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Tuesday, September 27th, 2253 - 8:21 am

Market Street, Crossroads — Front entrance of the Mystical Menagerie

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Jeremiah yawned as he neared the entrance to his shop, shoulders tight with lingering fatigue.

"I slept like a rock last night, but I'm still wiped out," he muttered, rolling his shoulders in slow circles. Most weekday mornings, he'd have hustled to the CSA office before sunrise, hoping to snag an easy job before the best assignments vanished. But after last night's chaos, he'd slept through all three alarms and woke late, groggy and sore.

Instead of dragging himself into whatever miserable project the CSA had left, Jeremiah decided today would be for catching up in the shop. The CSA was still his only steady income, at least until the shop opened for real, but he still had a cushion of savings to rely on for a little while longer.

"What about you, buddy?" he asked Billy, cradling the bowl gently in his arms. Carrying Billy back and forth each day was a hassle, but until he figured out how to curb the kraken's "wandering" habits, there wasn't much choice.

I did find a possible solution in the System store, even if it's out of my budget for now, Jeremiah reminded himself, lest needlessly worry as was his own bad habit recently.

Billy peered up with bleary eyes, tentacles stretching languidly before curling up atop his castle, already half-asleep again.

Jeremiah let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Rest well, little guy," he whispered, only slightly jealous.

Oh, to be a baby kraken.

Jeremiah stepped inside and closed the door behind him, letting the quiet of the Mystical Menagerie settle around his shoulders. The shop felt different now — no longer just an empty shell, but a place steadily coming alive.

Sunlight filtered through tall front windows, painting stripes across the polished floors and highlighting the careful order of his new domain. Shelves lined the southeast wall, ready and waiting to be stocked with all manner of goods. To the north, the cafe corner radiated a welcoming warmth, comfortable-looking chairs arranged around sturdy wooden tables, and the air sweetened by the faint citrus of the enchanted air freshener above the door.

Near the far wall, the three autobrooms — Uno, Dos, and Tres — stood at attention in their charging stands, looking almost regal with their polished handles and subtle magical runes. Each one glowed faintly, indicators blinking in a slow, steady rhythm as they powered up for another day's work. Jeremiah gave them an appreciative nod. For all their mechanical obedience, he'd come to think of them almost as shop spirits — always ready to whir to life and tidy up the smallest mess.

He padded past the grooming table in the southeast corner and eyed the café setup near the northwest, mentally ticking off all the little details he'd managed to get just right. Every shelf, cushion, and countertop was in its place. The open space in the center of the room left plenty of room for creatures to roam or customers to mingle.

It still needed a few final touches — fresh pastries for the display, more plants for the windowsills — but for the first time since taking over the building, Jeremiah felt a flicker of real pride.

The Menagerie was ready to welcome the day. And, Jeremiah hoped, whatever came next.

He set Billy's bowl gently on the polished front counter, ready to rouse his tiny kraken companion for a first trial run at the new grooming table. But before he could reach for the bowl, a soft knock echoed through the shop.

Jeremiah paused, glancing toward the entrance. The street outside was empty. Frowning, he listened. The knock came again — this time behind him, muffled but insistent.

He spun around, eyes wide, and caught movement through the broad corner window that looked out into the courtyard. There, standing in a patch of sunlit green, were Ulrick and a stranger: a broad-shouldered older man with a neatly trimmed grey beard, posture ramrod-straight even in casual clothes. Ulrick spotted him and offered a cheerful wave, beckoning him over.

Jeremiah's brow furrowed as he made his way along the eastern wall, passing the neat rows of shelving and the silent autobrooms still nestled in their charging stands. The only way to the courtyard from inside was through the old Maddock wall storage — an awkward route he'd need to fix sooner or later.

He opened the door to the storage area and stepped into the bright courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of the central tree, dappling the flagstones and lush patches of moss. Ulrick stood waiting with his companion, both men framed by the spreading branches above. Further in, Jeremiah spotted Lewis lingering at the base of the tree, nervously smoothing the front of his new work clothes — a pair of sturdy pants and a padded shirt, both far cleaner and newer than he'd seen Lewis wearing the night before. His wild hair was tamed and tied back into a neat ponytail.

Above, Maddie sprawled on a low branch, green eyes narrowed but no longer bristling with hostility. She watched Jeremiah's every move, tail flicking in lazy arcs, but there was only curiosity in her gaze now, not threat.

A cold knot tightened in Jeremiah's stomach as he realized what this gathering might be about.

He didn't have long to dwell. Ulrick strode forward, filling the air with his booming warmth. "Jeremiah! Good morning! I saw what you've done with the shop already. It's… impressive. Honestly, I didn't think you'd manage to set up so quickly. You must have had everything lined up, ready to go the moment the building was finished."

Jeremiah chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Ulrick's eyes. "Yeah… something like that."

Ulrick nodded, then gestured to the older man beside him. "I wanted to introduce you to Bastion. He's the… well, I guess you could say boss of the group staying in the apartments on the north side of your lot."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The older man laughed, the sound warm and gravelly, and shook his head. "Boss? I'd hardly call myself that, you brat. Those kids only listen to me when they're out of options." He extended a hand toward Jeremiah, eyes twinkling beneath bushy grey brows. "Still, it's good to finally meet you, Mr. Bridge. Ulrick's been telling us plenty."

Jeremiah blinked at the frankness but stepped forward to shake the man's calloused hand. "Right. Please, call me Jeremiah. Ulrick did mention there were people… staying in the apartments."

Bastion's grin widened, creasing his face. "No point in being polite, lad. We're squatters. That's the truth of it. If not for folks like Ulrick, half of us would be out on the street. I won't pretend otherwise."

Jeremiah scratched the back of his neck, uncertain what to say to that.

Bastion's expression sobered. "I only wish our meeting could've been under better circumstances." His eyes sharpened, locking onto Jeremiah's. "First, let me apologize — for Lewis, and for all the residents. What happened last night shouldn't have happened." He shook his head, voice rough. "Maybe if we'd had the backbone to tell Ulrick about Maddie's situation, things would have gone differently." His gaze drifted toward Lewis by the tree, then returned to Jeremiah. "That boy's been through more than most. Maddie's the only family he has. If there's any blame, let it fall on me. I'll take whatever burden you think is fair. Just… don't hold it against those two."

A small ache stirred in Jeremiah's chest. He shook his head. "There's no need. Lewis and I worked things out last night. We have an agreement."

Bastion folded his hands behind his back and gave a slow nod, closing his eyes in thought. "Yes, Lewis told us about the job you offered him. Quite generous, considering all that's happened." He opened his eyes, fixing Jeremiah with a gaze that wasn't unkind, but held a hardened edge. A look born of years spent watching deals fall apart and too many promises go sour. The world-weariness in Bastion's stare lingered, weighing each word that followed.

"I believe Ulrick here had some questions about this arrangement of yours. Just so we're all on the same page."

As Bastion spoke, Ulrick reached into his satchel and withdrew a rolled-up stack of papers. Jeremiah recognized the contract instantly — the one the System had manifested for Lewis. His stomach dropped, and he swallowed, cheeks paling. Of course, they'd have shown it to Ulrick. He should have expected as much.

"Nothing to worry about, lad," Ulrick said, his tone shifting to gentle reassurance. "You're not in any trouble. I've read through this… contract, and everything seems in order. We don't suspect you of anything untoward. We just have a couple of questions, that's all. I'm sure you understand."

Jeremiah didn't answer at first, eyes darting between the contract and Bastion. Ulrick must have noticed his hesitation, because he turned to Bastion with an easy smile.

"Bastion, why don't you take Lewis and show him the best way to clean up the courtyard? I'm sure Jeremiah wouldn't mind a bit of help getting the place in shape."

Bastion nodded, turning back to Jeremiah with a softer expression. "It's been good meeting you, Jeremiah. And thank you again for looking out for Lewis. That means more than you might realize." Then, with a booming voice that echoed across the yard, he called, "LEWIS! Stop gawking and get over here! I'll show you how it's done!" His laughter rang out as he strode toward the tree, beckoning Lewis after him.

When Bastion and Lewis were out of earshot, Ulrick turned back to Jeremiah and nodded toward the courtyard entrance.

Jeremiah let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and led the way inside. He made his way to the front desk, settling into his usual seat, while Ulrick pulled up one of the café stools — its legs creaking under his weight, the seat almost comically undersized for his broad frame. Ulrick spread the contract across the desk and fixed Jeremiah with a steady look.

"First off, son, let me repeat myself. You're not in trouble. I'm not your boss, your landlord, or your father. What you do with your shop — and who you hire — is your own business." He straightened, hands folded over the contract. "That said, I have a few… responsibilities to Market Street and to the folks who call this place home. So I hope you understand why parts of this contract have me worried."

He held Jeremiah's gaze, expression softening only slightly. "I'll be straight with you, so I'd appreciate it if you were straight with me. I can feel the Faetouch in this paper, lad. It's faint, but it's there — this isn't just legal ink. There's magic bound up in this. Strong magic. Not the sort of thing just anyone could whip up."

Ulrick leaned in, voice dropping to a quiet, earnest rumble. "Jeremiah… if you made some kind of bad bargain for all this"— he gestured around the polished, newly furnished shop — "then I need to know. I've seen too many good folks get chewed up by deals they couldn't walk away from. If you need my help, you only have to ask. But I can't have you dragging innocents into something dangerous, either. So if there's anything I should know… now's the time."

Jeremiah's breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he sat frozen, staring at the contract on the desk, his mind spinning with half-formed words. His heart hammered against his ribs, and a thin bead of sweat slid down his temple. He wanted to trust Ulrick — maybe even needed to — but how much could he really risk? Mero had never outright said the System was a secret, but all those hints, evasions, and sidelong glances had left Jeremiah wary. The boundaries of what he could share pressed in, almost tangible.

His fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the counter as he searched for a safe answer, his gaze flicking toward the windows, looking anywhere but Ulrick's eyes. "Ulrick, it's… complicated. I—"

A sudden flicker of silvery-blue light cut him off. Mero shimmered into view atop the contract, legs folded, wings buzzing softly as he hovered just above the paper. His expression was uncharacteristically sober as he regarded Ulrick, though he couldn't resist shooting Jeremiah a conspiratorial wink.

"Sorry to drop in unannounced," Mero said, his tone almost too bright for the heavy air. "But I think it's best if I handle this part, kid."

Ulrick's eyes widened. He leaned back, jaw set, his whole body tense. The suspicion in his stare was thick enough to taste. "And who are you, exactly?" he asked, voice pitched low and edged with warning.

Mero's grin widened, teeth gleaming like moonlight. "Call me a consultant. Or a sponsor, if you prefer. Point is, I'm with the kid."

For a moment, the room felt even quieter, the space between Ulrick's hard stare and Mero's irreverent cheer stretched taut. Beneath the surface, Jeremiah sensed the conversation was a negotiation on a level he could barely grasp.

"What exactly is going on here?" Ulrick asked, voice steady but edged with suspicion.

"More than you realize, Son of the Three Trees," Mero answered, his tone suddenly solemn.

The title seemed to strike a nerve. Ulrick's eyes widened, then narrowed, his frown deepening as he studied the little fae.

Mero rose to his full height and turned to Jeremiah. "Jerry-boy, didn't you have plans for today? Let me handle things with Ulrick. I promise I'll sort this mess out — no need to worry."

Jeremiah scowled down at him. "Mero, you promised me you'd stop with this manipulation. No games, remember? Now you want me to just step out of my own shop?"

Mero lifted both hands in a placating gesture. "You're right, and I meant what I said. This isn't a trick. But I'm asking you to trust me, just this once. Our baker friend here has his own share of secrets, and I think he'd prefer they stay that way." He glanced at Ulrick, then back at Jeremiah, his expression earnest. "I'm not trying to keep you in the dark. I'm asking you to let me handle a situation you're not quite ready to tackle on your own yet."

Jeremiah's frown lingered, fingers tapping a steady beat against the desk. He didn't like it, not one bit, but Mero was making an annoyingly valid point.

After a long pause, Jeremiah pushed himself up with a heavy sigh. "Fine. I'll let you handle it. But I'm leaving Billy here with you. I don't think the Central bus would appreciate me bringing a fishbowl aboard. I was going to have Lewis watch him, but if you're sticking around, it's your problem."

Mero grinned, then arched a brow. "Off to Central, then?"

Jeremiah slung his bag over his shoulder and moved for the door. "That's right."

He shot Mero a crooked smile. "I've got to go see an old friend about some animals."

With that, Jeremiah stepped out into the morning, leaving the shop — and its secrets — in Mero's hands.

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