Chapter 17: Chapter 15: Connection

The world twisted the moment I touched the painting.

It felt like being pulled inward, folded into myself—and then, a heartbeat later, I was unspooled and released. Before I could even blink, I was home. My real room. My real floor. My real bed. Earth.

The clock read 7:11 AM – October 1st, and I was simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted. I had just teleported—teleported!—through the fabric of space, between two entirely different worlds.

I scrambled up, ignoring the sharp pain flaring through my ribs, and grabbed my phone from the desk. Still plugged in. Still warm. I unplugged it and tapped Zoe’s name. She picked up before the first full ring had even finished.

“I made it!” I squealed, unable to contain myself.

“I saw you!” she burst out. “You were consumed by light and then just—pop—gone in a blink!”

There was a groggy voice in the background.

“What’s going on…?” Peter. Low and slurred. He must’ve just woken up.

“Nothing much, Pete,” Zoe called back quickly. I heard a door shut—she must’ve stepped into another room. “Sorry, Lex. I woke him up with all the excitement. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, me too.” I laughed, then winced as a jolt of pain knifed through my ribs. “It saved me so much time—I would’ve had to walk all the way back to my Domain. But now… I think I can enter Ideworld whenever I want. I mean, that’s huge! This changes everything.”

“You need to rest first,” she said. Her voice was gentle now. Protective. “You’ve been through hell.”

“Yeah… I feel like crap. My body is wrecked. I need at least a couple of days to heal up.”

“Then take them. Sleep. Eat. Let yourself recover.”

I hesitated. “I’m afraid to wash the paint off now.”

“You’ll have to eventually, right?”

“Yeah… I know. I’ll do it. Then I’m going straight to bed.”

“Good. Let me know when you wake up. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Zoe.”

“Take care, Lex.”

“You too.”

I hung up.

The room was quiet again. My paint-stained fingers trembled slightly as the adrenaline faded. I glanced down at my arms—still marked, still shining faintly in the soft morning light.

I had survived.

I had returned.

--

I managed to leave the bathroom before Sophie woke up—if she was even here to begin with. Both my sides and my left shoulder were an ugly shade of purple, bruised deep and aching like hell. Turns out, the painted armor didn’t dull the pain at all. It might have stopped the worst of the damage, sure—but the pain? The pain stayed, constant, with or without the protection.

Still, maybe I could do something about that. There’s artistry in makeup, after all—and I am good at that.

So, I pulled out my makeup kit and, slowly and carefully, went to work. I covered the bruises, shaded them away, turned purple into healthy skin tone. When I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and whispered:

“Be a healed, strong body.”

And just like that—the pain was gone.

For a moment, I was stunned. Then I smiled. But it didn’t take long for the reality to settle in. I wasn’t actually healed. I just looked like I was, and apparently, that was enough to trick my body into believing it too. If I was right, the pain was gone because the illusion said it should be—but the real injuries were still there, quietly waiting.

To test my theory, I grabbed a remover and wiped the makeup away. My carefully painted illusion dissolved, and so did the authority. Just like that, the pain came roaring back—and the bruises bloomed again, dark and angry.

A fun little experiment. Potentially useful, in the right context.

But for now? I’ve lived with pain before. I can live with it again. Better to heal for real, even if it hurts.

I got dressed and glanced outside—it was raining. No, pouring. One of those biblical downpours where the clouds seem hellbent on enacting their full, furious vengeance upon the earth. I couldn’t remember the last time it rained like this.

Perfect weather for an umbrella.

I grabbed mine from the corner and held it in my hand, measuring its weight, its balance. That’s when the idea hit me.

This could be more than just rain cover.

Closed, it looked almost like a baton—or a sword, sleek and unassuming. Open, it spread wide like a shield. With the fabric paints arriving today, along with the sewing machine and materials for my armor project, I could do something with this.

Turn it into more than just an umbrella.

A concealed weapon. A portable shield. A tool of defense and offense, carried in plain sight, no questions asked.

Something ordinary—with just the right colors, it could become extraordinary.

I couldn’t wait to test the umbrella idea—but there was something else I could do right now. Something I should do.

My personal travel magazine. My spellbook. My anchor.

I grabbed a free sketchbook I’d kept ready for something just like this. It was leather-bound—one I made myself during a Uni project. Hefty, but light. Sturdy enough to survive being dragged between worlds, yet elegant enough to carry with pride. It zipped shut completely and even had a metal ring to attach a chain or belt. I’d designed it to be practical, beautiful—and unknowingly, magical.

It was time to turn it into what it was always meant to be.

I opened it to the first page. Only one place deserved that honor: my Domain.

I used my colored watercolor pens—they blurred just enough with water for soft gradients but didn’t require the full setup of acrylics or oils. I painted the crystal at the center, its surface pulsing faintly in my mind as I worked. Around it, white circular walls and statues—each one depicting a version of me, standing vigil near the edge. Above, a blue sky shaped from overcast tones. My Domain—an inner sanctum, now given form.

I turned the page.

The second place was my real-world room. My retreat. My first sanctuary, long before magic ever touched me. It deserved the facing page—two sides of the same coin, just like in reality.

On the next, I painted Mr. Penrose’s private room at the Finests. Cozy, enclosed. Shrouded in shadow but never threatening—just quiet, safe for those allowed in. I’d need to make him a pendant soon, like Peter’s, so he could remember magic properly. And I’d have to show him what I could do now. Despite the dark corners of his work, he’d always been honest with me. Even when honesty was hard. He deserved the same.

I left the opposite side of that page blank—for the Ideworld version of that space, if it existed. Or if it became important.

Then, a new page.

A group of three trees casting long shade on a low wall with a small crevice—a quiet place on campus I’d discovered during my first semester. Hidden, unused, tucked far away from the foot traffic of the main buildings. I’d gone there when I needed peace, and the image of it stayed sharp in my mind. If I could anchor it, mark it as a waypoint, it could cut down travel time to campus significantly. A few minutes’ walk, instead of a train or a bus or an hour-long hike.

If it worked, it could become everything.

I closed the book and held it for a moment, feeling its weight. Soon, I’d try them all. My own handmade system of travel, of memory, of meaning.

My world, bound in leather.

I opened the Travel Grimoire to the first page—my Domain. I pressed my fingers against the painted crystal and whispered silently in my mind: Take me there.

The world twisted, not with pain, but with an odd fluidity—as if I were being unspooled and rethreaded into the weave of space itself. And then, a heartbeat later, I stood inside the heart of my power.

The sunlit sky stretched high above, the ceiling of my inner world painted in warm blues. The white stone walls curved around me in a circle, but not all of it remained untouched—some sections now bore the paintings I had created in my Grimoire. They had manifested here, perfectly replicated on the Domain’s walls. I smiled.

At the center stood the jagged crystal—my soulcore. It pulsed with shifting light, dancing through all colors of the spectrum. Threads of mist wove in and out of it like breath. Lightning crackled inside—a flicker of white, a bolt of sky-blue, even a bright, improbable pink. I stepped toward it and laid my hand on its rough, glowing surface.

As our lights met—mine from within, soulcore’s from without—something passed between us. It was like a dance of currents, a mingling of lifeblood and stardust. The moment it ended, I felt it deep in my chest: the Domain had grown stronger.

I had grown stronger.

Curious, I reached with my soul toward the Soulmark of Connection, now represented inside the crystal by the blackened rivet from the bridge-castle. I focused, searching for something deeper than instinct. Something foundational.

Help me understand.

Images and words flooded my mind, not in any language I’d learned—but one my soul somehow understood.

[The Soulmark of Connection allows the artist to touch a painting and use it as a spatial tether to a real, existing location.

By rendering a faithful depiction of a place they have known, the artist creates a magical anchor tied to memory and representation. The painting must depict a real, specific location the artist has physically experienced or deeply internalized.

The connection is anchored through memory and representation.]

I exhaled slowly. It was more than just fast travel. It was soul-alchemy through memory.

Can it grow? Can it be more?

[Yes. Every Soulmark evolves when I grow.]

And how do I make you grow?

[The Domain grows when you share your experiences with me.]

So that’s what I’d done, just now—by reaching out. By opening myself.

[The more you use your authority—and the closer it comes to breaking—the more potent the growth. Risk and meaning strengthen the connection.]

I shifted my focus now to the other Soulmark—Identity. It shimmered as I called to it, painted within me but also reflected in the crystal’s surface.

Tell me what you are.

[Art brought to life retains its identity—not its substance.

It becomes what it is understood to be.

A painting of armor protects like real armor.

A painting of fire radiates heat, light, and sound.

A painted hole becomes a passage—not by destroying matter, but by invoking the essence of emptiness.

The artwork remains still, bound to its medium—canvas, wall, fabric, skin.

It functions through concept, not movement. Through truth, not illusion.]

I took a step back, breathing slower now. It made sense. Identity was not about transformation—it was about recognition. The world accepts what the soul declares when art makes it clear enough to believe.

I looked around my Domain. The crystal pulsed at the center. The marks shimmered in their facets. The walls curved around me like a sanctuary. And now—doors.

Painted with care, fueled by memory. Each a tether to someplace I had truly known.

But there was one thing missing.

There was no door out.

How was I supposed to enter Ideworld from within my Domain?

I barely finished the thought when the Domain itself responded. One of the white walls shifted—parting like silk drawn aside. From within it emerged a gate: tall, elegant, shaped from the same obsidian-like substance as the floor beneath my feet. Smooth, dark, subtly reflective. Silent.

A doorway born of thought.

“Thank you,” I said aloud, half-smiling.

The crystal flared gently—its light growing a fraction brighter, as if answering. Or maybe it was proud. Maybe it liked being seen.

I stepped toward the gate, curious, but every movement reminded me that I still felt like I’d been steamrolled by an angry titan.

Exploration can wait. That’s what I told myself.

And just like that, the gate vanished.

Responsive. Instantaneous. Alive.

Food for thought.

I turned back to one of the painted doors—the one depicting my real room, my refuge. My second painting in the Travel Grimoire. I placed my hand against it and thought, clear and simple:

Take me home.

It was instantaneous. Just like the last time.

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No delay, no warning—just a flicker, and I was home.

Was it because the veil between the worlds was thin? Or maybe my Domain and my room had always been two sides of the same coin now. That thought gave me comfort.

The shower, the makeup trick, the realization about the umbrella, the painting of portals, the leap between worlds—all of it had left me strangely energized. I wanted to ride the wave of that feeling, to keep moving forward with my back straight and my head high.

But like I told Zoe earlier, and like I felt again now:

I needed sleep.

I didn’t even undress.

I just let gravity take me, collapsed onto the bed, and let the world fade.

--

I was woken by a knock on the door.

Groggy, I sat up too fast and winced as pain shot through my sides. I glanced at my phone—3:58 PM. Great. Two missed calls from Mr. Penrose. I’d have to deal with that soon.

“Come in,” I called, running a hand through my hair, trying to look halfway presentable.

Zoe entered first, smiling softly—though her eyes held that usual chill. Still, to me, she will always radiate silver light. It might’ve looked cold, but it felt warm. She carried a plate of soup, fragrant with tomato and basil, and placed it carefully on my desk before taking a seat.

Peter followed behind her.

“You okay, Lex?” he asked, concern in his voice as he sat beside me on the bed.

I looked from his earnest face to Zoe’s still-smiling one and nodded.

“Yeah. Just a little banged up. I was in that world again last night.”

“I knew it!” Peter shot a quick glance at Zoe, triumphant. “Told you she’d go.”

Zoe didn’t say anything. She just smiled, and I briefly wondered if she’d be okay with me telling Peter the truth about her being there. Better to let her decide.

“You know me,” I said with a shrug, instantly regretting the motion. “Couldn’t help myself. But it was worth it—I’ve got some new tricks now.”

Peter leaned in, eyes narrowed. “New tricks? What kind of—?”

“Do you mind, Zoe?” I interrupted, gesturing toward the soup.

“Not at all,” she said, standing and moving to sit beside Peter. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and just like that, they looked… perfect. Solid. Good for each other.

I sat down at my desk and took a spoonful. The soup was rich and warm—tomato paste with basil, earthy and soothing.

“You made this?” I asked, genuinely impressed.

“I did.”

“Is it too late for me? Do you like girls too?” I teased.

She laughed, and Peter gave me the look of a man betrayed.

“What new stuff?” he repeated, ignoring the joke.

“You’re such a good cook, Zoe. He’ll never appreciate it like I would.”

“I know. I love you too, Lex,” she said, still laughing.

We both laughed—but the motion tugged at my ribs, and I winced, clutching my side.

“Seems like those new tricks cost more than you’re letting on, huh?” Peter muttered.

“Yeah. A little more than I admitted. But it was worth it. I made some... powerful connections.”

Zoe chuckled under her breath, and Peter’s eyes narrowed. He stood abruptly.

“You—” he pointed at Zoe, “you know something. Don’t you?”

She looked up at him, serene. “Yes. I was there.”

“What!?”

“She saved my life, actually,” I added before thinking. Oops.

Zoe tried to smooth it over. “She’s overplaying it. It wasn’t that bad. We were never really in danger.”

Peter sat back down, still fuming but visibly calmer.

“How did you go with her? You were next to me the whole night.”

“I told you,” Zoe said gently. “I can enter spiritually while I sleep.”

He blinked. “Right. I forgot. So… you really weren’t in danger?”

“You worry about me?” Zoe asked, teasing—but her voice wavered just slightly.

“Of course I do, you stupid girl. I love you.”

That landed like a thunderclap. Zoe froze, eyes wide. She hadn’t heard him say it before.

I quietly took another spoonful of soup, debating whether to discreetly vanish under the bed.

“I… I love you too,” she said. Her voice was soft. Honest. Vulnerable in a way I’d never seen from her—not even while flying toward Red’s face.

But Peter wasn’t about to let it hang.

“We’ll come back to that later, Zoe, I promise. But I’m still mad. You two owe me a story.”

So, I told him. Everything since I’d stepped through the portal. Zoe added her own parts when the story reached her. I downplayed the danger where I could, just enough to let him breathe easier.

--

“So, it was the railgun you created that messed you up?” Peter asked after I finally finished the story. Of everything I just told him—world-hopping, soulmarks, painted travel magic—he was stuck on the weapon. Boys.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “The recoil nearly broke me in half. Worth it, though.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure. It’s under the bed you're sitting on, actually. But I stripped my power from it—it’s just a painted pistol now.”

“Still want to see it,” he said, already reaching under the frame.

And then—oh no.

He pulled out the box.

I went bright red. “That is not the box you’re looking for. My sex toys are in there.”

He froze. Paled.

Then, with the speed and coordination of a man defusing a bomb, he slid the box right back under the bed without another word.

“You should’ve warned me!” he hissed, mortified.

Zoe was grinning ear to ear.

This time, Peter reached again and came back with the right box. He looked to me for confirmation before opening it, and I gave him a nod, still biting back laughter.

He pulled out Noxy—silver, black, and streaked with blue. The barrel looked like it had magnetic coils running along it, sleek and futuristic. It was gorgeous, even inert.

“Damn,” he breathed. “That’s the prettiest gun I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen that many,” I pointed out.

“Still.”

He held it up toward the lamp light, examining it with something like reverence.

“Will you use it again?” he asked.

“If I really need the kick. Otherwise? No. I’d rather not get tossed like a ragdoll again.”

He carefully placed the gun back in the box and returned it under the bed. Then he straightened and looked at me.

“So. Portals?”

“Not actual swirling gateways or anything,” I said. “But yeah—functionally the same.”

Zoe leaned forward. “You think you can take us?”

Peter chimed in at the same time. “Will it be safe?”

“Yes. Safe,” I nodded. “And I think I can bring you along if you’re touching me and don’t resist my authority.” I glanced at Zoe at that last part.

She nodded without hesitation. Peter hesitated, then swallowed and nodded too.

“Show me,” he said.

“Touch my shoulders,” I instructed. “I’ll need both hands free.”

They each placed a hand on one shoulder. I opened the Travel Grimoire to the first page—my Domain—and touched the painting with my fingers.

Let’s go home, I thought.

We were yanked out of existence.

And slammed back into it a second later.

This time, though, I felt it—my soul stretched thin, as if I’d dragged two anchors through the ether along with me. It didn’t hurt, but I could tell it cost me something. Maybe that’s what the crystal meant—how the harder the feat, the more I grow.

Still, we made it.

And as soon as we arrived in the heart of my Domain, I felt it again: the crystal’s light reaching into me, stitching my soul back together. Not just healing—but reinforcing. Growing stronger.

They didn’t scream. That was the first surprise.

The second was how still they both went.

For a second—maybe two—they just stood behind me, hands still resting lightly on my shoulders, wide-eyed and frozen, as if their brains were still catching up to their senses.

Then Peter let out a soft, “Holy shit.”

Zoe said nothing. Her eyes just moved, slowly, taking everything in: the soft, eternal sky above us—painted like daybreak but glowing with a light that didn’t come from any sun. The great white wall encircling the place like a temple, parts of it now alive with paintings that shimmered faintly with the promise of other worlds. And at the center of it all, the crystal—pulsing, radiant, spinning with streaks of light that looked like captured storms and breath and memory all at once.

“This is…” Peter began again but failed to finish. He walked a few steps forward, then turned in a slow circle, arms slightly out like he wasn’t sure if he was going to touch something or kneel.

Zoe, in contrast, walked with intention. Her steps were light, reverent even, and she circled toward the crystal, her fingers ghosting over the air around it without ever making contact. Her face had shifted—calm but utterly focused, like she was seeing more than what was in front of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet, like anything louder would break something sacred.

Peter finally tore his eyes off the sky and turned to look at me. “You made this?”

I gave a small shrug. “I didn’t build it. It’s just… mine. It came into being when I earned my authority. It’s a reflection, in a way.”

“It’s a kingdom,” he muttered. “It’s like standing inside your soul.”

That made me pause. I hadn’t thought of it like that. But he wasn’t wrong.

Zoe walked to me and touched my hand, gently. “And every painting on the wall is a place you’ve been?”

I nodded. “The paintings are my anchors. I can travel to them—instantly—just by touching them here or in my Travel Grimoire.”

Zoe smiled, her eyes silver-bright.

Peter had wandered over to one of the walls, inspecting a painting of the crevice near campus.

“Can I use them alone?” he asked.

“No,” I said with a grin. “I need to touch them.”

He shook his head and laughed, but there was something softer behind it—an awe he wasn’t quite willing to show outright.

“This place feels… safe,” Zoe whispered beside me. “Like it’s protecting us. Like it knows who we are.”

“It does,” I said, and I knew it with the same certainty I knew where to find my paints in the dark. “You’re here because I trust you. That’s why you can stand here and breathe its air.”

Peter raised a brow at me. “So, if someone uninvited came here?”

The crystal pulsed, faintly, with a reddish flicker.

“I don’t think they’d get far,” I said.

He looked slightly impressed. Slightly nervous. Good.

Zoe took my hand in hers—fully, firmly. “Thank you for showing us this,” she said, her voice a rare blend of awe and quiet gratitude. “It’s the first time I’ve been in Ideworld in the flesh.”

Peter, still scanning the space with curious eyes, chimed in. “There are no regular doors out of here?”

“Not unless I will one into being,” I replied. “But if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to head back to Earth for now.”

“Sure,” Peter said absently, still turning in place as his gaze lingered on the circular walls and the glowing crystal. “But if you’re going to bring guests here, maybe think about adding some furniture. Feels like a magical airport lounge—without the chairs.”

I smirked. “Duly noted.”

“Just grab hold of me again,” I added, holding my shoulders out toward them.

They both stepped close, each placing a hand on me—Zoe’s touch warm, Peter’s steady, if slightly unsure.

I opened my Travel Grimoire once more and turned to the sketch of my room. The familiar drawing greeted me like a loyal pet, waiting patiently for its cue.

Take us home. The thought was enough.

In a heartbeat, the Domain vanished around us, replaced by the mundane yet comforting familiarity of my real-world bedroom. The air shifted; the sounds of rain returned faintly through the window. We were back.

This time, there was no jarring pull on my soul, no sense of unraveling and reforming. I felt... whole. Energized, even. The presence of my soulcore during the jump must have anchored me, shielding me from the strain.

Zoe blinked as we returned to my room, the warm lamplight replacing the surreal glow of my Domain.

“That was smoother,” she said, letting go of my shoulder and stretching her arms like she was shaking off a dream. “Not that the first time wasn’t impressive. But this felt… lighter.”

“It was,” I said. “Much easier on me. The Domain, the soulcore at its heart—it must have anchored me. Helped to balance out the toll of the jump when I started from there.”

Peter sat down on the edge of my bed again, glancing around the room as if to make sure we were really back on Earth. “Okay, I’ll admit it now: that was insane. Like, in a good way. You literally have your own private dimension.”

“Yeah, well, it came with its fair share of bruises and soul-stretching,” I said, leaning against my desk. “But it’s mine. And now, you’ve both seen it too.”

Zoe was still smiling, but more thoughtfully now. “You’re really changing, Lex. In ways most people won’t ever understand. But somehow, you still feel the same.”

I appreciated that more than I could say. “Thanks. I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground, even if my soul's off painting the fabric of reality.”

Peter chuckled. “So… are we like your chosen ones now? You gonna knight us or something?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll paint you a cape if you want. With glitter.”

“Jokes on you, I’d wear it,” he grinned, then yawned. “But seriously—how are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but Zoe’s soup was pure medicine.” I gave Zoe a grateful look.

“You’re welcome,” she said, bumping her shoulder into mine, thankfully the right one. “I’ll bring more if you promise not to go dimension-hopping without telling us again.”

“No promises,” I said, grinning.

She sighed, but I could see the glint of excitement in her eyes. Neither of them would admit it outright yet, but I could feel it—now that they’d had a taste of the impossible, they wouldn’t want to turn back.

--

When Peter finally accepted that I was, for the most part, fine—and more importantly, when Zoe subtly dragged him away to deal with the emotional earthquake that was his unexpected “I love you”—I was finally left alone. They slipped into his room, likely to talk, or argue, or maybe both. Either way, it gave me the space I needed.

I stared at my phone, that creeping sensation of dread curling in my chest like a cold breeze down the spine. I found Mr. Penrose’s number and tapped it with a sigh heavier than I meant.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Alexandra?” His voice was crisp but laced with an undercurrent of concern.

“Hello, Mr. Penrose. I’m sorry for not picking up earlier—I was out of service range.”

“Everything all right?”

“I’m... bruised pretty badly, but otherwise fine.”

There was a pause. “Is this related to de Marcos?”

“No, sir. But it is something I’d rather discuss in person, if possible.”

“It is.”

I hesitated. “Sir... why have you been calling me?”

He sighed. “De Marco is proving difficult. Two of the people I sent after him are dead. I’m not willing to continue pressing with no progress. I’m arranging peace talks.”

“Peace talks?” I echoed, alarmed. If Shiroi showed up—if he unraveled the very concept of safety in that room—Penrose wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Yes. We’ve spoken. He’s agreed to meet, to talk business.”

“Then we definitely need to meet. Immediately.”

“In relation to what you hinted at earlier?”

“That—and de Marco, apparently.”

“Well, that works out. I was going to ask you to take on an infiltration job anyway. We can discuss both in person. How soon can you get here?”

I paused just long enough to ask, “Sir, are you alone? In your private room?”

“Yes. Why?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I reached for the Travel Grimoire , flipped it open to the page where I had painted his room with careful strokes, and focused.

Take me there.

The shift was immediate—a flicker, a pull, and then solidity again.

I appeared right in front of him. He jumped, his phone slipping from his hand and cracking on the hardwood floor.

“Because,” I said, smiling just a bit as his eyes widened, “I can be here right now.”

I ended the call and slid my phone into my side pocket. Mr. Penrose moved toward me, placing a firm hand on my left shoulder—exactly where the worst of the bruising sat. I grimaced despite myself. He noticed.

“You’re really here,” he said, his voice somewhere between wonder and disbelief. “How is that possible, Alexandra?”

“Sir, this is going to sound strange—but please, I need a piece of paper and something to draw with. I’ll explain while I work.”

He gave me a long look, wary but curious. Then, wordlessly, he stepped behind his desk and handed me a company-branded notepad and his personal pen. He gestured to his chair. I took it, sitting as he stood across from me—a first.

I began to draw the moment from just minutes ago: me appearing suddenly in this room, him dropping his phone, his eyes wide in disbelief. As I worked, I spoke.

“There’s magic in the world, sir. Real magic. People can do incredible things, but the world itself pushes us to forget it ever happened.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to forget this?” he asked, gesturing to the room, to me. “You just... materialized right in front of me.”

“Well,” I said gently, “that’s what I thought, too. But remember when I told you about Shiroi? About what he did to the car? To Thomas and Honey? You said you believed me then—but afterward, it was like you forgot everything. You dismissed it.”

He looked momentarily stricken, disturbed by the gap in his memory. “Did I?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “And now I know why. Magic leaves no permanent imprint on the unweakened mind. It fades. You forget it like a dream. But I’ve started learning how to hold onto it—and how to help others do the same.”

“And you know this magic now?” he asked.

“It’s new, but yes. I do.”

“What exactly can you do?”

I paused for a breath. “A lot, actually. My magic manifests through art—it’s my medium and my conduit. I can bring meaning to life through drawing. Let me show you.”

I held up the drawing of this very room in my Travel Grimoire.

“I can paint or draw a place I’ve seen, and if I remember it clearly enough, I can go there. Instantly. Just by touching the image. That’s how I got here.”

His eyes scanned the sketch, brow furrowed in fascination. “That’s... remarkable, Alexandra. This opens so many doors for you.”

And for him, though he didn’t say that part aloud.

“Maybe,” I replied. “But it also means you need to rethink everything about your meeting with de Marco. If Shiroi is present, your precautions mean nothing. His magic makes him virtually untouchable—he unravels matter just by contact. He’s dismantled bullets, blades, people... even electricity.”

Penrose began pacing, his mind working fast. “What about explosions?”

I blinked. “You’d be surprised how often I don’t think about that, sir. But honestly? I don’t know. He’s stopped everything else.”

“Maybe not him, then. But the employer… de Marco.” He gave a short, sharp breath. “I’m going to meet with him anyway.”

Of course he was. Bold as ever. I hoped his confidence would keep him alive.

“I wanted to ask you to infiltrate his vacation home,” he continued. “It’s up north, by the lakes. He’s been visiting frequently, which is unusual. My people think there’s something hidden there—something valuable.”

“I can do that,” I said, “but not right away. I’m still healing.” I lifted my shirt just enough to show the bruises along my ribs. His expression hardened with a flicker of guilt.

“Understood. I’ll arrange for transport once you’re ready.”

“One more thing, sir. Do you have a date and time set for the de Marco meeting?”

“Not yet.”

“Set it for Monday, 6 p.m.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I have a class at that time. A sewing course. And guess who’s teaching it?” I let it hang there.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. It’s him. Shiroi. If he doesn’t show up to class that night, odds are he’ll be at your meeting instead.”

“You’ve known this—and didn’t tell me?” He was more stunned than angry now.

“As I said, he’d dismantle anyone you sent. And... I kind of need the class. He’s a really good teacher.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then laughed in disbelief. “I taught you better than I thought. You’ve figured out how to use even an indestructible killer as a resource.”

I just smiled. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll schedule the meeting then. I’ll confirm when he agrees.”

“Perfect. One last thing, sir. Be the memory of everything Mr. Penrose learned today,” I whispered.

I touched the finished sketch of our conversation, watching as the magic awakened and wove itself into the paper—a subtle shimmer as authority settled into it.

Then I handed the drawing to him. “Keep this close. On your person. Wallet, pendant—whatever. Just don’t alter it, or the memory anchor will fail. Peter wears one too. That’s how he remembers.”

“Can I fold it?”

“Yes. But any change to the drawing itself, even a scratch or a smear—will break the effect.”

He studied the drawing like it was a key to another world. And maybe, it truly was.

“Thank you, Alexandra,” he said, quieter than I’d ever heard him. “I’ll treasure this.”

“No problem, sir.” I stood, brushing my clothes into place with a wince as my ribs protested. “This ride to de Marco’s house… could it be today?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You said you needed time.”

“I need time before I enter, yes,” I clarified. “But I can go see it now, paint it—capture its essence. That way, I can return whenever I’m ready. It’ll give me the advantage later.”

“Oh,” he murmured, blinking as if reprocessing the breadth of my abilities. Then he patted his jacket and fumbled for his phone—only to remember it had crashed to the floor earlier. I bent down and picked it up, offering it back to him.

“You dropped it, sir.”

“Ah. Yes. Thank you.” He took it, already distracted again by the implications of what I’d said. I could see gears turning behind his eyes, too fast and too loud.

“If you don’t mind,” I added gently, “I’ll leave you now. Once the transport’s ready, I can come back here—or the driver can collect me from just outside my building. Either works.”

“I’ll see to that,” he said, already tapping into his cracked screen.

I nodded, then turned toward the sketchbook. I placed my hand on the page that held the drawing of my room—my sanctuary—and whispered the intent into my soul. Take me home.

The world folded like silk, and in the next heartbeat, I was back in my room. Quiet, familiar, warm.