Elly led me three blocks down, far enough that she seemed sure we weren’t being followed. Then we cut through a narrow alley that smelled like stale beer, burnt espresso, and maybe a hint of shame.

  Finally, she ducked into a tiny café I’d never noticed before.

  The sign above read Gilded Griddle in looping gold script, and the whole place smelled like cinnamon, butter, and bad financial decisions. Inside, it was peak hipster: exposed brick walls, mismatched chairs, vinyl records spinning just slightly too slow on a turntable. The barista wore suspenders and a newsboy cap without a hint of irony.

  Elly slid into a booth by the window like she owned the place. "You'll like it here."

  "Will I?" I muttered, still trying to process that I'd nearly been murdered at work by a Xerox repairman from hell.

  She grinned, kicking my shin under the table. "They have the best brioche grilled cheese on the planet. And homemade tater tots. You'll forgive everything once you taste it."

  “…I’m listening."

  We ordered—her, the fabled grilled cheese; me, something called a deconstructed shepherd’s pie that sounded like a hate crime against carbs.

  When the food arrived, it looked as ridiculous as it sounded: scattered meat clumps, artistic mashed potato blobs, delicate swooshes of gravy arranged like a Jackson Pollock painting.

  I stared. Elly smirked.

  "Regretting your choices?" she asked, popping a tater tot into her mouth.

  "Deeply," I muttered, stabbing a random pile with my fork.

  I shoved a bite into my mouth—and immediately hated how good it tasted. Betrayal, thy name was mashed potatoes.

  I chewed angrily while Elly watched me, her smirk fading. She tapped a finger against her mug. "Okay, talk. I figure you have questions."

  I laughed dryly. "Where do I even start?"

  "Start with the office," she said. "What you saw."

  I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "I was on a support call. Then everything glitched. Lights. Screens. People froze like someone yanked their batteries out."

  She nodded, encouraging me.

  "And then... the thing," I said, shuddering. "It wore a copy machine repairman uniform. But it didn’t move right. Like it was being puppeted by something inside. No footsteps. No normal arm swing. Just... wrong."

  Elly's face tightened slightly, confirming that yes, it was as bad as I thought.

  "And you," I added, jabbing my fork toward her, "suddenly hacked reality. Doors opening. Cameras turning. Sprinklers activating."

  I squinted at her suspiciously. "How did you hack that without touching a keyboard?"

  She grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I’m not on the internet, Dan. I’m on Elfnet. Faster than 5G. Better security. Only accessible by ancient bloodlines and a really good data plan."

  I blinked.

  She rolled her eyes, then leaned forward, dropping her voice. "I didn’t hack the system. I am the system."

  I frowned. "That's not an answer."

  She exhaled dramatically, then brushed her hair behind her ear.

  That’s when I saw it.

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  Her ears were... wrong. Not human. Longer. Sharper. Delicately pointed like something out of Tolkien’s fever dream.

  I squinted harder. "Those are prosthetics."

  She shot me a look. "Seriously?"

  Before I could argue, she leaned across the table, lowering her voice. "Touch them if you don’t believe me."

  I hesitated.

  She raised an eyebrow, daring me. "What, scared?"

  That did it. I reached out cautiously, brushing the edge of her ear.

  It was warm. Soft. They were definitely not plastic.

  The moment my fingers traced the very tip—

  She gasped, turning a vibrant shade of red.

  I yanked my hand back like she was radioactive. "Okay! Definitely real! Also, definitely weird."

  She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "You don't just go fondling fae ears, Daniel!"

  "I just did," I said, stunned.

  "You have no idea how intimate that is," she muttered into her palms.

  My brain locked up. "So... elf ears are an erogenous zone?" Like the Ferengi, eh? File that one away.

  "Not exactly," she hissed, peeking out from behind her fingers. Her blush had made her freckles stand out. "But close enough that I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life."

  I leaned back, processing. "So... you're an elf?"

  "Elf-adjacent," she said, popping a tater tot. "Technically Fae. 'Elf' works if you’re lazy."

  "You don't look like an elf," I muttered. "Halloween costumes aside."

  And suddenly, the costumes made sense. Every damn year she picked something pointy-eared: Romulan, Vulcan, Legolas gender bend. I'd thought it was a nerd thing. Hot nerd thing, but still…

  I pointed accusingly. "You were cosplaying your own species."

  She just winked.

  Then, with a casual flick, she pulled out a tiny contact case and popped out her lenses.

  I stared.

  Her irises were liquid gold, with swirling starburst pupils—not circles. Actual tiny, burning stars, flickering slightly with every blink.

  "You still think I’m faking?" she said softly.

  I sagged in my seat. "I... don’t even know anymore."

  She waited, letting me process.

  Finally, I scrubbed my face. "Fine. Fine. You’re a fae hacker wizard gremlin."

  She grinned. "Close enough."

  I shoved another tater tot into my mouth. "What about the rest? Why the weirdness around me? The glitching. The weird crushes. The freezing people?"

  She grew more serious, swirling her coffee. "You're a Null, Daniel."

  "A what-now?"

  "A Null. Someone who’s born... wrong, in a good way. You don’t run on the same frequencies Alterkind do. You scramble our signals. Damp down magic. Sometimes you even make it backfire."

  I frowned. "So, I’m like a supernatural Wi-Fi jammer?"

  "Exactly."

  I blinked. "And that makes me a target?"

  Elly hesitated. "To some, yeah. Nulls are rare. Some Alterkind want to use you. Some want to erase you."

  I sagged deeper. "Great."

  "And you," she added, voice dropping, "are unusually strong. Stronger than any Null I’ve ever met."

  I stared at her. "You’ve met others?"

  She shook her head. "Heard stories. You’re the first I’ve seen survive this long without being claimed."

  "Claimed?"

  "Bonded to someone. Used. Kept."

  I shivered.

  She reached across the table, her hand hovering before touching mine. "That’s why I kept you isolated."

  I pulled my hand away slightly. "Isolated?"

  She winced.

  I remembered: The calls that always dropped at convenient times, the dates that ghosted me without warning, the missed job offers, and the friend groups that quietly disintegrated around me.

  "You rigged my life," I said numbly. "You sabotaged everything."

  "I protected you," she said fiercely. "Daniel, you have no idea the things out there. You were a neon sign to predators."

  "You didn’t trust me enough to tell me!" I snapped.

  She looked wrecked. "I trusted you. I didn’t trust the world."

  For a moment, we sat there—surrounded by exposed brick and cinnamon-sugar air—two people with too many secrets between them.

  Finally, she stirred her coffee again, voice quieter. "You’re not alone anymore, Dan. Not unless you want to be."

  I watched her. Really watched her.

  My oldest friend. My saboteur. The person who had ruined my life to save it.

  And despite everything—I didn’t want to lose her.

  I exhaled. "Okay. Fine. Team Elly."

  She brightened immediately, beaming like a kid with a new toy.

  "But no more hacking my dating life," I warned.

  "Unless they're vampires," I added after a second thought.

  "No promises," she said sweetly, stealing my last tater tot.

  I speared another rogue blob of deconstructed shepherd’s pie, shaking my head. "So, question. Serious one."

  Elly raised an eyebrow warily. "Shoot."

  "Is the whole 'loving potatoes' thing just a ‘you’ thing, or are you secretly part Irish on top of being a fae? Are all Irish people fae? I knew this ginger back in high school that could do this really weird thing with his nose…"

  She snorted into her coffee, nearly choking. "Wow, Dan. Really leaning into the racial stereotypes there."

  "I’m just saying, if you suddenly start riverdancing, I want full disclosure."

  She tossed a sugar packet at my face.

  I laughed, dodging it—and for the briefest of moments, through the window behind her, I thought I saw a flicker of movement.

  Just a shimmer. Like heat waves above asphalt.

  There, then gone. By the time I focused, there was nothing but the soft flow of pedestrian traffic outside.

  I shook my head, chalking it up to stress—or too much cinnamon-scented air—and grinned at Elly.

  Potatoes. Riverdancing. Supernatural bodyguards. Totally normal day… for me anyway.

  Now if I could just figure out what to do about leaving work without punching out.