I slowed my pace, surprised by his insight. "How did you know?"
"The way you look sometimes, when you think no one's watching. Like you're carrying something too heavy." His usually animated face was solemn. "I felt that way too, growing up. Necromancy isn't exactly the most popular magical specialty. People thought I was creepy."
"You're not creepy," I immediately reacted. "You're kind and thoughtful and your skeletons are, well, they're a little creepy, but in a good way."
He laughed, the sound brightening the gloomy swamp. "That's the thing, I learned to lean into it. Make it funny, make it helpful. Everyone was afraid of me until I got really good at being hilarious."
"But that doesn't mean I don't still feel it sometimes," Milo continued as we walked. "That fear that I'm just one bad day away from being the villain in someone else's story."
I reached out and squeezed his hand. "I get that. Every time these markings glow, I wonder if I'm going to lose control again. If I'm going to hurt someone."
"But you won't," his tone held surprising conviction. "Because you care too much. That's the difference between people like us and actual monsters, we worry about it."
Horrace made a soft trilling sound, as if agreeing.
"See? Even Horrace knows," Milo grinned, then reached into his pocket. "Here, I made something for you."
He pulled out a small charm made of bone, intricately carved with symbols that matched the ones on my arm. It hung from a simple leather cord.
"It's a focus charm," he explained. "It won't stop your power, but it might help you channel it better. And," he added with a shy smile, "it's to remind you that your weirdness isn't scary. It's just noteveryone'sflavor."
I took the charm, deeply touched by the gesture. It was the third gift he'd given me, after the revived rose that I'd kept in a vase by my bed. I slipped the cord over my head, feeling the bone charm settle against my chest.
"Thank you, Milo," I touched it. "This means a lot."
He blushed, looking pleased. "Just doing my job as your friendly neighborhood necromancer."
"This meeting spot feels weird," I muttered as we approached the pre-arranged pickup location just on the outskirts of the city. Milo had contacted the Bureau to let them know the mission was complete, and a transport was on its way.
"Define weird," Milo peered at the empty street corner.
"Like someone's watching us," my fingers instinctively moved to stroke Horrace, who was still draped comfortably around my shoulders like the world's strangest scarf.
Horrace made a soft trilling sound, his tentacles tightening slightly around me in what felt like protective concern. Through our connection, I sensed his alertness, his perception extending far beyond human senses. One of his twelve eyes swiveled backward, scanning the area behind us.
"Do you feel something, buddy?" I whispered.
In response, Horrace's form rippled, and he made a low, discordant note that sent chills down my spine.
"I don't like this," Milo's usual cheerfulness dimmed as he scanned the quiet street. "The Bureau transport should've been here by now."
My prophetic markings began to tingle, a warning sensation I was learning to recognize. "Milo, I think we should…"
A familiar black SUV rounded the corner, Bureau insignia gleaming on its side. Relief washed through me, followed immediately by uncertainty when I noticed who was driving.
Fenric.
He pulled up alongside us, his face a mask of barely restrained bureaucratic fury. Before he could speak, the passenger door flew open, and Rook emerged like a storm cloud, nostrils flaring as he scanned for threats.
"Get in," he growled. "Now."
"Well hello to you too," I muttered, but the genuine concern in his amber eyes stopped me from further sarcasm.
Milo bounded forward cheerfully. "Mission accomplished! We found the monster and…"
"WHAT IS THAT?" Fenric's voice reached a pitch I hadn't thought possible for him as he finally noticed Horrace wrapped around my neck.
Horrace, startled by the shouting, instinctively fluffed out, his colors shifting rapidly as several tentacles waved in agitation. One formed a perfect jazz hand in what might have been a greeting or a defense mechanism.
