By the time Jared arrived at Kookie Creatures, the ritual of glancing over his shoulder had already repeated itself three times. Each time, the gesture cut a deeper ache into his chest. The third time, shame bloomed underneath his skin, raw and familiar. The street behind him wore its mask of ordinariness. That was the problem. Seattle excelled at hiding its strangeness beneath the skin of the everyday. 

People drifted along the sidewalks, their bodies illuminated by the false light of advertisements and storefronts. They carried burdens, spoke into machines, argued, laughed, smoked, hurried toward destinations that meant nothing to Jared. Cars moved past, silent as ghosts. Somewhere, a drone played its mechanical lullaby between the bones of buildings. The world wore its innocence as a shroud. Nothing manifested itself as a snare. Nothing betrayed the presence of the Shadow Investigation Unit. The ordinary was a mask, and the mask was seamless.

Jared paused before the bakery, looking through the glass that separated him from the world inside. Kookie Creatures projected a violence of innocence, its harmlessness almost an accusation. Behind the glass, monsters had been tamed into sugar and flour, their bodies arranged in ritual rows. Dragons, owlbears, tentacled things, and nameless creatures. Each one a memory of something that had never existed, except in children's fevered dreams and worlds beneath the Veil. The walls flowed color, too bright, too eager. It stood as a sanctuary for childhood, a place where parents bought envy and delight in equal measure.

That was the secret. That was why it endured.

His palm met the door, and the resistance traveled up his arm, trembling inside his bones. The chime above him sang a frail, uncertain note, a sound that barely attempted to exist. The air inside struck him, dense and oppressive, a living thing. Sugar. Butter. Pastry, exhaling its last warmth. Chocolate, dark and desperate. Coffee, bitter as regret. Something spiced, sharp as memory. The scents pressed against his skin, seeking entry, coaxing him to forget the cold which clung to his body. The sweetness tried to rewrite him.

Jared waited at the threshold, suspended between cold and warmth, between outside and in. The heat gathered around him, pressing against his chest, searching for the pain under his ribs. He let it. He did not move.

A woman behind the counter smiled. “Welcome to Kookie Creatures.”

Jared returned the smile, though his was considerably less convincing. “Hi.”

She gestured toward the display. “Everything is fresh.”

“I’m sure it is.” He glanced at the cookies.

To stand among the sugared relics of childhood, knowing what waited beneath, was a dream with teeth. The man he sought was hunger given form, shadow clothed in flesh, a mind flayer who had built his dominion beneath the city's skin. The place should have been darker. The air should have carried the taste of blood and secrets. Instead, cupcakes. Instead, laughter. The sweetness was a mask, pressed hard against his mouth, daring him to bite.

He looked toward the back of the bakery. “Qhall here?”

The lady smiled. “He is.”

That was all she said. No hesitation. No surprise. No concern. As if people asked for the owner of the Cthulhu gang every day. Maybe they did.

Jared moved toward the back. A doorway opened before he reached it. Qhall emerged. The mind flayer was tall, purple-skinned, and unmistakable. His silver-gray eyes settled on Jared, and four facial tentacles shifted subtly around his mouth.

Jared could not accustom himself to the sight of a Mind Flayer. He doubted he ever would. When he looked at Qhall, he saw only darkness, twisting shadows, the memory of skulls caved inward, the reverberation of hunger that was not his own. The shape of suffering, made flesh.

Qhall had spent fifty years among humans and had become remarkably practiced at appearing civilized, even approachable. His bakery, his writing, his carefully cultivated public reputation: all of it made the impossible appear mundane.

But nothing could disguise what he was. The truth of him came through every motion, every careful word. The mask was thin. The hunger beneath it was ancient.

Qhall looked Jared over. Then his words entered Jared’s mind. You look nervous. A gentle brush upon his surface thoughts.

Jared swallowed. “I’m being followed.”

Qhall’s tentacles twitched. That is different.

“Yeah.” Jared shrugged, his hands in his pockets.

Come with me.

Jared followed, crossing the threshold. The sounds of the bakery faded, not in silence, but in retreat, as though the earth itself was drawing away from him. No hidden door opened, no secret passage revealed itself. Only a hallway, too quiet, too private, waiting for him as if it had always known he would come.

Qhall led him into a small room. The space did not threaten. A table waited, patient. Two chairs, a terminal, a cabinet. The room felt suspended, as if it had been conjured for this moment alone. The air was thin, shivering with expectation.

Qhall beckoned toward the chair. Jared sat.

Qhall remained standing. What do you need?

Jared took a breath. “I need something removed.” Jared gestured towards his head.

Qhall’s tentacles flexed. What?

“Monitoring software.”

Qhall’s expression remained almost completely unchanged. Almost. One of his tentacles curled slightly. From where?

“My cybernetics.”

That got his attention. Qhall tilted his head. How extensive?

“I don’t know.”

Qhall’s grip on his cane tightened. You don’t know what is installed inside your own body?

“No.” Jared closed his hands into fists on the table. He left the rest of it unsaid.

Qhall considered that.

Jared stared at him. “Can you help me?”

Qhall’s silver eyes remained fixed on him. I can probably help you find someone who can.

“Probably?”

I am not a cybernetic technician. Qhall curled his tentacles.

“You have computer experts.” Jared looked up at him.

Qhall nodded. I have people who understand computers.

Jared leaned forward. “I need someone who understands the interface of magic and machines.”

Qhall tapped his cane. I know someone.

Jared let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Who?”

That is not important. Qhall waved a scornful hand.

“It seems pretty important to me.”

You’re being monitored.

Jared’s jaw tensed. “Yes.”

Tracked?

“I think so.”

Then the fewer people who know where you are going, the better.

Jared nodded.

Qhall turned slightly. How certain are you that the Shadow Investigation Unit is looking for you?

“Certain.”

How certain?

“Certain enough that I’m sitting in your bakery asking you to remove government surveillance from my body.”

Qhall stared at him. Then he gave a small nod. Fair.

Jared looked toward the door. “What happens now?”

You wait.

“Here?”

Yes.

Jared looked toward him. “You think that’s safe?”

I know it is safer than outside. Qhall walked toward the door. My bakery is one of the most visible businesses I own. It is full of civilians. Children. Families. Customers. Cameras. There are mundane authorities who would object to an armed confrontation here, and the Shadow Investigation Unit understands that.

He looked back. They will not storm this building simply because they suspect you are here.

“Why?”

Because doing so would create questions.

Jared frowned. “Questions?”

Qhall opened the door. The SIU cannot afford to demonstrate publicly that they believe my bakery is associated with Shadow Kind criminal activity. Not without evidence. Not here.

He paused. And certainly not while twenty-seven customers are eating cookies.

Jared blinked. “Twenty-seven?”

I counted. It’s good for business. Qhall stepped into the hallway. You will remain here. My people will protect you.

Jared stood. “Where are you going?”

To retrieve the person who can help you.

“And if the SIU comes?”

Qhall looked at him. They won’t. The confidence in his tone was almost unsettling.

“And if they do?”

Qhall’s four tentacles curled slightly upward. Then you will discover why they haven’t attempted to raid this building in forty years.

He left. The door closed. Jared stared at it. “Alright,” he muttered. Then he sat back down.

The first ten minutes pressed against his nerves, sharp and restless, like needles beneath the skin. The next twenty minutes lingered, thin and aching. By forty minutes, the tension inside him started to loosen; not from trust, but because the bakery itself insisted. Kookie Creatures lulled its visitors, wrapped them in warmth and sugar, until memory of what waited beneath faded into sweetness.

The bakery glowed with a brightness that seemed nearly as cruel. Warmth pressed upon the windows, laughter streamed from children’s mouths, bright and sharp as glass. At the counter, someone asked for a cake to mark a year, to make a memory. A teenager lifted a phone, photographing the goblin-shaped cookies, trying to hold the moment still. The sweetness was everywhere, relentless.

Jared found himself watching the customers more than he watched the door.

He walked to the counter, hands shaking, coins falling from his fingers as he traded them for a plate of cookies and a cup of tea. He had expected the food to be a mask, a distraction, but the cookies were real. Too real. He bit into a dragon, felt the sugar crack, the softness yield, the memory of fire and flight melting on his tongue. Another followed, a creature with too countless limbs, a tentacled thing. He stared at it, uncertain, as if eating it might change him. He ate it anyway. The ritual of consumption. The body becoming story.

“That’s probably some kind of statement,” he muttered.

The tea burned his tongue, sweet and sharp. He carried it to a table by the window, the glass chilly beneath his fingers. Outside, Seattle moved in its endless patterns. He watched the people, each individual a story passing by, each a possibility he could not touch.

A man in a business suit hurried down the sidewalk while speaking into an earpiece. Two women walked together, laughing. A little boy pressed his face to the window of a neighboring store. An elderly man stood at a crosswalk, waiting patiently for the light.

Normal people. Or what passed for normal. Jared took another sip. How many of them could use the Dark? The thought came unexpectedly. He had spent so much time thinking about the Dark as something hidden. Something dangerous. Something that belonged to people who knew more than he did.

But how many people were actually walking around Seattle with the same secret? How many Tuners were there? How many people could feel the world differently? How many people could touch something beneath reality and simply… didn’t?

Maybe that woman crossing the street could manipulate the Dark. Maybe the man carrying groceries could see things Jared couldn’t. Maybe the kid staring at the bakery display would grow up and discover that he could hear things in the white noise between radio stations.

Or maybe none of them could. Maybe Jared was one of a tiny handful.

He caught his own image in the window. The face that looked back was hollowed, worn thin. The eyes belonged to someone who had forgotten how to rest. The machinery underneath his skin was invisible, but he could feel it, a cold ache threaded through his flesh, a presence that was not his own.

That was the wound that would not close. The machines were always there. Always listening. Always watching. Always ready to betray him. He lifted his hand, stared at the lines upon his palm, and wondered how much of this flesh was still his. How much of himself belonged to him, and how much had been taken, piece by piece.

Then the bell on the front door rang. Jared looked up.

Qhall walked into the bakery. Behind him came a man Jared didn’t recognize. He was small. Five-foot-five, perhaps. Slim. Elegant. Dark-skinned. He wore a fitted black coat over layered clothing, with buckled trousers and practical boots. Long black dreadlocks fell around his shoulders, decorated with beads and small metal charms. His blue eyes were immediately noticeable. Not simply blue. They seemed to shine.

Jared’s eyes narrowed.

The man walked with a slight imbalance, favoring one leg and leaning on a cane. And beside him was a goblin.

Jared had seen goblins before. He had never seen one like this. The goblin was enormous by goblin standards. Broad chest. Thick arms. Powerful shoulders. Scarred skin. One enormous ear. The other was damaged and ragged. His crooked nose looked as though it had been broken more than once. His amber-gold eyes swept across the bakery, checking every corner. He wasn’t looking at the cookies. He was looking for threats. The goblin spotted Jared. He immediately moved half a step closer to the man next to him. Protective. Jared understood the gesture.

Qhall approached. Jared.

Jared stood. “Qhall.”

Qhall indicated toward the smaller man. This is Michael Power.

Michael looked Jared over. Jared had the distinct impression that the examination was more thorough than it appeared.

“You’re the one with the tracking problem.”

“Yeah.”

Michael glanced at Qhall. “How much does he know?”

Not enough.

Michael looked back at Jared. “That’s unfortunate.”

Jared frowned. “What?”

“Not knowing what was installed in your own body.”

Jared shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice.”

Michael’s expression relaxed slightly. “That I understand.”

The goblin shifted.

Michael glanced at him. “Gobo.”

The goblin immediately squared his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Try not to intimidate him.”

Gobo looked at Jared. Then at Michael. “I am not intimidating him.”

Jared stared at the goblin. Gobo stared back. Michael sighed.

“You are six inches shorter than the average adult human and somehow manage to make everyone in the room feel threatened.”

“I am standing here.”

“Exactly.”

Gobo seemed to consider this. Then he nodded. “Yes.”

Jared couldn’t help himself. He laughed. It was brief, but genuine. Gobo looked mildly confused. Michael gave Jared a small smile.

“Good. You can laugh. That means you’re probably not entirely doomed.”

Jared looked at Qhall. “He’s always like this?”

Qhall’s tentacles shifted. Frequently.

Michael looked at Qhall. “I heard that.”

I intended for you to.

Michael smiled. Then his attention returned to Jared. “Show me.”

Jared hesitated. “Here?”

Michael nodded. “Here.”

“You’re going to do this in a bakery?” Jared waved around the room, with the children at the counter staring at the cookies.

Michael leaned on his cane. “Yes.”

“Is that safe?”

Michael looked around. “Safer than most places.”

Qhall looked pleased. I told him the same thing.

Michael ignored him. “Sit.”

Jared sat. Michael pulled out a small object from inside his coat. It looked like a thin metal disk covered in engraved symbols. He placed it on the table. Gobo remained standing behind him.

Jared looked at the goblin. “Does he always come with you?”

Gobo answered before Michael could. “I am his guard.”

Michael sighed. “Yes.”

Gobo nodded. “Nothing happens to Michael.”

Michael looked at him. “That is the goal.”

Gobo seemed satisfied.

Michael sat opposite Jared. “All right. I need you to relax.”

Jared laughed. “That’s a little difficult.”

“Then pretend.”

Michael placed two fingers against Jared’s wrist. The moment he touched him, Jared felt something change. Not physically. Something deeper. The air around Michael seemed to become still. His eyes brightened. The blue became practically luminous. Michael closed his eyes. Jared felt a strange pressure behind his own eyes. Then something flashed. A sensation resembling static. Then heat.

Then: There you are. The voice wasn’t spoken.

Jared’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Michael’s eyes remained closed. “Looking.”

“At what?”

Your architecture.

Jared swallowed. “You can see it?”

Michael’s fingers moved slightly. I can see what the machines believe they are.

The metal disk on the table began to glow. Tiny symbols appeared across its surface. Jared felt his cybernetics wake. Not activate. Wake. As though something had called their attention. His heartbeat increased.

Michael immediately opened his eyes. Don’t panic.

“They’re doing something.”

“I know,” Michael said out loud.

“They know you’re there.” Jared closed his hand into a fist. He could feel the Dark crawling under his skin.

“I know.”

Jared tried to pull his arm away. Michael’s grasp tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to stop him.

“Do not move.”

“Things are waking,” Jared said, sure that Michael didn’t understand what was happening. He wasn’t sure that he could explain the Dark Well.

“If you interrupt me while I’m inside the system, I may damage something you actually need,” Michael stated.

Jared froze.

Michael’s expression remained calm. “Good.”

The light around his eyes intensified. Jared felt the odd pressure again. This time it spread through his body. He could feel individual pieces of machinery. Tiny systems. Interfaces. Protocols. Signals. There were more than he had ever realized. His body had become a network.

The Dark ghosted along those pathways, following them through the systems. Watching.

Michael moved through it like someone walking through a house. Interesting.

“What?”

Whoever installed this was thorough.

Jared felt his guts twist. “How bad?”

The monitoring system is layered.

“Meaning?”

It doesn’t simply record your location. Michael paused. It watches your biometric data.

Jared’s jaw tensed. “What else?”

Communications. Michael continued. Movement. Stress response.

Michael looked directly into his eyes. “Dark interaction.” He said it out loud. “They are monitoring the Dark Well inside you and how often you interact with it.”

The bakery suddenly seemed very quiet.

Jared whispered. “They can tell when I use it?”

Jared thought about some of the conversations that he’d had with Adrian. How Adrian had commented on his Dark use spiking or fluctuating being a concern. It had been Adrian, so he had never thought anything of it. But how much had Adrian known? Did Adrian assume that Jared knew what Draco had done to him?

The Dark washed through him and pressed upon his ribs. He could feel it clawing to be released. He closed his eyes against the pressure there.

“They can tell when your cybernetics detect certain irregular energy patterns.”

“Can they tell what I do?”

“Not exactly.”

Michael tilted his head. “But they can tell that you used it.”

Jared looked down at his hands. “Remove it.”

Michael smiled subtly. “I was planning to.”