“Don’t listen to him,” Jack says. “Now that he’s cohabitating with our CEO, he’s attempting to cosplay as the office cupid.”
“Carl literally has a license for that,” Amara says. “And a bow.”
The possibility of a workplace romance with a side of spontaneous combustion. Lucky me.
Amara clears her throat. “All right, gentlemen. As much as I love an office romance, let’s not create more paperwork for me.”
She points around the room, which is lined with motivational posters—one shows two employees sharing coffee under the slogan “Teamwork Never Dies,” another of a centaur at a standing desk that reads “Gallop Toward Greatness.” “There’s a kitchen, lockers, and…” She gestures to a glass door toward the back of the room. “The gym. Feel free to use anything you like.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, eyeing the workout equipment behind the door. I have zero interest in setting foot in a gym.
Jamie nods toward the gym. “There’s a punching bag. If you need a sparring partner… well, I know someone.” He gestures at Jack.
“Completely harmless,” he says, flexing his wings.
I glance between them. Will surviving my first day at Labyrinth Solutions require more than the basics I learned from those night classes I took? Maybe, justmaybe, navigating the mix of employees here might be a little more… interesting than I expected.
Amara’s smile attempts to buoy me, but she has no idea what she’s up against.
“Alright, enough of the basement. Let’s meet your new boss.”
The executive floor feels like stepping into a different dimension. Everything gleams, and the air smells faintly like money and dominance—like someone bottled confidence and sold it to people who already have too much.
Amara hands me a stack of forms thick enough to be used as a weapon, and I flip through the first few pages.Cross-Species Break Protocols.Standard Metamorphosis Log.Hazard Reporting for Magical Mishaps.
“Just the usual,” she says.
“Sure,” I mutter. Corporate life: come for the paycheck, stay for the paperwork documenting… every possible situation under the sun.
I offer a tight smile and remind myself just how badly I need this job.
She knocks on a glass door that’s somehow frosted over from the inside, like it’s perpetually mid-blizzard. “Franklin? Your new assistant is here!”
The temperature drops ten degrees as the door swings open, releasing a gust of crisp, pine-scented air and sending a shiver up my spine. A mountain of white fur and bespoke tailoring fills the doorway. Franklin Frost, Head of Being Resources, looks like he stepped straight out of a luxury cologne ad—something sleek and vaguely intimidating, all ice and authority. His fur isimmaculately brushed, every strand shining silver-white under the office lights, and his ice-blue eyes radiate calm authority—the kind that could freeze a quarterly review mid-sentence. His suit jacket strains over massive shoulders, the fabric an expensive charcoal that contrasts sharply against his snow-pale fur.
“Rivers,” he booms, voice like an avalanche but somehow warm and polite. “Welcome aboard.”
I hesitate, wondering if I should shake his hand or check for an incoming cold front. The chill he radiates is steady, but his smile is all warmth.
“Th-thank you, sir.”
He gestures to the desk outside his office. “That’s your station. I’m really glad you’re here, truly. I do have to run to a meeting with Clang to investigate spreadsheets and budgets”—he checks his watch, his massive hand dwarfing the silver timepiece—“but settle in, explore, and holler if you need anything. Amara here will take care of you. She’s the sharpest talon in the flock.”
And, with a swirl of icy mist, he’s gone.
“Who’s Clang?” I ask, setting my bag down.
“Our CFO. Big guy. Metal plates. Kind of… introverted. Sweet, if you’re into numbers.”
“Got it.” I sit, surveying my work area. “So any last minute tips?”
Amara pats my arm. “For working for Franklin? Just don’t mention snow cones.”
“Why not?”
She leans close. “Bad memories.”
I nod, pretending I know what I’m doing here.
