Nothing in my training, nothing in GUIDE's entire philosophy, explains that. We're taught that magickal creatures are threats to be neutralized. Beings that don't belong in our world. Yet I'm one of them. And that wolf, whatever it is, showed more mercy than many humans I've known. Perhaps some monsters wear badges, and some saviors wear fur.
The intercom chimes overhead: "Agent Mathieson to Psychological Services Desk. Agent Mathieson to Psychological Services Desk."
My stomach drops. Every head in the open office space lifts momentarily, curious eyes following me as I stand. Perfect. A public announcement ensuring everyone knows I'm being evaluated, watched, and questioned.
Great. Time to lie to yet another person about who and what I am.
I spend the next ten minutes reviewing my story, going over every detail to ensure consistency. That's the key to a convincing lie—consistency and just enough truth to make it believable.
The clock crawls forward while I mentally rehearse responses to predictable questions. What did the wolf look like? Massive, black and gray, nothing unusual. Did it exhibit any strange behaviors? Just typical predator evasion. Did you feel threatened? Only professionally. Each answer is carefully constructed to reveal nothing of importance. The intercom chimes overhead just as I finish my mental preparation.
I straighten my shoulders, check my reflection in the window glass, and arrange my features into a mask of professional composure. Like preparing for battle, except the weapons are words and the battlefield is my own mind. I'm a perfect forgery of a normal GUIDE agent. Every line is exact, every color matched, but under UV light, I glow with everything I have to hide.
Dr. Carrow is waiting when I arrive at Psych Services, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun. She's been with GUIDE longer than anyone else in the department. Rumor has it she helped develop the psychological profiles we use to identify potential magick users in the general population. Those same profiling techniques I've been carefully evading for years. If anyone could see through me, it would be her.
"Agent Mathieson." She gestures to the chair across from her. "Please, have a seat."
The evaluation room is deliberately neutral—soft beige walls, comfortable but not luxurious furniture, no windows. Designed to put subjects at ease while giving away nothing of the evaluator's own thoughts. I've been on both sides of this process many times.
"This is a standard post-exposure assessment," she begins, tablet in hand. "Nothing to be concerned about."
"I'm not concerned." I settle into the chair, body language open, non-defensive, despite the anger still simmering in my gut. "It was a standard pursuit that ended with lost contact. Nothing unusual."
"Mmm." She makes a note without looking up. "Let's start with the basics. Did you feel your life was in immediate danger during the encounter?"
"No more than any other field operation."
"Did you discharge your weapon?"
"Once. Warning shot only."
"And the entity's response?"
"It continued to retreat."
Dr. Carrow’s eyes flick up to mine. "Interesting choice of words. 'Retreat' implies tactical thinking. Did you observe signs of higher cognitive function in this creature?"
Careful, Astrid. "All animals make strategic decisions when pursued."
My training kicks in automatically. Deflect, normalize, appear reasonable. But beneath the practiced calm, alarms blare. She caught the slip. Too late to take it back, but I can still control the damage.
"Of course." Another note on her tablet. "Yet in your report, you mention it moved 'deliberately' toward water. That suggests purpose beyond instinct."
"Poor word choice on my part." I keep my voice even. "I meant the wolf followed the path of least resistance, which happened to lead to water."
She shifts tactics. "Tell me about the moment you lost sight of the entity."
The sudden pivot makes my muscles tense. Veteran interrogator's move—change direction when the subject gets too comfortable with a line of questioning. I've used it myself countless times. Dr. Carrow isn't just conducting a standard evaluation, she's hunting for inconsistencies, for cracks in my story. For proof that I'm hiding something.
"He disappeared into the trees. Heavy rain obscured the trail."
"And how did that make you feel?"
I almost laugh. How did it make me feel to watch the wolf that had just saved my life disappear into the forest? Confused. Grateful. Terrified. Not of it, mind you, but of what its existence means for everything I thought I knew.
"Frustrated," I say instead, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I don't like losing targets." That part, at least, is true. I hate that I'm being punished for "losing" the wolf when I should be focusing on the chimeras.
Dr. Carrow watches me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Agent Mathieson, you've been exposed to dozens of magickal entities during your career with GUIDE. What was different about this one?"
