The courtyard was doing its best impression of a Renaissance painting—birds chirping like they had a union contract, flowers blooming aggressively, and the sun shining at an angle that Instagram influencers would kill for. Naturally, Alex hated every second of it.
"This place is offensively pleasant," he muttered, adjusting his jacket like it might shield him from the overwhelming ambiance of serenity.
All I need now is a lute player and someone trying to sell me essential oils.
He spotted Jenkins, one of his more anxious but unreasonably talented attendants, awkwardly navigating around a flower bed with a tablet that looked like it was doing its best to escape his grip. Jenkins, a nervous genius with the fashion sense of a stressed librarian and a deep mistrust of ceiling fans, was muttering something about data integrity and the philosophical weight of encrypted metadata.
Trailing behind him was Jamie—Alex's newest personal attendant, wildly enthusiastic, disturbingly competent, and about as subtle as a parade float in a library. Jamie had the unique ability to remember everything except how to whisper, and once negotiated with a magical vending machine for extra sugar cubes. Successfully.
"Alex! Over here! Did you know they planted over thirty species of native flora here?" Jamie beamed, practically bouncing.
"I'm just thrilled to know our taxpayer money is going into floral diversity," Alex said, sarcastically.
They sat down on a stone bench that looked deceptively comfortable but had all the give of a brick wall. Jamie, undeterred, pulled out a tablet with a list that was suspiciously long.
"Quick rundown: Files from the archive? Finally in. Jenkins cracked the encryption—though he says he's now legally married to his laptop. Also, drone surveillance picked up something weird near the perimeter. Like... weirder than usual."
Oh good, because normal weird just wasn't stressful enough.
Alex leaned forward, squinting at the screen. The image was grainy, as if the drone had been filming through a potato, but even in pixelated glory, the figure looked... off.
"Is that—what is that? A person? A goat? A really fashionable shrub?"
Jamie pinched and zoomed. "No idea. But it's heading straight toward sector 7. And no, before you ask, Jenkins did not name the sectors after his favorite fast food joints again."
Alex sighed. "Remind me to revoke his naming privileges permanently. Also, get the team ready. If weird is marching into our territory, we better be ready with sarcastic commentary and possibly tranquilizer darts."
Because nothing says team bonding like dealing with possibly-sentient shrubbery.
The birds chirped again, louder this time. Alex swore one of them was judging him.
"Let's move. I don't trust anything that cheerful."
Davor stood at the edge of the clearing in Sector 7, his arms crossed and expression stony. Around him, a small team of cloaked operatives moved with calculated silence, each stationed at precise points—rooftops, tree lines, and rune-marked ground points. This was not a drill. This was a welcoming party with teeth.
They'd layered the perimeter with passive-detection wards, cloaking screens, and an anti-displacement sigil grid that Jenkins had insisted would work, though he'd also added "probably" three times.
The strange figure approached, casual—too casual. No hesitance, no flare of magic, just an eerie ease like someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere.
Davor didn't flinch. "Hold positions," he murmured into the throat rune. "Target is entering the inner ring."
The figure stepped across the line of shimmering glyphs—supposed to be invisible, but the shimmer briefly pulsed.
He saw it.
And smiled.
"Nice perimeter," the jackalope said. "Almost didn't notice it."
Davor moved without hesitation.
The moment the intruder spoke, three things happened: a stun glyph flared at his feet, the illusion net dropped from the branches above, and two operatives emerged from concealment with dampening rods already crackling.
It should've worked.
It didn't.
The stun glyph fizzled. The net passed right through him. One dampening rod cracked from a repulsion field that hadn't existed two seconds ago.
"Try again?" the jackalope asked, tone clipped.
Davor stepped forward. "This is a restricted area. Identify yourself. Now."
"No name," the jackalope said. "Just passing through."
"You've accessed restricted systems," Davor said. "You're not passing. You're spying."
The jackalope shrugged. "I've heard worse."
Davor didn't wait. He gave a silent command.
The backup team activated the sensory bind. Mana threads sparked and locked, anchoring into the environment.
This time, the effect landed. The cloaking failed. The figure was exposed—a lean jackalope standing upright, antlers slick with ward-resistant paint. His gear was practical. His eyes sharp.
Davor's tone didn't change. "What did you take?"
"Only what was already compromised," the jackalope replied. "Could've taken more."
"Who do you work for?"
"No one who owes me enough to protect me from you. That clear enough?"
"You talk a lot for someone surrounded."
"You ask a lot for someone who already knows the answers."
Davor signaled again.
The containment field snapped shut, tight and clean. The jackalope didn't resist. He simply tapped the barrier with one clawed finger.
"Guess I'm staying for tea."
Davor didn't reply. He was already transmitting the capture log.
Another threat—contained. For now.
—
The interrogation room was cold and silent. Not grimy, but clean in the unsettling way a surgical room might be—purpose-built to make someone uncomfortable without showing any visible malice. It was underground, naturally. Wards laced the walls. Cameras fed directly into a secured observation chamber, where Jamie, Jenkins, and Marell watched in silence.
In the room itself, the jackalope sat bound in a containment chair. Magical restraints pulsed softly across his arms and chest, while a dampening cuff dimmed his aura like a wet towel over a flame. He didn't bother struggling.
The door opened.
Alex stepped in first, flanked by Davor and Marell. No dramatic entrance. No staring contest. Just the sound of boots on tile and the low whirr of the containment field adjusting.
Alex didn't sit.
He walked straight up to the table, palms braced on the edge, and stared down at the jackalope.
"You broke into a Tier-2 protected zone," Alex said. "Stole information marked as provisional clearance-only. Avoided half a dozen arcane detection wards. And then you let us catch you."
The jackalope tilted his head. "Didn't let you. Just got sloppy."
"Noticed," Alex snapped. "I've had a long day. I'm not in the mood for games."
"You look like someone who hasn't slept in two days and has been drowning in reports."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "And you look like someone who doesn't realize how thin my patience is."
A pause. The jackalope shrugged.
"Alright. No metaphors. No riddles. I was collecting intel. On who's moving what, where. You're not the only one trying to build something under everyone's noses."
"Who sent you?" Davor asked, blunt.
"No one. I freelance. Information's currency. Doesn't mean I sell it cheap."
"Then why infiltrate this sector?" Marell asked. "This isn't where the money flows."
The jackalope's ears twitched. "No, but it's where something's shifting. New energy. Unusual coordination. You're not just organizing. You're collecting a lot of information, sometimes very guarded one. Quietly. And you're good at it."
Alex said nothing. He just stared.
"You're not building a team," the jackalope continued. "You're building a faction. And not a traditional one. Something more... off-grid. I wanted to see if it was real."
"And now that you've confirmed it?"
The jackalope gave a half-smile. "Now I'd like to make a deal."
Alex straightened slowly. "You're not in a position to negotiate."
"You're right," the jackalope said. "But you're in a position where you can't afford to waste time. You want outliers. I'm one. You want someone who knows the backchannels and how to dodge your own wards? You're looking at him."
Davor's expression didn't shift. "You're also a risk."
"I'm always a risk," the jackalope said simply. "But so is sitting on talent because you don't like where it came from."
Alex exhaled, frustration barely contained. He turned toward the two beside him.
"Leave us," he said.
Davor hesitated, then nodded. He and Marell exited without a word.
Alex turned back to the jackalope.
"You've got five minutes. Convince me not to throw you in the deepest pit I can find."
The jackalope stared back, calculating.
"I've run information through six districts. I know which instructors are laundering test scores and which Houses are prepping illegal scholarships. I know your team's drop points, and I could've exposed two of them yesterday. But I didn't."
Alex crossed his arms. "Because you're generous?"
"Because I want in. You're building something different. Not just survival. Leverage. Strategy. Something that might actually hold."
"And why should I believe that isn't another act?"
"Because I just handed you leverage on me, and I'm still here. That's the deal."
Alex didn't respond right away. He paced once, quietly, then turned and leaned in closer.
"I'll get your background scrubbed. I'll dig until I know every buried job and blacklisted contract you've ever touched. If even one of them risks my people, I will burn every safehouse in the slums to find you."
"Fair," the jackalope said. "Wouldn't expect less."
Alex moved toward the door.
Behind him, the jackalope called out, "So what now?"
Alex paused, glanced over his shoulder, and said flatly:
"I have your file. I know what you are. You're not just a runner. You're a chimera of rabbit and antelope origin, bound to multiple mana fields and inherently unstable near distortion magic. That alone makes you both useful and dangerous."
The jackalope blinked. "You read fast."
Alex sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Great. Another unstable chimera in my faction."
Then he walked out.