"You filed a report on him for staying with me?" I was incredulous. "Do you have a permanent stick up your tight ass?"
"I've filed seventeen reports since yesterday's incident," Fenric pulled out his tablet. "Including a comprehensive analysis titled 'Chaotic Incidents and Snack-Related Danger: A Field Analysis.' The Bureau takes documentation very seriously, Ms. Winter." He ignored my second question with a sniff.
"I bet you're fun at parties," I winced as my head throbbed. "God, I feel like I went ten rounds with a tequila bottle and lost."
"Prophetic echoes tend to have that effect." Zane's hand was still on my shoulder. "Like the worst hangover, minus the fun of getting drunk first."
"Here!" Milo bounded over, holding out what I now saw was a small, intricately carved skull on a leather cord. "I made this for you while you were sleeptalking about libraries. It's a protective amulet! Mostly protective. Like ninety percent sure it's not cursed."
"Ninety percent?" I eyed the skull warily.
"Okay, eighty-five. But the potential curse is a mild one! Just occasional whispers from the void. Very quiet whispers?"
"That's thoughtful, Milo. Thanks." I took the amulet gingerly, half expecting it to bite me and I put it around my neck. It was worth the smile from Milo when I did.
It was only then that I noticed Rook, standing silently in the corner of my living room. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression. The claw marks on his chest from yesterday's vending machine battle had already healed to faint pink lines.
"You look less dead."
He was so observant.
"Thanks?" I was uncertain if that was meant to be comforting.
"You were saying things in your sleep," his eyes never left my face. "Names. Places. Something about a chalice."
The word sent a chill down my spine.
The Chalice isn't a cup. It's a choice.
"I don't remember," I lied, though I wasn't sure why. Something about my dream felt private, like a secret I needed to keep close.
Fenric stepped forward, straightening his perfect tie. "Memory loss is common after prophetic events. However, your subconscious will have recorded everything. We'll schedule a memory extraction for next week, once your nervous system has stabilized."
"A what now?" I clutched my blanket tighter. "Nobody's extracting anything from me."
"Standard procedure," Fenric made another note on his tablet. "Nothing invasive. We simply use a specialized crystal to take the information."
"No," I glared at him. "No memory extractions, no crystals, no more tests. I didn't ask for any of this, and I'm not signing up to be your lab rat."
The symbols on my arm flared brightly, responding to my anger. A tremor ran through the apartment, causing the lights to flicker.
"Careful, Shortstack," Zane's hand squeezed my shoulder gently. "Remember what happened to the vending machine."
I took a deep breath, forcing my racing heart to slow. The glow from my arm dimmed slightly and the tremors subsided.
"I need coffee," I announced. "And then explanations. Real ones, not cryptic bureaucratic nonsense shit."
"I already made coffee," Zane reached for a mug on my bedside table. "Black, two sugars, splash of oat milk."
I stared at him. "How did you know that's how I take it?"
He shrugged, but there was something close to embarrassment in his expression again. "I asked your boss."
I took a sip and nearly moaned as the caffeine hit my system. It was perfect.
Fenric cleared his throat. "While I understand your discomfort, Ms. Winter, I must emphasize that cooperation with Bureau protocols is not optional. The spread of prophetic markings indicates acceleration of the timeline, which means…"
"It means she needs breakfast before you drown her in more of your regulation recitations," Zane interrupted, standing up. "Do you want toast, Shortstack? Maybe some eggs? You've been out half a day."
