I dreamt of nothing. The night was allowed to fade without any disturbances, and I’m grateful for that. The dim light of the morning caresses my face, drawing me out of a stupor. I’m off my too-comfortable bed and at the windowsill, looking up into the sky above.

  With scant a cloud in sight, I feel myself drawn to that great oblivion. I push off gently, falling, falling right back into my room. Picking my watch up off my bedside table, I see it’s already nine in the morning. I try to think of breakfast as I brush my teeth: bacon, maybe eggs, porridge if we’re lucky, and coffee or tea on the side.

  Simultaneously, I write on my phone to tie up loose ends. There; I’ve said more-or-less clearly that I’m not coming back to my apartment. As for my job, I didn’t have to quit, because I’d already been fired unceremoniously. Those bridges are burned, and I’m back at the start. So, I can’t afford to screw this up. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere.

  I’m feeling pretty fresh this morning. It’s been many nights I slept chilly and damp with humidity, but that isn’t an issue here. Also, when I’m opening the door to my room, going down the hall, descending the stairs, and walking through the first floor, familiar details envelop me like a warm hug.

  The little grooves in the wood, the loose ends in the carpets, the strange fractal pattern of the walls, all of this comes together to form a world I can recognize as my own. Of course, today, there are a few new additions to that peaceful world.

  They’ve made themselves at home, clearly. Maybe too much so; they’re both wearing pyjamas at my dining table. I recognize the nightgown Sylvester’s wearing as one of my grandfather’s, and Irene’s in comfortable-looking navy set. After another second of inspection, I mark it as polyester.

  Not as refined as I’d imagined. Her vibrant white hair, automatic grace in motion, and bizarre manner set her apart, rightfully so, for she is my savior. It almost feels absurd to see her now that I’ve settled back into reality. From her seat, she looks up at me, a cup of tea at her lips. I shouldn’t stare.

  “Good morning.” I sit at the table. “Good morning,” offers Irene. “Morning,” says Sylvester, and Docile waves at me with one hand from the other end of the room. Scanning for my meal, I find that unfortunately as far as food goes, all there is on the table is a lot of boiled eggs and toast.

  I reach out and grab a kettle first and foremost, filling the cup that’s been pre-placed for me with a burning black liquid; overinfused as always. As I'm peeling my first egg, Irene says, “Tertias. What’s on the agenda for today?”

  I gently place the peeled egg on my plate, grabbing a second, then stopping to ponder. Admittedly, it’s a good question. Yes, I have a perfectly fitting answer for it. “Nothing at all, really,” I reply. I’ve already moved onto a third egg.

  All is quiet over the breakfast table for a moment. That’s how it often is, so I see nothing wrong with it. Docile asks, “Ah, my boy, how’d you sleep tonight?” I smile, and say, “Great, thankfully. It’s been a while since I slept like that.”

  Irene waits for us to finish, then says very briskly, “I can tell you still need time to recover, but if we don’t do something, then we’re wasting loads of time. Come on, try to think.” I’m quiet for a bit, mashing up my eggs with a fork. I’m not getting cold feet; I just think I pushed too hard yesterday. I sprinted through the course, so I’m allowed to walk on the way back.

  “We don’t have to do anything. We can always just sit around and plan,” Sylvester adds. “He’s onto something there, you know,” Docile chimes in. “The first step to anything tangible is a plan. You should take a day just to get your house in order, yes.”

  “I can get behind that. Ok, my first act as your captain and commander is initiating ‘Meeting Over Breakfast’. Now what?” I pose this question to Irene, who says, “To begin with, let’s think about our assets. Firstly, three mages. Tertias, Sylvester, your ranks?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I got evaluated as Third Degree when I got my certification,” I say. “...Second Degree,” says Sylvester. I’m sure I’ve got a shocked expression on my face as I turn to him and ask, “You’re on the level of an apprentice? No, that can’t be right…”

  He gives a slight shrug, and Docile jumps in to helpfully explain, “Don’t put any stock in that. Think about it, someone like me is evaluated at Sixth Degree He laughs gaily to himself after finishing his sentence. Not only was he bragging instead of explaining, but he’s the only one laughing at this.

  I hear a cup of tea clinking against the table, and Irene says, “Moving on, I’m Fourth Degree.” I turn over to her, and find her looking over at Docile as she speaks. My eyes flit over to him, but he doesn’t seem to be aware of her gaze. She looks away back to her breakfast, forking a sliced egg. She continues, “We’re mediocre. We need at least one other member, preferably a good healer. I haven’t said anything about this yet, but our composition is unbalanced.”

  “Meaning?”

  Irene pushes her plate aside and places both elbows on the table, interlocking her fingers. “Neither of you have any versatility. I need to handle tracking, healing, public relations, and also the bulk of the violence. Normally, you’d recruit mages to fit specific niches, but here…”

  I think about this for a moment, but I can’t object. At the moment, our organization is built entirely off her back. Ignoring first that that’s unfair to her, it’s not like she can do everything perfectly. Her healing, for instance, won’t be enough to make you anything other than dead weight if you’ve suffered a severe wound.

  “I hear you, my subordinate.” She massages her forehead with one hand. “We’ll try recruiting someone else soon, but we’re going to have slim pickings. Now, we should talk about…” I pause to think. I want to start with positive reinforcement; I’ve heard that’s the best way to lead. “...the reward we got.” Docile gives us a slow applause. “Thank you, thank you. Really, I have no idea what to do with that much money…”

  “Speaking of, we’re meant to go get the reward today,” Irene says. She adds, “We should look sharp for that. Unfortunately, I don’t have many clothes.” Sylvester doesn’t need to speak for that to be blatantly clear. “I’ve got a closetful here,” I say absentmindedly. “Good for you, but nothing would fit on either of us,” Irene remarks patiently as if she were speaking with a child.

  That gets on my nerves a bit. I justify, “If I look around, I can find the clothes I wore as a kid, maybe those’ll fit.” She replies very sensibly, “Maybe, but we’d better get some kind of uniform. It’s the standard. Anyway, we’ve got time until we collect it, so-”

  Three knocks on the front door cut Irene off. She looks in the direction of the door, furrowing her brow. “Is that them already?” Sylvester asks in a heightened, slightly nervous voice. I turn to Irene with a mustered quizzical expression. “No, it’s not the Association," she clears up. “Then who’d come at this time of day?”

  “Ignore ‘em. They’ll leave eventually,” advises Docile in a sagely tone. Another three knocks hit the door, and so I get up and walk over to the doorway, Irene closely following. “I have a pretty good idea as to who it is,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ll find out this way,” I say to her. I open the door slowly.

  Standing on the steps is a blonde man in an all-white suit… and dark black sunglasses. In that instant, I understood. He looks me and Irene over for a moment. “Good grief,” he says. “This is the worst morning ever.”

  Irene introduces him on his behalf, saying, “Good morning, Misha Parnish. Strange to drop in uninvited at this hour of the day.”

  “Before I say anything, mind if we come inside?” I look over at Irene. Why the hell is her ex-boss here? How is he here? I try to convey all these questions in my gaze, and she looks back with a blank face. Fine, you don’t know either. “Yeah, sure, come right in.”

  We clear the way for the captain of the Eagle’s Hand, who looks around the entry hall and clicks his tongue. As expected, he’s still wearing his sunglasses. Irene says, “Parnish, in a way it’s nice of you to go out of your way, but you don’t have a chance of convincing me to come back.” She quickly adds, “I’m sorry.”

  He stops right at the end of the hall, and turns back to look at the two of us. His sunglasses lower slightly, revealing contemptuous bright green eyes. “Right, right, but that’s not what I’m here for. I came here to get my outfit back.”

  What, Irene’s uniform? I turn to her again, and this time, she looks at me with a grim expression. My mind drifts to the blue jeans and white T-shirt in my room, and I feel Irene's image shattering inside of me.