“Thank you,” Jamie says proudly. “We try.”
The whole exchange makes me chuckle—loud, bright, unbothered. The kind that warms your chest and lingers, even after they’ve wandered off bickering about toast again.
I notice Amara gliding past the breakroom window, her feathers glinting like obsidian under the fluorescent lights. She’s got a new face with her. He has blond hair in a swoop that reminds me of Kael Veyr, my favorite sci-fi video game hero. Shirt tucked in, pants pressed, shoes pristine, and a tie with some unusual design I’ve never seen. He’s short—even for a human—but with a little belly that looks soft, warm, and dare I say, cuddly. My breath catches. I glance around. No one’s noticed me staring. Good. Professionalism intact.
He’s moving carefully, like he thinks he doesn’tbelong here, and my giant green heart decides that’s adorable.
“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding toward them.
Jamie cranes his neck. “Ooh, he’s a new arrival, for sure. He’s got that first-day, please-don’t-fire-me energy.”
“Amara’s probably showing him the ropes,” I say.
Jamie grins. “Think he’ll last?”
“Hard to say,” I admit, watching the guy glance nervously at a centaur squeezing through a doorway. “He’s got the look of someone who’s never seen a Minotaur before breakfast.”
“But that’s when they’re the most fun,” Jamie says with a smirk. “Bet he’ll loosen up once he settles in… or meets the right employee.”
Jack cocks his head. “And by the right employee you mean…”
“Exactly.” Jamie nods.
I roll my eyes, but my smile lingers. That little curve of hair catches the light again as he turns his head, and something about it makes my chest feel… weirdly warm.
I shake it off and turn back to my coffee. “Maybe,” I say, pretending it’s casual. “Let’s just hope he survives Amara’s forms.”
I take a deep breath, letting the warmth of the mug anchor me. Don’t overthink it, Greg. Just another new hire. Just another handsome guy with wide eyes and a smile that does inconvenient things to my heart rate.
Focus. I’m Greg Orsin. IT Department. Helpful, cheerful, Labyrinth Solutions nerd extraordinaire.
I’ve got my routine to keep me grounded—coffee first, server check second, existential longing firmly on mute.
“Well, have a good one,” I say with a small wave.
The guys nod and return to their Monday morning coffee clutch.
On the way to the server room, I pass the two other IT guys—Lance, a human powered entirely by energy drinks, and Brill, a phantom who insists on hovering two inches above his chair “for ergonomic reasons.” Our department of three is on the small side for such a big company, but we manage to whack all the moles.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning,” Lance mumbles into his silver can of pick-me-up.
Brill flickers once in acknowledgment, screen light glinting through his translucent form. He’s already deep in a diagnostic that looks more like spellwork than code. I keep going, drawn toward the familiar hum and cool air of the server room—my unofficial cave.
My desk is covered with four monitors, three large PCs rest on the floor, and there’s a laptop for good measure—and portability. The scent of canned compressed air and old pizza hits me like a wall, comforting and familiar. I scan my tickets. Nothing yet. Jackpot. I grab my cart, stocked with cables, keyboards, tools, duct tape, and, of course, a jar of Splatters. You never know when a little sugar diplomacy will save the day.
Rolling down the executive floor hall, I nod to Charlie, a centaur juggling three monitors anda coffee cup. “Good morning!” I boom. He glances at me like I’m an intrusive Pegasus. Fine. Not everyone’s thrilled it’s Monday. I pass Gertie, a gorgon, adjusting her glasses, as her snakes hiss their displeasure. Magnus Trainor, the CEO, clomps by, tail swishing. Normal Monday morning chaos.
And then I see him again.
The blond new guy, glaring at his monitor with searing blue eyes like it betrayed him. Perfect. Just the right amount of frustration to make my morning interesting.
“Crash it already?” I ask, kneeling beside him. His chair creaks as he shifts. He freezes. Oh, good. The newbie is startled already. Poor guy.
He stammers about not touching anything, and, gods, could he be any more adorable? I know not everyone’s used to a giant green IT guy in glasses helping, but if the computer isn’t behaving, it’s up to me to wrangle it into submission.
“Name’s Greg.” I point to my badge, and he simply stares at it. And keeps staring.
