The next day they went to a small, innocuous tailor shop hidden deep in a random downtown alley. Windowless and only signified by an unremarkable door surrounded by a wall of brick, it was, appropriately enough, called simply "Pocket," a name given only by simple lettering on a rectangular metal plate.

Red squinted around, skeptical of the whole thing. It was only halfway through the afternoon, but the alley still seemed vaguely dark, shaded on all sides and narrow enough that they could barely walk side by side. "You sure this isn't some serial killer's hideout? I mean, I'll dish out a beatdown, but if there's bodies hanging off meathooks I will throw up first."

"Don't be stupid," Kitty said, though she didn't sound all that confident either, double and triple-checking the text on her phone before knocking three times.

After a few seconds, the small slot on the door slid open and a slanted pair of eyes looked down at them. There was a brief pause, a blink, and then a question.

"You with Roman?"

Kitty nodded. "That's right."

"Okay. Hold on."

The slot slid closed, and shortly the sound of multiple clicking locks thudded from the inside. Kitty sighed, this was all a bit much, and it was even worse how Red was already grinning over at her.

"I've always wanted to see one of those," he said, unrepentantly giddy. "So cool."

They finally got a good look at the place once the door opened, and while the interior wasn't any larger than the outside, it was far more impressive. A dim light hung from curved brass lamps along the dark wood walls, the elegantly modest furniture seemed unmarked by age or wear, its velvet maroon cushions too dark to pop but bright enough to serve as a noticeable break from what might've otherwise been a gloomy and claustrophobic octagon of space. At the back walls clung several lines, from which draped an assortment of shirts and trousers, tints and hues transitioning from the top down in order from greens to blues to purples to reds to oranges and then yellows, like a perfect color wheel taken apart and rearranged into a long, winding row.

It was definitely the most upscale place Red had ever been to. As for Kitty, she'd been to plenty that could surpass it in style, glamor, and hidden wealth, though certainly not by invitation. All the more surprising to them, then, when immediately upon entering they were both swept up by a well-dressed seamstress and made to stand on the stumpy platform at the room's center. Fabrics whizzed by, measuring tape wrapped around nearly every inch of their bodies, and entire three-piece suits were put on and taken off without a single word.

It was sudden, it was chaotic, and it was exactly what Red enjoyed above almost everything else. "Dude, I didn't know we'd be getting costumes for this," he said, almost laughing.

The seamstress—a pudgy woman with oval glasses—fixed him with a haughty look, almost offended. When she spoke, it was in a thick French accent, one that threatened to slip out of English at every syllable. "Boy, I don't make costume. I make art."

Scarlet and Roman sat on one of the couches by the wall, the former thoroughly amused and the latter obsessively checking his watch. They'd greeted Red and Kitty with a wave and a nod, but had otherwise left the kids to suffer the present assault, content to watch.

"What she means," Scarlet said, "is that you're getting the real thing. Odette here's the best of the best."

"Is this really necessary?" Kitty grumbled. She looked at Scarlet and Roman sitting on one of the couches by the wall, and while the former was thoroughly amused it was the latter who answered.

"You have to look the part. When it comes to our line of business, image is everything." Roman gave a strained smile and now gestured towards another man, one with the same slanted eyes that had met them from behind the door just moments before, a bodyguard he'd apparently brought who now stood a half step away. "If it makes you feel any better, I made him go through the same treatment."

Kitty sized up the stranger and quickly decided the guy didn't look all that remarkable. Young and rail-thin, it was clear to her at least that he was as uncomfortable in his new suit as he was in the tailor shop itself. His hands couldn't stay still, perpetually popping each other's knuckles or massaging the other palm, and his face seemed soft even behind the dark sunglasses.

"Don't worry," Roman said, noticing her look. "Donny's reliable. Without him I'd probably never have known about our assassin problem in the first place."

Gaze now going to Odette, Kitty raised a brow. "And her?"

The woman merely grabbed Kitty by the arm and spun her around, measuring her shoulder width. "I am most reliable," Odette said. "I make sure collar fit but comfy, what more reliable?"

"I trust everyone in my crew," Roman said. "Or do you think all those people at the restaurant yesterday didn't listen in on our conversation?"

A whole flood of ice coldness struck Kitty then. Roman and especially Scarlet had treated the whole thing so casually that she hadn't even thought about it, but now that she did it was plain that at least some of those people had probably eavesdropped on their talk. "That's... That's stupid! If word gets out about what our plan is—"

"It won't," Roman said.

"But there were so many."

"It won't." Roman sighed, leaning back, legs crossed. "Give me some credit here. The people I recruit are loyal. Dependable. And more importantly, I'm asking them to trust me with their lives. The least I could do is not hide anything from them."

Kitty was deeply tempted to back out now, because that was all such bullshit, but it seemed she was the only one even remotely worried. The bodyguard, Donny, actually looked pleased, posture straightening at the show of trust. Scarlet of course reveled in the girl's internal crisis, zero alarm bells ringing despite knowing very well what a horrendous security breach this entailed.

And then there was Red. "It's fine, Kitty," he said, arms spread so Odette could measure his wingspan. "Worst case scenario, a whole mafia family and some magic shadow chick try to kill us. We can totally take 'em."

Scarlet snickered at that. "You sure are confident."

"Two hours," Roman said, looking at his watch again. "This isn't something we can be late for, Odette."

"I work quick," the seamstress said. By now she'd stopped measuring and had moved onto the clothes hanging on the wall, picking them out more by feel than any obvious look. "You worry too much."

Though Kitty knew it wasn't she couldn't help feeling that had been partially directed at her. If it really was a problem, Scarlet wouldn't be taking it so lightly. At least, that's how Kitty tried to assuage herself.

Once they were finished, Red wouldn't stop staring down at himself, and the spontaneous giggles that burst out of him got on Kitty's nerves. Still, she supposed she couldn't blame him too much; he did look admittedly good in his new suit, a wine-hued two-piece atop a pink button-up, complete with a matching tie. All fitted perfectly and, as he kept insisting, miraculously allowing for a full range of motion that shouldn't be possible for anything "this classy."

Her own suit was certainly comfortable, more like a second skin of black fabric. The pine green turtleneck she was less sure about, but Onette had insisted, and by the end she'd have said yes to just about anything if it meant she could stop getting tugged at.

Roman had taken Onette to the counter to work out the price, though they seemed to have fallen into some quiet conversation, hushed mutters filtering unintelligibly from across the room. Neither had so much as mentioned a price within earshot, and Kitty could tell just from their body language that their silent talk leaned more casual than business, as if money wasn't even worth wasting time on.

Another attempt by Roman to impress them, to show off his wealth by practically gifting them outfits which should, as far as Kitty could tell, cost something in the hundreds if not thousands? Or was he seriously just taking this opportunity just before a delicate life-or-death operation to catch up with someone on his payroll? Had he thought to do both at once?

Kitty thought hard on it, but there wasn't much else for the others to do aside from talk. So far Red and Donny had done most of it, especially when Donny stopped being under the impression that they were just a couple of normal kids.

"It was crazy," Donny was saying. "I'm tellin' ya, it was like it just reached up from the floor. That ain't natural. I thought, holy shit, that shadow's alive." The man blew out a breath. "I guess it kinda was, right? That was the assassin in there, like, moving through 'em or something."

"So, can you touch it?" Red asked, striking poses in front of the full-body mirror by the corner of the room.

"It sure could touch us."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the one dealing with that," Red said. He glanced at Kitty, who'd given herself a single appreciative once-over before settling down next to Scarlet. "Slippery bad guys are the worst."

"We're lucky Donny could see it happening at all," Scarlet said. "If he hadn't, you'd be just as dead as everyone else."

Red turned to her, brow raised. "How wouldn't he see a moving shadow killing people? Feels like the kinda thing that'd be hard to miss."

"You'd think so, but the Veil's hard to get around."

This 'Veil' thing again. Red frowned, trying to think back to when he'd last heard the term, but he hadn't exactly been paying close attention then. "What was the Veil again?"

"The filter that keeps regular people from even noticing all the mystic stuff around them," Kitty said, arms crossed. It was getting a bit silly now how little he seemed to know about, well, anything. "If it wasn't for the Veil, the world wouldn't even need Rangers. How else do you think any of this works?"

Red shrugged. "I guess I never really thought about it."

But now that he did, it explained a few things. He'd never exactly been secretive with his powers, and yet it hadn't resulted in his being kidnapped by the government and sent to some top-secret science facility. Very few had really made much of a big deal about it, but then again Red hadn't either so it wasn't like he could judge them for it.

He looked over at Donny. "So what makes you so special, then?"

The man scratched the back of his head. "I dunno that I'm special."

"Donny here's probably Clear-Eyed," Scarlet said. "You see those around every once in a while. Some people can just see through the Veil easier than others." She hummed. "Actually, scratch that. Everyone can see, really. It's just about whether or not your brain accepts what you're seeing. When something out of the ordinary happens, most people ignore it or come up with some other explanation, or they forget all about it like it was just a dream. You see a shape from the corner of your eye, turn around and see nothing, what do you think? It was probably just that jacket hanging off the chair, or maybe wind blowing on the curtains. It's normal to fall back on what makes sense. Then you have people like Donny here."

Scarlet smirked at Donny then, and the man squirmed, which only made her smirk widen. She knew she looked like she'd stepped right off a magazine cover, eyes half-lidded and coy, red hair falling soft and plump over enticingly exposed shoulders. In fact, those magazine covers had been exactly where she'd gotten the inspiration for this very form. The way she saw it, his probably weren't the only dreams consistently invaded by women like her, and how fun was it to know that?

"Some just decide that what's normal isn't enough," she went on. "Maybe they're just a little more imaginative than other people. Or maybe they've seen something that totally flips their world upside down. Enough exposure to how weird things actually are can work on just about anybody, and if some real crazy thing happens right in front of your face, like, say, a whole room full of people getting murdered by some boogeyman shadow monster? Well, some things just take too much effort to rationalize."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Red remembered Captain Frank Rollins. "There's this one cop I keep running into that I'm pretty sure can see monsters fine."

"Most departments have one or two," Kitty said. "Work with enough Rangers and it's bound to happen."

"And what about Roman?" A cough from behind him told Red that said man had now joined their little talk. Turning around, Red threw the mafioso as sheepish a smile as he could manage. "Er, I mean, Mr. Roman?"

A strong hand settled softly on his shoulder, patting it once. "Just Roman is fine," the man said, dissolving any drop of potential tension. "I was just as blind as anyone else, to be honest. Then I met Scarlet."

"And I just wouldn't leave you alone," Scarlet said, smile sly.

Roman met it with one far more sardonic. "We all learn to put up with something. And I'll admit, learning about this new world has opened some possibilities."

Kitty didn't like the sound of that. "What possibilities are you talking about, exactly?"

Roman must've picked up on her tone. He opened his suit jacket, and when Kitty tensed, ready to leap, he tried for a disarming smile. Slowly, he drew not a weapon, but a strange thin oval disc. At its center were a pair of round, overlapping holes.

"Hey, I've seen those before!" Red said, having turned around to look. "They're special magic handcuffs, right?"

"That's one way of putting it," Roman said, tossing the object to Kitty. "Scarlet tells me these are meant to suppress your powers, so I thought they might work on the assassin. Killing her is also an option, but it might help our case to keep her alive and get her to talk in front of the other Captains."

Kitty just stared at the handcuffs, taken aback. "But... how did you even get something like this? Doesn't the RC make them?"

Scarlet leaned back on the couch, arms spread over its back. "You'd be surprised at what the right connections can get you."

"Wait, you're telling me you found this on the black market?"

"This and more," Roman said. "A whole inventory of magic items. We've only just started, but the hope is we can expand before too many other gangs catch on."

"... Expand?"

"The Volante Syndicate deals in guns. I'm sure you know that already. But there's only so much room to grow when it comes to selling normal weapons. Magical ones, though? That's the kind of thing I'm hoping will finally push us to the next level." Roman seemed entirely unperturbed by Kitty's now piercing stare, his smile soft and assuring. "I wondered for a long time why our gang felt... stuck. For years now, the Volantes were a middling crime family who couldn't even claim full control over a single unremarkable city. But when I learned about your world, it was obvious why. The big gangs all dip their toes in the mystic, and the really big gangs all have Magicians on their payroll. The truth was, we regular guys were all just handicapped and didn't even know it. Not until now."

"So this is what you'll do when you take the reins?" Kitty said, each word filled with distaste.

She looked down at the handcuffs, and could tell they weren't some amateur bootleg. Even without wearing them she felt bits of her Spirit dimming at their touch. Whoever the source was, they were the real deal, a pro Artificer who could crank out just about perfect replicas.

"You deal with some dangerous people," she eventually said.

Roman shrugged. "I imagine so, but you'd know more than me. Folks who deal in this sort of thing don't exactly make a habit of advertising their real identities."

Wasn't that reassuring. Still, Kitty pocketed the cuffs. Might as well use a tool freely given, especially considering the opposition.

"Now, we should get moving," Roman said, checking his watch again. "Wouldn't want to be late to our own meeting."

"You two better not ruin my good work," Odette said, leveling a hard look at Red and Kitty from across the room. "I see one rip, we done, hear me? I consider custom fit if you show me again in good condition."

Roman gave the woman a calm smile as the rest began walking to the door. "Don't worry, my dear," he said. "If all goes according to plan, there won't be so much as a bullet fired."

A pretty big if, as far as Kitty was concerned, but she'd already come this close to the precipice and shuffled past all these red flags. The only thing left to do was jump. Not her usual M.O., but then again nothing about this whole situation was usual. If the shadow weaver was involved, it was only right for her to be there.

I'll save you, Kitty thought, following the others into the alley outside. Twilight had already begun to drift in, blue sky poisoned with the dull purple of coming night. I won't leave you behind. Not a second time.

- - - — MKII — - - -

When it came to the body, Malcolm felt much better. When it came to the soul, he still half wanted to dig a hole in some barren desert, throw himself in it, and nurse what remained of his ego there for the next hundred years.

The space wasn't huge—a narrow corridor flanked by seats, some hugging the walls like a limo and others wrapping around a couple of tables—but they had more than enough to occupy their time. High-speed internet, a wall-mounted flat-screen television signed into every streaming service imaginable, a fridge equipped with all manner of snacks and drinks, and a couple of air hostesses whose entire purpose was to accommodate any need they might somehow still have. Just went to show the perks of private flight service.

Jason had tried getting Malcolm out of his funk the whole flight over, trying to bribe some degree of happiness out with all of the amenities at their disposal. Even Zelda had tried in her own way, first disparaging the way Malcolm sighed or hunched and then verbally shooting directly at the cause of his shame.

"You never even had a chance with a girl like that anyway," she'd said. "Just accept it and move on already. It's sad watching you be an even bigger mood killer than usual."

Nothing had worked, so they'd both given up and left Malcolm to brood alone, staring at the passing clouds underneath, head glued glum to the window. The hours passed, and every once in a while Malcolm glanced over at them on the other side of the cabin, killing time with some sappy romcom that left them wrapped up in a shared blanket, whispering and muffling the odd giggle.

That, at least, managed to momentarily replace his depression with some amount of disgust. He'd never thought Jason the kind of guy to go too hard on the PDA until Zelda came along, and ever since she had Malcolm had been forced to bear witness as his brother repeatedly reverted from a mature and dependable adult to some kind of love-struck teenager. Get a damn room, he wanted to say, but he was smart enough to know that if he actually did Zelda would just pounce right back by calling him jealous. More unfortunate, he was also smart enough to know she'd probably be right.

His musing stopped once the plane flew through one last sheet of clouds and their destination was finally in sight. Malcolm leaned closer, cheek flattening against the cool window, glasses fogging with his breath.

In the distance, wispy streams of vapor broke against a massive and perfect sphere of blank space, some invisible force turning them away like a giant round marble of air as it hurtled through the sky. The setting sun turned the vapor orange and red, a constant wave of illusory fire, the aura of a passing comet. And inside this comet, floating impossibly at its center, flew an endless mass of hard rock and dirt, grass and forests, threading waterfalls and icy peaks. Barely visible creatures dotted the landscape, a herd of buffalo-like animals migrating from one end of a long plain to the next, winged monstrosities flapping about from tree to tree, a whole lake taken up by a single thorny whale.

Soratan, the flying island. One that, like Jason had once said, also doubled as the world's most interesting zoo.

But piled up one side of this island was another wonder: concrete and metal and glass buildings, a miniature cosmopolis of strikingly bright lights, some windows reflecting the last rays of sun and others already glowing with electricity. Cars were few and far between, marked by the motion of their headlights on rare two-lane roads. Instead Malcolm could see clumped crowds amassed at high-speed rail stations, white titanium trains starting and stopping their flow. Then there were the flyers, vehicles of all sorts hovering just over the ground and even individual people buzzing around like flies, powered by some Trick or Talisman of their own.

All this metropolitan chaos surrounded one massive building, a shining white castle made of perfectly cut squares that grew narrower as it climbed over the rest, matched in height only by the nearby mountains it clearly sought to replicate. On its side, marked in blue, the caged wing emblem of the Ranger Corps loomed proudly.

Headquarters. A Ranger Mecca. Every single person living in the surrounding city was in some way connected to its operations, or at least related to someone who was. It was, bar none, the largest gathering of mystics on this side of the planet.

Oh, Red sure as hell would regret not coming along. Malcolm would be sure to rub it in the guy's face.

From the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw that Jason and Zelda had also turned to look—it was kind of impossible not to. But unlike the boys, who'd only been there once or twice, Zelda didn't seem particularly taken by the view. She just raised her arms and arched her back, stretching out the kinks of the flight.

"Home sweet home," she muttered.

When they touched down, they were met by a small congregation of people lined up on the airstrip. At their head, Malcolm saw En, a familiar enough face seeing as they'd spoken a mere week before. The man, hard as a stone and exuding vitality despite a graying head of hair, gave him a small, friendly nod, probably having thought the same thing.

It was the woman beside him who really captured Malcolm's attention, and he wasn't alone in that. Jason and Zelda's eyes immediately went to her too, and the whole row of suited officials behind her couldn't help it either. It wasn't a matter of beauty, though she was certainly beautiful—shiny yellow hair tied back in a neat ponytail, electric blue eyes behind a pair of thin reading glasses, clipboard pressed against a strong yet lithe torso, long legs hemmed by a knee-length skirt, feet propped up to their tip-toes by stilted heels.

Professional and threatening all rolled into one, she exuded an aura one ignored at their own risk. Chances were all the flunkies behind her watched her every move out of fear that any missed cue or expectant stare might result in immediate demotion, or worse, serious maiming.

Not for the first time, Malcolm figured it made sense Zelda had turned out the way she had. If anything, the constancy of her cutting words was preferable to whatever crazy shit came out of her mother.

As if to prove this, Mrs. Debon looked first at Malcolm, then at her daughter Zelda, and finally at Jason, cold stare following along as they climbed down the jet's airstairs. Her greeting was as brief as it was heartless.

"You're late."

Zelda crossed her arms as she walked closer, the only one there not at all intimidated. "Mom, tell that to the pilot." Then, after a long, awkward pause, "Well, am I getting a hug or what?"

Mrs. Debon blinked at her, then gave a quick, absolutely frigid glance at everyone in the vicinity, making everyone suddenly look away and pretend they hadn't been staring the whole time. Frowning at them—and making their faces pale in the process—the woman turned back to her daughter.

"The Chairman's secretary doesn't hug." Leaning closer, her voice went low. "That will of course have to wait for when we are in a more private setting."

Zelda pouted at that, but it wasn't anything she wasn't used to already. Next to her, Jason gave an exasperated sigh. "Hello to you too, Master."

The sarcasm was either lost on Mrs. Debon or went entirely ignored. She just fixed him with a gaze somehow more piercing than the rest, one he only managed to survive because he'd been expecting it.

"Let me see it," she said.

Sighing again, Jason reached down to the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. His other hand settling on its scabbard, he drew part of the blade, just enough to show the glint of its unmarred edge.

Mrs. Debon nodded, then suddenly turned to the aides behind her. "One of you, stay here and collect our guest's luggage." She looked back at Zelda, who only raised a brow. "Actually, make that two of you. Three with me. The rest, follow along at a respectful distance. Director En," she looked now at the man beside her, "I expect you'll fill them in."

Said man had borne witness to the proceedings with a small, amused smile, and now inclined his head with a respect that bordered on ironic. He watched along with Malcolm, Jason, and Zelda as Mrs. Debon turned on her heel and walked off, heading for the nearby car that would take her back to headquarters.

"I planned to meet you all here alone," En said, hands behind his back, "but she met me on the way. I suppose she wanted to see you three as soon as she could." His smile went to Zelda. "You have a surprisingly dotting mother."

Huffing, Zelda turned away. "That's just the bare minimum," she said, though Malcolm caught the hint of red on her cheeks. This family made zero sense.

Jason looked up at the nearby city skyline. "Alright, En, clue us in here. What's this all about?"

"I hope this is serious," Zelda muttered. "If Daddy's just pulling some big prank again..."

"Oh, it's very serious," En assured her. Extending a hand, he invited the three of them to walk with him. "Actually, Malcolm, you already know a little."

It didn't take much to jog his memory. Malcolm had been replaying their last conversation in his head ever since it happened, mostly because it had involved his own mother. "Then... Prometheus? That black market Artificer?"

"Exactly right."

They reached the car waiting for them just beside the hangar. En opened the door for Malcolm and Zelda to pile in the back, then got in the driver's seat and waited for Jason to settle into shotgun, sword unslung and propped between his knees.

"The incident at the World Tree seems to have convinced the Chairman that this is a problem we should deal with before it gets out of hand," En said.

Jason gave him a dry look. "You mean you convinced the Chairman."

"I convinced him," En admitted. Starting the engine, his face grew stern. "And good thing too. It's not just Prometheus; the whole black market Talisman trade has grown exponentially the last few years. More replicas are reaching unlicensed hands every day, and I'm not the only one who sees things reaching a breaking point." He glanced at Malcolm through the rearview mirror. "If we don't do something soon, I expect that what happened at the World Tree might become more the norm than the exception."

It was enough for them all to sober up. "And what exactly does he want from me?" Jason asked.

"Oh, you know the Chairman. He's not one to do things the usual way. What he wants is help, of course."

"What, with catching Prometheus?"

"With thinking of ideas. He has no real plan, you see. And even if he did, I imagine he thinks this whole ordeal would make for more fun."

"... Define ordeal."

"You're not the only Captain who got invited, my friend." En's smile returned, though it was far more tart. "Turns out us in the top brass aren't quite enough, and the Chairman would like to dabble a bit in democracy. Elite Rangers from all over the country have all come for one big assembly."

Malcolm listened as En laid things out, and for the first time that weekend was able to forget his own problems for a bit. There wasn't anything quite as good for clearing out his head as being on the job.