When Laurel wakes up, she's inside a room painted in the grayish mauve of Unfading Dusk, with light from a double-hung window pouring in and across her face. Gone are the iron walls and heavy door. An illusion? A hallucination?

  Right, she's out of Magimax again.

  She looks down, and sees she's covered in a blanket, and wearing a t-shirt. Not the jumpsuit.

  She also has a killer headache, though she can't remember why. She can't remember much of anything that happened yesterday, now that she thinks about it.

  An acrid hint of her breath reaches her nose, and the pieces start fall into place. She got wine-drunk, and had a crazy party last night in celebration. Well, it wasn't really a party, just her and Willow getting drunk, playing music too loud, sloppily making out, and pissing off neighbors with the noise.

  She gets out of bed, freeing her arm from underneath Willow's neck, and shambles to the sink. She pours a glass of water, and guzzles it while rooting around Willow's medicine cabinet for something to help with the obvious hangover. Selecting a red bottle of painkillers, she pops it open and takes two, taking another small glass of water to wash them down.

  Jesus, they made a mess last night. Laurel gets to work cleaning.

  Now that she's out again, it's like she never really left. This is her home, and in a way, she always knew she'd be back here eventually.

  She bites her lower lip in an attempt to hold back nausea, lost in thought as she starts cleaning up a spilled bottle of wine Willow knocked aside when pinning her to the table. Laurel promised herself in Magimax that when she saw Willow again, she'd say something about how she feels... But is that fair to Willow? What if the feeling isn't mutual? Laurel pictures it: Willow spending months saving her close friend from a horrible prison, followed by said friend immediately confessing her feelings... how awkward would that be?

  Finally, the medicine starts to kick in, as Laurel looks over the shirt Willow threw to the side late into the night.

  All at once, the events of yesterday connect with her conscious mind.

  ...well, that makes it even more awkward.

  The two eat a breakfast of eggs and toast in total silence, partly from nerves, partly from the mutual hangover. They sit on opposite ends of the small table, looking only at their respective meals and phones in dead silence, disrupted only by the occasional biting or scraping of fork on plate.

  Laurel finishes first, as expected, having barely eaten since the day before yesterday. She takes a long breath, and looks up at Willow. "Hey..."

  Willow looks up, turning red. "...hey."

  "You, uhh... do you remember if we..."

  She shakes her head. "Just a lot of... you know. And cuddling."

  "Right, right..."

  The awkward silence grows a little deeper. Laurel stands up, and cracks her knuckles to ready herself for the difficult news. "Willow, when I was back in Magimax, I got through those days by thinking of you. It gave me hope, and I promised myself that if I ever got to see you again, I wouldn't waste my chance. I really like you."

  Willow looks up from her breakfast, and despite her attempts to keep a straight face, she breaks out laughing. She stifles herself at seeing Laurel's crestfallen face, smiling widely with slightly bloodshot eyes. "Yeah. Duh."

  "I... I know we were pretty drunk last night, so if you don't feel the same, or if you want me to leave, I-"

  "For God's sake, Laurel. I remember pushing you to the table wearing only my underwear and kissing you for like twenty minutes. I'm pretty sure that says how I feel about you."

  "...what if you meant it in a, like, really close friends kind of way?" Laurel half-jokingly asks.

  The two share a long look at each other.

  Willow finishes her own breakfast, and slowly approaches her friend, the two hesitantly leaning in for an uncomfortably awkward kiss. Before their lips meet, they abandon the idea in favor of a nervous hug. Still very awkward while sober.

  A knock at the door pulls them from their hug. Willow looks down at her lack of pants, and bolts to her room, gesturing for Laurel to get the door.

  Laurel makes sure she's wearing pants, too, before sheepishly opening the door.

  In front of her stands a bald man with light eyebrows and a black t-shirt, six foot two and arms as thick as Laurel's head. He looks down at her with a grimace, holding a packet of paper and a clipboard. "You're Laurel Vale."

  A thousand options run through her head. Run? Fight? Cry? Yell for Willow? What does she even do? "Y-yeah."

  The man offers a meaty hand. "I'm your parole officer. Sergeant Major Shankar Gupta, Counter-Magic."

  Laurel shakes it, surprised by how light his grip is with her. Her tense eyebrows relax, and she steps aside. "Would you like to come in?"

  Shankar takes the invitation, looking around the still somewhat disheveled living room. "...you have a party or something last night?"

  "Uhh... mostly just... I'm not sure what the terms of my parole are. Should I... plead the fifth?"

  Shankar chuckles to himself. "Let's just get it squared away. Magimax parole comes with some basic rules. Since you're a special case, though, you have special rules... where's Sergeant Valley?"

  "Oh. She's in the bedroom getting dressed. Well, her bedroom. There's two, we don't share one." Laurel fails to suppress the screaming in her brain that tells her to shut up.

  Willow stumbles over, now wearing a pair of bright pink sweatpants. "Hey, Shankar."

  "Willow, good to see you. Mind if I sit? This is going to take a while."

  The three go over the rules, most of which don't affect Laurel in the first place, like not owning a firearm. A dozen others are obvious, like not committing further crimes. The key takeaways, in Laurel's understanding, boil down to the following: no magic without permission, no leaving the state without permission, weekly checkins with the parole officer, aiding Counter-Magic as required, finding a job, and not tampering with the locator in her neck.

  Laurel sheepishly raises her hand when Shankar asks for questions. He raises an eyebrow at her, to which she clears her throat in response, and asks, "Sir. I understand I'm not allowed to perform magic without permission, but... I, well, I have this dream. It's... very important to me."

  "Finding the animal mundee or something, right?"

  She bites her tongue to keep from correcting him. "No, sir. I... I've always wanted to run a little magic shop."

  "A magic shop?"

  "Y-yeah. You know, spell supplies, enchanted items, maybe a few alchemical potions. It's been my dream since I learned my first spell."

  He folds his arms. "That's really skirting the rules of your parole, you know."

  "I know, but that's all I want, okay? I'll be a model parolee, I swear."

  Her face starts to drop as Shankar explains why it isn't a good idea. He doesn't say no, but the implication is clear. If she does it, she'll be on Counter-Magic's shitlist.

  "What if," Willow interrupts, "she works at a magic shop owned by someone else?"

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  Shankar weighs the idea in his mind. "It's still not ideal. Look, I've read your files, Laurel. You have a tendency to get fixated on an idea and take things too far. I'm not sure subjecting a civilian to that is a fair thing to ask."

  Laurel struggles to hold back tears. It's a stupid thing, she knows, but it's what's kept her motivated to be better: that one day, she'd have her little slice of peace.

  "What if we went into business together?" Willow offers. "I'm getting too old for infantry, and the officer track isn't really for me. I could keep an eye on her, and you know I'm qualified. I mean, damn, how many classes have I taken about dealing with magic?"

  Shankar leans in, eyes stern and hands together. "You'd basically be taking responsibility for her. Are you sure you want to do that? It's a big commitment."

  Willow holds back a laugh. He's saying it like she's a child getting her first pet, not going into business with a friend. "Absolutely," Willow says. "It solves both of our employment problems."

  "If you can make it work financially... yeah, I'm fine with that. Does that work for you, Laurel?"

  Laurel rapidly nods, her throat too busy tightening as she fights the tide of incoming sobbing.

  "Alright. If you want my advice, you should set up here in Salt Lake. All the places I know are in the middle of fricking nowhere, are run by people who should really be in prison, or are vendors that only do shows." He pats his legs, and stands up. "Best of luck, you two. Let me know if Counter-Magic can help... actually, check with MBR instead. I bet they'd front a little money if you were friendly with them. I'll see you in a week, Laurel."

  With a final nod, he lets himself out, leaving the two alone in the room. Willow nervously rubs the back of her head, trying to read what Laurel's expression says. It's completely blank, minus the tears. "You said you'd ask me to run the shop with you, right? I hope I wasn't too presumptuous with suggesting it."

  Laurel's mouth quivers, until she tackles Willow into a tight hug, drenching Willow's shirt with tears.

  Willow kisses the top of her head, and gently runs Laurel's hair through her fingers. Yeah. This was the right decision.

  If only either of them knew literally anything about running a business.

  Laurel busily draws the floor plan of the store, along with several variations depending on what square footage they're able to secure. They diagrams join massive lists of what equipment she'll need for alchemy, what she'll need for enchanting, what she'll need for durable formalized sigils...

  Willow rubs her eyes as Laurel continues drafting. As charming as it is seeing her so diligently working, it means that Willow has to accept that she's the one who will be doing all the business-end legwork here.

  She needs advice. Maybe Mayfly knows something. She's been in federal MBR for a while, surely she knows someone who can help. Willow takes out her phone, and calls her number. It rings for a few moments, but she does eventually pick up.

  "Hey!" May says, her voice earnest and bright despite the interference. "Been a while! How's it going over there in Counter-Magic?"

  "Looking to retire soon. Counter-Magic doesn't let geezers like me stay in active duty, unlike MBR. How's it going over there? You still failing to commit to whats-her-name?"

  "No, actually. Sixgill and I are officially together. Have been for a bit, actually. So what's the call for?"

  Willow watches as Laurel vigorously sketches something she doesn't understand. "Well, do you know any magic shop owners who wouldn't mind a few questions? Vale and I are going into business together."

  The line goes quiet for a long moment. "Hang on. Vale?"

  "Yeah. I guess I haven't talked to you recently. Met about three months ago when I needed a curse lifted-"

  "Holy fuck, a curse? Vale as in Chad Vale? Infamous occultist?"

  "Her name's Laurel now, but yeah. Don't worry, she's reformed."

  "...okay, no problem. Let me think about the best possible vendor. Actually, I know a guy and his wife. I'll send them to your apartment at, say, six tomorrow. Oh, sorry, gotta go."

  "Thanks, May, you're a lifesaver. Bye!"

  Willow hangs up with relief. May's always got her back.

  Laurel and Willow finish setting up dinner for four right on time, and embrace each other for a moment. They don't need to say anything, since they know they're sharing the same thought: they really hope this goes well. Having someone who knows the process would be a huge boon.

  The doorbell rings, and Laurel opens the door with a smile. Before she can so much as say 'welcome,' a hard boot kicks her to the floor, and a shotgun is pointed to her head.

  "Don't move, don't speak, occultist," a severe and commanding tone barks, coming from the one with the shotgun. Laurel looks up in confusion, but stays quiet. Not that she would move, but there's a heavy boot on her gut right now. The voice is oddly familiar, but she can't place it.

  Mayfly follows in close behind, her lethal eyes quickly ushering Willow over to the shotgun-wielding maniac. The woman with the gun slowly draws a sigil on Willow's forehead with one hand, the other still holding the shotgun to Laurel's face. Once the sigil is complete, though, it fizzles out in a dim sputtering.

  "Mayfly, your friend isn't brainwashed," the maniac says. "This is definitely Vale, though..."

  Mayfly apologetically pats Willow on the shoulder. "Sorry. Uhh... this is Captain Sixgill. Six, this is Sergeant Willow Valley."

  "...hey, Captain," Willow offers, too terrified for Laurel's safety to risk agitating the shotgun-toting woman.

  Sixgill looks Willow over, before turning her attention back to the woman whose stomach is planted firmly beneath her boot. "Hang on, I need to make a call. Krastev would know if this is bullshit."

  May and Willow stand aside with mutual bemusement and concern as Sixgill briefly talks on the phone, and hangs up with a sigh. She lifts her foot off of Vale, who immediately scuttles back to her feet and runs over to Willow. Laurel hides behind her friend, glaring from over her shoulder.

  "So, uhh..." May says. "This is awkward. I heard you were looking for a source of magic supplies while with Vale, who should be in prison for life, and I made a perfectly reasonable assumption."

  Willow forces a smile. "Yeah, that actually tracks. Uhh... well, we already made dinner, so..."

  Regardless of the explanation, Sixgill's eyes never leave Vale. "I'm sure you won't mind if I set up an Abate sigil, right, occultist?"

  Vale furiously shakes her head. "No, ma'am, not at all. If you'd like, I can set a Suppression sigil on the area as well, to keep out all magic... I remember you! I advised you on an operation once, a few months ago."

  Six's eyes dimly flicker with recognition. She takes off her jacket and gloves, tosses them onto the nearby couch, and folds her arms with a faintly metallic clink. "Let's skip the Suppression. I'd like to use my arms."

  Laurel's eyes attach to Sixgill's arms. They're entirely metal prosthetics, inlaid with shallow sigils pre-etched into nearly every available flat surface. It's a dazzling array of curved and interwoven lines, across the dully reflective metal. She steps from behind Willow to look a little closer. "...wow..."

  Willow gently rests a hand on her roommate's shoulder. "Uhh, Laurel," she says in a wary tone. "Don't offend anyone here."

  "Oh, shit, sorry!" Laurel says, cringing at her own overstepping. "I just... never gave much thought to etching before. That's incredible. Wait, you're controlling all of those?"

  Six nods, but doesn't reveal whatever she's thinking behind her stern eyes and folded arms.

  "That's amazing! I guess the mental load would be lower if you didn't have to maintain the bounds of a sigil, and since they're attached to you in an intrinsically fixed way- I've heard about people who scar or tattoo sigils onto themselves, but there are- Even a bracelet or implant is- sorry! I'm just... wow. I... I think I'm going to go hide under a rock for the next couple weeks now." Laurel covers her face with her hands, and starts to shrink away.

  Sixgill starts to grin, and shares a short and unreadable glance with Mayfly before speaking. "You should see the way my guy's linked a few of them. Lower three fingers have a dozen individual sigils, but can be opened or closed with a single one. Mimics how the brain acts with normal complex motions. I have a couple implants in my arms to translate unconscious thought, too."

  Laurel's eyes regain their spark instantly. "Woah. Are they made of precious stones?"

  "Nope, just regular stone. I have normal wiring that transmits the impulses directly into-"

  "-gold-inlayed quartzite, because gold is conductive to both magic and electricity, and quartzite because it retains some of quartz's lithomantic properties but not enough to interfere with the sigils themselves..?"

  Six nods affirmatively, a very real smile starting to form. "You know your shit, Vale."

  Laurel turns a little red, rubbing the back of her head as she looks away. "Y-you know, if it isn't too presumptuous, I'm familiar with formalized sigil-crafting. You know, the ones that work regardless of who uses them. If you wanted to get me in touch with whoever makes your arms, I might be able to have some parts powered entirely by mechanical action to save you from the mental load."

  The captain raises an eyebrow, and seems to consider it. "I'll give you his number. You're not what I expected, Vale."

  Laurel gestures to the dinner table without looking at Six. "Would you like to set the Abate sigil somewhere specific?"

  Six whispers something in May's ear, who forcefully elbows Six's arm in return. May steps away, cursing to herself while clutching her soon-to-be-bruised elbow. After a brief check with May to make sure she isn't actually hurt, Six steps towards the kitchen table. "I don't think that'll be required. You seem... alright."

  Laurel says a final goodbye as Six and May leave their apartment. As soon as the door closes, Laurel bends over and holds her gut.

  Willow rushes over and holds her friend's back. "Laurel?! What's wrong?"

  Laurel wheezes out a little laugh. "...she kicked me really hard, is all. I didn't want to make things awkward. I'm... gonna go lie down."

  "Jesus, I'll get you some ice. Sorry, this whole thing was a bust."

  "It's okay. Six is going to give us the actual contact, at least, so it's worth it..." Laurel shuffles along the carpet to her room, eventually lying down in bed.

  Willow fills a zippered storage bag with paper towels and ice, mind ablaze. She didn't notice how Laurel was in pain during a whole meal? Is that her fault, or Laurel's for hiding it? Either way, it hurts to know she couldn't help. Better late than never, though.

  "What do you make of it?" Sixgill asks, as May drives the two of them back to the airport.

  "Make of what? The fact Vale is out of prison, the fact my friend is clearly romantically entwined with Vale, or the fact Vale seems more or less normal?"

  "All of it."

  May taps her thumbs on the steering wheel, watching the streetlights fly by in the night. "I don't know the how, when, or why, so I can't make a judgement call. It's definitely strange. Whoever heard of getting parole after two years of a fifty year sentence?"

  "Krastev implied there was a lot more to her original conviction than the media reported. I'm inclined to believe that, given how it'd be corporate suicide for a media company to show support for the scary necromancer. Thing is, the Ember Scions were into all that occult shit for a while, and I'm not exactly thrilled by the thought of an infamous occultist frolicking around."

  "She seems okay, though."

  Sixgill looks down at her phone, debating if she should send Fennel's contact details or not. "Don't they all?"