Akemi wasn’t an antisocial alien. She understood why people had friends.

There was nothing more effective for staving off loneliness than spending time with a fellow sack of flesh. It was undeniable. But the thing about loneliness, she had come to learn, was that your capacity for it was finite; eventually, with enough social starvation, it could be reduced to nothing more than an itch. A tingling irritation just under the skin.

An itch she had no intention of scratching.

It was true that Pyre was tolerable. She was knowledgeable, quick, strong, occasionally amusing, admittedly nice to look at, and could potentially be classified as a decent person. A classification Akemi, herself, avoided at all costs—but could appreciate it in other people, as it tended to make them more pliable. Easier to deal with, manipulate.

But, unfortunately, and most critically: she was in the way.

This was the conclusion she came to as she sipped a large, sizzling mocha and stared out the window at one of Grimguard’s myriad coffee joints. An uneaten tart sat on the plate below her. Her nerves were on fire, quelling her appetite. She wasn’t quite looking out the window, but actually at her accomplices' screen. A particular message haunted her field of view.

Pyre: Hey, idiot. Nocturne’s requesting to see you. I don’t know why, but he says it’s important. I usually wouldn’t care, but you’re holding me up, too. He says it’s critical to our next mission. So hurry your ass up.

She waved the notification away, and the street came into view again. A pack of dwarves in construction gear were hauling a giant billboard through the narrow corridor. Her eyes wandered over the message painted on the front, accompanied by a pitiful illustration of the Viscount.

TAXES: 100% INCREASE, EFFECTIVE NOW, PEASANTS

She grinned. Her beautiful handiwork. The billboard hadn’t even been hung yet and pedestrians were already stopping to gawk at it; in an act of public charity, some vegetable merchants handed out a few baskets of their precious inventory to throw at the sign, staining half of it tomato-red. Grimguard's proletariat revolution was imminent.

Bamo: I’m with the guy. The Street Magister. Gods, they’re even scarier in person. They wear this pure-white, chalky face paint, with these little blood-red teardrops painted under their eyes. Also, he won’t. stop. staring at me. It’s skeeving me out.

Akemi laughed at the sheer levels of stress dripping off the message. She was going to have to send him on solo missions more often.

Bamo: Ok. I got the book. And the potions. Heading back now. Where am I supposed to meet you?

Akemi: The little coffee shop in the southern quarter.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

She tilted her head back, doing a cursory survey of the cafe. It was packed with people. University students, mostly, with their tomes piled high on wooden tables. Some of them were practicing runes on paper, drawing and redrawing them obsessively, trying to craft perfect circles. Others were reciting spell doctrine, reviewing floating flashcards back-to-back with their classmates.

The chatter was thick and overwhelming. A good place to blend in.

But even so, she couldn’t be sure someone wasn’t trailing her. It was a reach, sure, but she didn’t put anything past Nocturne. This was a very lucrative secret, after all.

Weaving through students, she found the bathroom in the far back of the shop. It was dreary and dim, and smelled powerfully of incense—an attempt by the shop owners to cover up the natural odor of a public toilet—and covered in flyers for magic tournaments, after-school tutoring and punk-rock concerts.

Inside the bathroom was an overflowing trash can and a small water basin which had no faucets. It seemed to magically refresh the water using a rune painted at the bottom of the bowl.

Akemi: Don’t acknowledge me when you come in. Just go straight to the bathroom and place the books at the bottom of the trash can. Yes, that means you’ll have to dig the trash out, then put the trash back on top of it. Don’t complain. I’ll be doing the same thing.

Bamo: That’s disgusting.

Akemi: Do you want your payment or not?

He didn’t respond, but soon enough, she heard the chime on the coffeeshop door jingle. Akemi looked toward it casually, and was pleasantly surprised to see the sight of Bamo, his cloak drawn fully up, his furry face flushed. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling.

They made eye contact. He looked startled, scared.

Damn it. Did something go wrong out there?

Still, after asking the cashier where the bathroom is—and promptly being forced to buy something before he could use it—he made a beeline to the toilet.

She tried sending him a message in the accomplice panel, but it wouldn’t let her send. They were too close in proximity.

A minute later, the toilet flushed, so she approached the door. He opened it, walking briskly. She could tell he was trying to keep himself cool, but failing miserably—his cloak was out of place, revealing his nose, which was sniffling, and the top of his lip, pursed but quivering.

They didn’t make eye contact this time. He just streamed past, tossed his empty coffee cup in a trash bin, and exited the shop.

She opened the door. The trash bin had clearly been ravaged about, as it was spilling a great many crumpled tissues onto the floor. Holding her breath, she emptied it, and felt a surge of relief as she discovered a softly glowing tome at the bottom. Six bottles of green liquid accompanied it.

Good work, kid.

You have acquired one [Deflect Mindshaping Spellbook, Rank 8]

You have acquired [Average Mana Potion x 6]

She instantly went to her inventory and hovered over the icon of the spellbook. An option to Learn popped up, which she clicked.

Skill Acquired! Deflect Mindshaping

As a test, she tried casting the skill, murmuring it under her breath.

Insufficient Mana to cast.

Right. She packed the mana potions into a satchel—one she had borrowed from Pyre—and threw open the bathroom door. There would be no test run. She only had enough mana potions to cast it twice. She was reserving both for her meeting with Nocturne.

As she slid through the coffeeshop door and onto the chaotic city street once more, she sent off a message to Pyre.

Akemi: Stop panicking, dork. I’m on my way.

She got a message back just as quickly. But… it wasn’t from Pyre.

Bamo: Akemi. You’re busted. Pyre knows.