solemn nod. Her mouth was full, but her eyes were wet with defeat.
The old man turned to look at her finally. "And now that it's gone, your whole mission's done for, huh?"
She looked down.
"So is your… whole world?"
She swallowed, nodded again.
The old man huffed, folding his arms. "Foreigners really do live in their own worlds, huh?"
Irdra winced a little, lips pressed. But he wasn't being mean. Just confused and maybe a little amused.
"Well," the old man continued, "if you lost the bag in here, I'd say it wouldn't be too hard to find. But if it's that hard, maybe it didn't fall in here. Maybe it dropped when you were stumbling around all dizzy. Outside maybe."
"I wasn't supposed to be the one sent…" Irdra snapped without meaning to, and her voice cracked as she tried to cover her frustration. "I'm just an apprentice. I don't even know half the summoning glyphs. I only learned mirror-vision last month! And now I've failed everything. Camelot's gone and I'm gonna be the last witch ever."
She sniffled loudly and buried her face into her hands, groaning in that overly dramatic way only someone still half a kid could manage.
"Mmhmm." He got to his feet, brushing crumbs off his pants. "I've had enough of the melodrama for one night."
"Where are you going?" she asked with a raised brow.
He limped over to an ancient box-shaped TV set, faded and coated in dust like the rest of the room. He pulled an old remote from beneath a blanket and smacked it against his palm a few times.
Irdra gasped. "You're a vision sorcerer!"
The old man paused. "…Eh?"
Her eyes were wide. "You use mirrors! That's a mirror device, right? A remote-focus crystal wand."
He chuckled, eyebrows rising as he held up the remote. "Perhaps I am."
He pointed it dramatically at the TV, grinning now. "Behold… magic."
With a click, static buzzed and the screen flickered to life. A local news broadcast was running, one of those spontaneous segments that interrupted programming.
The old man frowned. "What the… they've delayed my show again?"
He reached to change the channel—but Irdra bolted upright.
"WAIT—no, go back! Back!"
"What?" he muttered.
"GO BACK!"
He sighed and clicked the button again.
The screen returned to the interrupted broadcast. A news anchor, standing before a recorded clip, announced:
"…a young teen rushed in to help a pedestrian nearly struck at a crosswalk in the downtown area this evening. Caught on camera, his quick reflexes may have saved a life. Social media is already buzzing with the mystery hero…"
The footage played. A slightly shaky video clip from someone's phone, taken just after the event. The crowd. A blur of motion. Then: Irdra pushing through the crowd, wearing the leather bag.
"There!" she gasped. "That's me! That's—my bag!"
The video continued, and just before it ended, her bag slipped from her shoulder—unnoticed—and landed by the curb.
Then someone picked it up.
"The boy," she whispered. "That boy."
She scrambled closer to the screen and pointed. "He has it. He's holding it!"
The old man squinted. "Huh. That's… actually good news."
"Tell me who he is!" Irdra spun to face him, eyes alight.
The old man leaned back. "How would I know?"
"This is your mirror of vision, right? You should know who's inside it!"
He blinked. "You think I have an omniscient mirror? Girl, this is a TV. I don't know anyone on there."
"Pleeease!"
He groaned. "…Tony. Looks like a Tony."
She stared at him suspiciously.
He scratched the back of his neck. "…Probably. He looks like a Tony, right?"
Irdra narrowed her eyes. "Tony... fine. Where can I find him?"
The old man waved lazily at the screen. "He's a kid. Probably still in school."
"Where?"
The old man rubbed his chin and squinted. "Maybe… Jefferson High. Yeah. Jefferson. Not far from here."
She stood up, brushing the crumbs from her lap, suddenly full of renewed energy. "Thank you, wise seer."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't block the TV again."
"I'll go at dawn!" she declared, already heading toward the door.
"Oi," he snapped.
She paused.
"You don't know where that is."
"ahh...."
"You are tired alright, and it seems you have alot on your plate. Besides he wont be at the school now"
She blinked. "But—"
"Stay the night. I got an extra blanket. You can take the couch.Sun'll be up in a few hours anyway. Sleep while you can. You'll need your strength if you're gonna march into Jefferson High and demand a bag back from a boy named Tony Maybe."
"…Fine," she grumbled, though secretly relieved.