For the next hour or so, Sarah and I just… talked.
Not the strained conversations we used to have inside the Mimic Maze, where every word felt like it might be our last, but something lighter—almost normal. She told me about her new work at the Rescue Department: mostly guiding survivors out of mild anomalies, emergency containment assistance, some paperwork here and there. Nothing world-ending. Nothing that made your pulse spike every five minutes.
"Honestly," she said, sipping the caramel-colored tea she ordered, "the most dangerous thing I've done is help lift a collapsed doorway in a low-tier distortion. My biggest threat so far has been splinters."
"Amazing," I sighed dramatically, setting down my cup. "My biggest threat this month was the concept of time itself clawing away at my very soul."
Sarah laughed—an actual laugh—not the brittle ones she used to force.
"I suppose we operate on different levels of the same insanity," she said.
I showed her my anomalous Pocketwatch after that. Her eyes widened almost comically.
"Why is it that i've yet to see a normal item from you?"
"Excuse me," I said, offended, "the chewing gum is pretty normal."
"You literally said it gives you night vision."
"Normal," I insisted.
She shook her head, smiling faintly. I couldn't tell if she was amused or concerned for my long-term survival. Probably both.
Despite everything that had happened—Josh, the Maze, the aftermath—it was strangely comforting just being there with her. Not romantic. Not some dramatic reunion. More like… seeing a cousin you grew up with after a rough couple of months. Someone who shared the same weird childhood memories, the same ghosts, the same talk patterns.
A tiny piece of home.
Yeah. That was the best way to describe it.
---
The following days bled together.
One evening, somehow, Louis dragged me to karaoke. And because suffering feels best when shared, I invited Sarah too—mostly because I thought she'd enjoy watching Louis embarrass himself.
She didn't.
She thrived in it.
"That boy has the confidence of a goddamn sea lion," she muttered as Louis belted out a high note that nearly shattered glass.
"You should've seen him the first time we went," I whispered back. "He tried to sing an opera version of the Pokémon theme song."
"No."
"Yes."
Abby sat beside us, arms crossed, pretending not to laugh. It was almost impressive how committed she was to looking unimpressed by everything. The most she granted me was a nod of acknowledgment when I sat down.
We were not friends.
We were not enemies either.
We were… colleagues with potential?
Smalltalk stage, baby! Progress!
Sarah and Abby bonded instantly—of course they did. Louis, who had the social experience of a golden retriever, welcomed Sarah with open arms and three separate high-fives.
And for a fleeting moment—even though the music was too loud, and Abby rolled her eyes at every joke I made, and Louis kept trying to pressure us into a group song—I felt almost normal.
Teenager again. No anomalies. No eldritch entities. No glowing jars or haunted doors or supervisors who appeared out of thin air.
Just people. Laughing. Existing.
That night clung to me for days afterward.
I didn't realize how badly I needed something human.
---
But breaks don't last forever.
When my paid leave ended, reality arrived with the subtlety of a knife to the ribs.
The Pale Shore operation.
Every time the words formed in my mind, a cold shiver crawled down my spine. I'd been training relentlessly—physical conditioning and even mental focus drills.
The night before the operation briefing, I couldn't sleep. My body felt tired, but my mind was pacing laps around itself.
What waited for us at the Pale Shore was not a distortion.
Not a playful anomaly.
Not some mischievous entity with rules and boundaries.
It was something ancient.
Something unknown.
Something hidden.
And 4,000 people were inside its grasp.
I couldn't help imagining the shore:
The endless pale sand.
The quiet mist.
Footprints that appeared but never led anywhere.
Unfinished whispers carried by the wind.
A silhouette standing at the edge of the water.
Every time I blinked, the image sharpened.
'Have i been watching too many Horror Movies lately..?'
More importantly.
'Will I come back whole?'
'Will any of us come back at all?'
---
The morning of the briefing arrived mercilessly.
I woke up before my alarm—4:32 a.m. My room looked unusually quiet; even the faint city noise felt muted. I stood in the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection.
My restored eye stared back.
Perfect. Untouched. Like it had never been ripped from me.
It still felt unfamiliar sometimes.
"Hope you stay where you are this time," I muttered, brushing a thumb over my eyelid.
I got dressed into my BAA issued office clothes. My Pocketwatch holding my collection of Anomalous items went into my inner pocket.
I stared at the white fox sleeping on the couch like it owned the damn place.
"Do I like... say bye or something?" I tilted my head
"whatever," I whispered. "that thing will probably be happy to have the place in its paw for a while. No need to feel all sentimental."
When I stepped out of my apartment, the city was just beginning to wake up—warm lights behind curtains, early joggers, street vendors setting up shop. None of them knew what we were going to face today.
Maybe ignorance really was bliss.
---
The Bureau headquarters was buzzing when I arrived.
Agents rushed back and forth, carrying documents, armaments, anomalous equipment. I saw two ward specialists chalking sealing runes onto the floor. A technician ran by holding something that looked suspiciously like a glowing spine.
I blinked.
Yep. Glowing spine.
"Morning," a familiar voice called behind me.
Julian walked toward me, one hand shoved into his pocket, looking like someone had drained the last three nights of sleep straight out of him with a straw. His hair was a disaster, his tie wasn't even pretending to be tied, and he held a half-eaten sandwich like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane of existence.
"You look like death," I said.
"Thank you," he grumbled. "It's called stress. You'll know it well after today."
"Cheers to that."
He fell into step beside me as we headed toward floor 27—one of the Research Department's restricted levels, where my team was supposedly waiting. Despite his zombie-like appearance, he had this jittery, restless energy in his steps. Like someone who wanted to say something but hadn't decided if it was appropriate.
"So," he nudged me with his elbow, "I hear you've been hanging out with your Maze girl again."
I groaned. "She's not 'my' anything."
"Uh-huh," he hummed, absolutely unconvinced.
"Seriously. We just talked. And ate. And she met Louis."
"That explains the singing videos Louis sent me at three a.m."
I stopped mid-step. "Oh god, he actually sent those?"
Julian smirked. "You hitting a high note was… something."
"I want to die."
"No you don't," he said, patting my shoulder. "You've got Pale Shore today. You can die after that."
"Wow," I deadpanned. "Thank you for the emotional support."
"Anytime."
Despite the banter, something flickered behind his eyes—tight, strained, hidden beneath humor. He knew the risks of this mission better than I did. Probably more than he wanted to admit.
And the closer we got to the research wing, the more real everything felt.
"You know," I said, forcing lightness into my voice, "I almost thought I'd make it back alive. But now that you're walking with me, I'm certain this is actually my death."
"For what it's worth," he shrugged, "you and your high notes will be missed."
"Wow," I muttered. "Twice in one day. You're on fire."
It took a few more minutes of winding hallways before we reached the correct section of the floor. We both slowed to a stop. The air here felt… thicker. Quiet. Like the building itself knew something big was about to happen.
We faced each other.
Julian's expression shifted—softened, tightened, something in between. He rested a firm hand on my shoulder, meeting my eyes with rare seriousness.
"You're gonna make it," he said. "Don't be afraid."
For a heartbeat, everything stilled.
His voice wasn't dramatic. Not exaggerated. Not trying too hard.
Just… honest.
And somehow that hit harder than any pep talk.
His reassurance helped—but the fact that he needed to reassure me at all?
Yeah. That meant hell was waiting on the other side of these doors.
I genuinely don't know whether to curse or thank you right now…
I let out a breath. "Thanks, Julian. Want any souvenirs?"
He turned, already walking away, waving lazily over his shoulder.
"Wine. But make sure it's expensive."
"That hardly counts as a souvenir," I sighed.
His laugh echoed faintly down the hall.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside the conference room—
A long obsidian table. The faint scent of sterilized equipment. Dozens of screens flickering with data.
Chief Silva was seated at the far end, flipping through reports. Theo lounged sideways in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. Mira sat quietly beside him, posture straight, eyes focused and unreadable as always.
All three looked up when I entered.
So it begins.