Elly didn’t see me at first, which was a testament to just how distracted she must’ve been.

  I pushed through the café’s sticky glass door, the bell overhead giving a half-hearted jangle, and there she was at the back corner table. For once, she wasn’t performing. No raised eyebrow, no smirk pre-loaded. Just her, elbow propped on the table, chin resting on her palm, staring at the street through the streaked window like she was waiting for the world to tell her what came next.

  The place was one of those local joints that smelled like scorched espresso and nostalgia—chalkboard menu, plants hanging from the ceiling that might have been plastic, maybe not. The air buzzed faintly with indie music and too many conversations. The kind of place you came to write or pretend you were fine.

  Her hair—short, dark, brushing her jawline—caught the light when a car passed, making it look sharper, like ink tipped in steel. Her leather jacket hung open, the glint of metal at her hip probably not decorative, and her mug steamed between her fingers. For a breath, she looked… tired. Human.

  Then her gaze slid, caught mine, and the mask snapped into place so fast I almost doubted what I’d seen.

  “Daniel,” she called, leaning back in her chair like she’d known I was standing there all along. “You’re late. I was about to order a ceremonial pancake to summon you.”

  I shuffled toward the table, muttering, “Yeah, well, traffic lights hate me, even if breakfast carbs love me.”

  “Not true,” she said, tapping her mug. “I bent three of them green just for that rideshare you took.”

  I sat down across from her, resisting the urge to rub my eyes. Up close, the details hit me harder—the faint star-pupil glint in her eyes, barely hidden by glamour, the faint scent of lavender and ozone clinging to her jacket. She was carved sharp, like mischief with a pulse, and still somehow sitting in a cheap vinyl booth across from me.

  The waitress slid by, dropping a pair of laminated menus with a practiced smile. The smell of syrup and butter hung heavy. Elly reached for the sugar dispenser, shaking it absently into her already sweetened coffee.

  Before I could find words, I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “So… when do I get to see your place?”

  Her head tilted, slow and deliberate, a smile already tugging at the corner of her mouth. “My place? Why would we go there?”

  “With the others always underfoot, maybe use it as a base of operations for planning our missions, instead of the nearest pancake place?”

  “Right…” She snorted. “I think you just want to get in my space.”

  “Yeah.” I tried to play it cool, even though my ears were already heating up. “You’ve seen my disaster cave more times than I can count. Fair’s fair, Elly. Where do you live?”

  “Can’t go. Nope.”

  “Come on, once? I want to see your version of the Batcave. Or maybe it’s more like Rivendell…”

  Elly leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee like she’d been waiting for this question. “Never. Unless we’re married. It’s an elf thing.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I blinked. “…Really?”

  She let me stew for three agonizing beats, then deadpanned: “Is it?”

  I groaned. “Why do I even try?”

  “Because you’re curious,” she said sweetly. “And because you think maybe if you see my pad, you’ll finally understand how I work.”

  There was that…

  “Spoiler: you won’t.” She winked.

  I crossed my arms. “Uh-huh. So where is it? Studio? Condo? Secret lair under a bowling alley?”

  Her grin sharpened. “Close. Option A: a hollowed-out tree above a laundromat in Koreatown. Glamoured so normies just see an ugly billboard for insurance.”

  I squinted. “…That doesn’t sound impossible.”

  “Option B,” she went on, tapping her fingers like she was listing groceries. “One-bedroom walk-up, entirely furnished with cursed IKEA furniture. Every time I sit on the couch it whispers sweet nothings in Swedish.”

  I stared. “…That also sounds disturbingly plausible.”

  “Option C,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “a perfectly normal studio apartment. Except it’s filled wall-to-wall with toasters. All of them haunted. Some of them helpful.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I hate that I don’t know if you’re messing with me.”

  “That’s the point.” She sipped again, eyes sparkling. “Keep guessing, Daniel. It’s good for you.”

  “Meh.”

  “Ooooh. Monosyllables. Sexy.”

  The waitress came back, balancing a plate of waffles and another of omelets. I hadn’t realized Elly had already ordered for us. “You take your coffee like I take my contracts,” she said, sliding the mug toward me. “Black. With consequences.”

  I sniffed the cup. “It’s either dark roast or actual motor oil.”

  “Drink it before it gets cold.” Elly grumbled over a mouthful of waffle.

  “Sure,” I said, blowing on the surface. “I’m just saying if I start coughing up hexes, you’re paying my copay.” I choked down the first too-hot sip. “Still tragic that we’ve never hung out at your place…” I muttered.

  She grinned around her fork. “Tragic is letting three supernaturals crash at your apartment and still thinking you’re the one with boundaries.”

  That word—three—hit heavier than it should have. My shoulders sagged. “I feel like crap about it, you know.”

  Her smirk faded just enough for me to notice. “About what?”

  “Eury. Lily.” I stared at the table’s chipped laminate. “Holding things back. Making excuses. They know I’m hiding something, and I can’t even blame them. If I were them, I’d hate me right now.”

  Elly was quiet for a beat, then reached for the syrup and drowned her waffles in it before answering. “If you were them, you’d be taller, prettier, and way scarier.”

  “Not helping,” I muttered.

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and studied me with those too-bright eyes. “You’re not supposed to tell them. Not yet. You’d choke on the words anyway. It’s who you are, Daniel—a hero in denial. Always two steps late and apologizing for it.”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Wasn’t trying to. Not my job.”

  The burner phone buzzed then, mercifully derailing the conversation. The table rattled as I dragged it out of my pocket. Another Hoardlink message.

  This one was short, all caps like a commandment:

  “SECOND BALANCE: BRING THE SEEDLING TO THE WATER’S EDGE. DO NOT LOOK DOWN.”

  I shoved it across the table to her. Elly leaned in, hair falling into her face, lips pursed. “Well. That’s cheerfully vague again.”

  “Water’s edge,” I muttered. “Could be anywhere. River. Reservoir.”

  “Fish pond?” she suggested.

  “Mud puddle.” I fired back.

  Her eyes stayed on the screen. “I think it doesn’t matter where; it matters why. And the why is probably bad.”

  I frowned. “The ‘don’t look down’ part?”

  “Warnings aren’t meant to protect you,” she said softly. “They’re meant to protect the thing that wrote them.”

  A chill crawled up my arms.

  I slumped back in the booth. “Jade sends us back out there, tells us not to look, and we’re just supposed to… do it? Like nothing will go wrong?”

  Elly’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “Daniel. Nothing ever goes wrong. Until it does.”

  Silence hung, broken only by the hiss of the espresso machine.

  Finally, I sighed. “Still in?”

  Her smile this time was thin, fragile at the edges. “Ride or die. Now let’s load up on carbs and get on this. We’ve got homework to do before we drown, and a divining rod to spell.”

  “You had me at carbs.” I winked.

  “I had you before that.” She whispered, almost beyond my hearing.

  I chose to ignore it, as if I hadn’t heard it.