Melinda dragged her feet down the alley, using the grimy wall for support. Magic deficiency gnawed at her, weakening her, making her movements unsteady.

She stumbled to the corner of the alley and vomited, the acrid taste of bile burning her throat. A few normals glanced her way, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. What do they see me as now? she wondered bitterly. Her clothes were torn, her hair a mess. She probably looked like some homeless junkie.

She hated the normals, their blissful ignorance. She wanted to wipe their smug, oblivious faces from the earth. They didn't deserve the world they inhabited. They knew nothing of its true nature, its power, the delicate balance that held it together. But she was powerless.

Kill a normal, and the SCM—Supernatural Crimes and Management—would hunt you down with relentless determination. Ever since the last Enforcer had died, the SCM had been in charge, barely managing to keep the supernatural world from imploding. But for how long could they maintain this precarious peace? she thought.

Someone, somewhere, was traveling through time, assassinating future Enforcers. Even the SCM couldn't stop it. No Enforcer meant no real law, no balance. It was essentially a universe slowly creeping towards its inevitable end.

She stared at the stump where her hand had been, severed cleanly at the elbow. That hunter had to use a damn witch blade, she cursed inwardly as she straightened up, wincing in pain. She was incredibly vulnerable right now, even to normals.

Rain began to fall, a cold, steady drizzle. She needed a quiet place to rest, to recover. Ah, she was going to kill that boy and that hunter, even if it was the last thing she did.

It wasn't difficult to get a motel room. Magical abilities like charm didn't require much magic; with frequent use, they became almost instinctive, requiring no conscious effort.

She simply walked up to a motel in the pouring rain. The cashier was engrossed in his phone, the tinny sound of a soap opera theme song leaking from the device.

The man glanced at her, then returned to his phone. “We have no available rooms,” he mumbled without looking up. But Melinda knew he was lying. The row of room keys hanging behind him told a different story.

“I have money,” she said, her voice flat.

“No rooms are available, miss. You can leave calmly, or I’m calling the police,” he repeated, his tone dismissive.

Melinda walked towards the counter. The man stood up and reached for something under the table, probably a weapon. She stretched her hand over the counter, placing it gently over his, and offered him the sweetest smile she could muster.

“Sir, it’s raining outside,” she said softly. “Could I please get a room?”

“Yes, room! I’m coming,” the man said, his demeanor changing instantly. He turned towards the keys, then stopped. “Room… money. Room per night, five bucks.”

“Okay, sir,” she replied, taking out a candy bar wrapper and handing it to him. He snatched it from her, holding it up to the light.

“Yes, good money,” he said, his eyes gleaming. He opened his register and added it to the pile of cash inside. He left the register open and turned to grab a key.

Melinda reached into the open register and discreetly pocketed a few hundred-dollar bills before the man turned back with the key.

She smiled sweetly, tucking the stolen money into her skirt. Taking the key, she turned to leave.

“Wait!” the man called out.

Melinda turned slowly to face him.

“We have soda and water in the common fridge down the hall,” he offered, “and the kitchen is open until midnight.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, it’s already midnight, so no kitchen.”

“Okay, thank you,” she replied, offering a slight bow.

“Goodnight,” the man replied, settling back into his chair like a robot and resuming his show.

Melinda sighed and walked out of the room. She climbed the creaking stairs and headed down the dimly lit hallway to the last room. She slipped off her wet boots, inserted the key into the lock, opened the door, walked in, and locked it securely behind her.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The room was dark. She fumbled for the light switch on the wall and flicked it on.

There, on the worn brown sofa at the end of the room, was Maggie.

“Hey, Melinda, nice show,” Maggie greeted her, a playful grin on her face.

“Maggie, you scared the hell out of me!” Melinda complained, her heart still racing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Maggie apologized.

“It’s fine,” Melinda sighed. “How did you—?”

“Oh my gosh, what happened to your arm?” Maggie exclaimed, interrupting Melinda. She stood up and rushed towards her.

Maggie rolled back Melinda’s sleeve, revealing the bloody cut, now covered with a makeshift bandage. “We should get that checked,” Maggie said, her concern evident. “I’ll make dinner,” she added, leading Melinda towards the bathroom.

Sawyer was crying, the tears streaming down his face uncontrollably. He had promised himself he wouldn't cry anymore, not since his mom's accident.

“Sweetheart, remember what Mummy always says,” a voice called out, his mother’s voice.

He lifted his head and saw her standing there. He felt like he was ten again, young and naive, always clinging to his mother’s lab coat. He missed her so much.

Sawyer ran to her and hugged her tightly, sobbing like a child. He was smaller now, his body reverting to that of a ten-year-old. “I missed you, Mom,” he cried through his tears.

“Yes, I know, sweetheart, and I missed you too,” she replied, patting his hair like she used to.

“You are all grown up now,” she said, and he was bigger again, taller now, but he still held onto her, unwilling to let go. He loved her blue eyes, so full of life, just like his used to be.

“I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t stay long,” she said gently. “The longer I stay, the harder it will be for you to return.”

“Mom, I don’t want to go back,” he pleaded.

“No, you have to,” she insisted. “Everything depends on you.”

“I don’t want to,” he repeated, his voice filled with fear. “I want to stay with you. I’m scared, Mom.”

“Yes, it’s okay to be afraid,” she reassured him.

“A little fear won’t kill you. Courage isn’t overcoming fear; it’s doing it in the midst of fear. Find your father. He will tell you everything.”

“My father?” Sawyer asked, his heart sinking.

“Yes, find him. He lives where the sun sleeps. Find him. I can’t say more; they’re listening. They already know you’re still alive, and they will find you. I can’t protect you anymore. Remember, Sawyer, you have to be strong.”

“Now go save the world,” she said, her voice filled with love and determination.

“No, I don’t want to lose you again,” Sawyer cried.

“Sawyer, you have to go,” she said, her voice firm. The white walls of the room slowly turned black.

“Please don’t leave me again,” he begged.

“Sawyer, Sawyer, look at me,” she said.

He lifted his head to see her face… it was rotten flesh, and worms crawled out of it, landing on his face. He screamed, jolting awake.

His heart was pounding. He struggled to catch his breath, his eyes darting around the room. It was a simple room, just a bed and a chair. Someone was sitting in the chair.

“Man, do you talk in your sleep,” a voice said. Sawyer turned his head and saw a figure slide it tongue out and lick it's eyeball.

“What the fuck?” Sawyer exclaimed, his fear quickly turning to disgust.

Joe burst into Sawyer’s bedroom, his eyes widening at the chaotic scene before him. Sawyer was pinned on the bed, struggling to fend off Sarah, who seemed determined to sink her teeth into his neck. Their tussle resembled a bizarre mix of wrestling and a predator cornering her prey.

“Sarah!” Joe barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Both Sawyer and Sarah froze, turning their heads towards him in unison.

“What?” they both said at the same time, their voices equally exasperated.

“What the hell is going on here?” Joe demanded, leaning against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath.

“She tried to bite me!” Sawyer blurted, pointing an accusatory finger at Sarah.

“He called me the ‘IT’ word!” Sarah shot back, crossing her arms and glaring at Sawyer.

Joe sighed heavily, rubbing his temples wearily. “Sawyer, please apologize. Sarah isn’t a ‘thing’; she’s a person. A beautiful one at that.”

“A girl, and you should treat me like one,” Sarah added with a smirk, her voice teasing.

Before Sawyer could respond, she rolled off him with the fluid grace of a snake, her movements unnervingly smooth. By the time he managed to sit up, Sarah was already standing beside Joe, her posture poised, her sharp eyes fixed on Sawyer with a mischievous glint.

He could finally see her clearly. Her neatly trimmed black hair framed a face that shimmered subtly under the light, revealing faintly green-hued, scaled skin. Her wide, golden eyes, with their vertical, slit pupils, gleamed with an almost predatory curiosity.

She wore a white T-shirt with green trim around the sleeves and neckline, boldly printed with the words “CROCODILE POWER!” beneath a cartoonish drawing of a grinning crocodile. The outfit was completed with a brown denim mini skirt and tall black boots, giving her a playful yet striking appearance.

“My apologies, Sarah,” Sawyer muttered, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

Before he realized it, she was already beside him, her scaled hand lightly patting his shoulder. The motion seemed almost awkward, considering she was at least two inches shorter than him.

“Well, at least you’re awake and not dying now,” Joe interjected from the doorway, his tone sarcastic but laced with relief.

Joe’s eyes narrowed as he gestured towards Sawyer’s arm. “What’s that on your arm?”

Sawyer glanced down at his left hand and froze. His skin now bore a peculiar symbol—a ring-like marking that resembled a tattoo etched in text he couldn’t decipher.

“Qui ab Igne Benedictus,” Joe read aloud, his eyes fixed on the text etched into Sawyer’s arm. “He who is blessed by fire. It’s a sigil.”

“What? You just got here, and you already have a sigil?” Sarah called out, her voice tinged with jealousy.

“What’s a sigil?” Sawyer asked, frowning.

Joe smirked. “I’ll explain, but maybe you should put some clothes on first.”

Sawyer blinked and glanced down, realizing he was still in nothing but his black underwear. His face turned crimson.

“I like what I see!” Sarah teased with a playful whistle and a grin. Unfortunately, the grin revealed a set of elongated canines, each dripping with what looked suspiciously like venom.

Sawyer swallowed hard, his unease evident, as Joe ushered Sarah out of the room.

“Don’t mind Sarah,” Joe said, shaking his head as they walked down the hallway. “She’s a total crackhead.”

Now fully dressed in a simple black hoodie, dark brown cargo pants, and sneakers, Sawyer followed Joe. He held a cup of bubble tea in one hand, taking occasional sips as he trailed behind Joe and Zara, Joe’s secretary, whose name he had just learned.

For a secretary, Zara was surprisingly clumsy. She tripped over her own feet more often than not and constantly seemed on the verge of toppling over. Sawyer observed her with mild curiosity, noticing how she had to focus intently on walking to keep from levitating a few inches off the ground—a quirk that seemed both amusing and inconvenient.

Joe led Sawyer through various sections of the facility, gesturing animatedly as they passed the mechanics sector, the tech institute, and even the training camps. He narrated each stop with an enthusiasm that suggested he fully expected Sawyer to stay.

“Wait,” Sawyer interrupted, cutting Joe off mid-sentence about some ancient sword found in a tomb in Clivria. “I’m not staying here, right?”

Joe turned to him, a puzzled expression on his face. “What do you mean?” He glanced at Zara, who was floating again, her delicate wings buzzing softly. “And Zara, come down.”

“I mean,” Sawyer pressed, “you’re just going to patch me up and let me go, right?”

Joe opened his mouth to answer but quickly closed it, clearly reconsidering his response. For a few long moments, he simply stared at Sawyer, his expression unreadable. Finally, he slid his hands into his pockets and sighed.

“How about we have a chat in my office?” he said at last, breaking the tense silence.