Jared stepped inside.

The neon violet haze clung to the dancers like a second skin, casting a surreal glow over the scene. The bass hit him first. Not just sound. Pressure. It slid into his chest, rattling his ribs until his heart surrendered and beat in time. The nightclub was darkness made deliberate, shadows layered, then torn apart by strobing lights. Electric blue fractured the neon violet, cutting the crowd into pieces. Everywhere, movement. A living current. He pressed through, letting it close around him, practiced, unhurried.

Slow steps. Deliberate. One hand buried in his jacket pocket, shoulders loose, almost careless. Tension drew eyes. Eyes were dangerous. He had learned that lesson long ago.

Sweat. Perfume. Cigarettes. Sex. All of it tangled together, thick in the air. Underneath, something sharper. Metallic. Magic always left a scent, if you knew how to breathe it in. As Jared inhaled, the metallic tang momentarily transformed into a single, pure note: a sound only he could hear, echoing with the harmonies of the River. Not the Dark. No, this was the River, Mana, flowing between worlds. He felt it, pulsing, threading through the music, through his bones. Maybe it was the Dark in him that let him sense it. Maybe not.

He slipped between bodies, murmuring apologies, half-smiling. Eyes unfocused, blurred at the edges, as if he’d drowned himself in drink. No one lingered on him. The crowd swallowed him, made him its own. Just another body, chasing something nameless in the dark.

The table waited, just above the press of bodies. A vantage. He slid into the chair and exhaled. Fingers curled around the edge of the table, holding on for a moment longer than needed.

From here, he watched. Tried to let the movement and music swallow him. Tried not to think of Adrian's anger, the way it would burn if he knew. But mostly, he wanted silence. As he sat there, Jared yearned for an escape from his reality, a reprieve from the noise inside his mind. To hush the voice, the memories that pressed against the backs of his eyes, demanding to be seen.

The morning had been a search for distraction. Anything. The old obsessions, the ones that used to pull him under, left him empty. Hollow. The whispers echoed in that space. He’d tried the knife: desperate, useless. Nothing. Now he hunted for something else. He knew Shadow Kind, who could offer forgetting, if he asked.

But now, he waited. Waiting meant finding ways to keep the thoughts at bay, just a little longer.

The dance floor writhed, alive beneath the lights. A mosaic; human, and not. To most, just a club. Young professionals, students, tourists. Faces flushed, heat and drink loosening smiles, making them wide, unguarded.

But Jared saw more.

A single flicker caught his eye. A woman spun past, her hair burning like autumn fire. In a split second, he glimpsed her pupils narrow to slits, a serpentine touch hidden beneath a human guise. Laughter spilled as her partner caught her, the Veil obscuring her true nature. She seemed slim, pale, sharp. An illusion that even the Veil struggled to maintain. But Jared recognized the subtle elongation of her ears, delicate and almost hidden, marking her as an Elf. Among the mundane-born, but still her magic was woven so deeply into her being that even the Veil strained to smooth her edges.

By the bar, a broad-shouldered man leaned, arms crossed, nodding to the beat. The Veil wrapped muscle and skin over something heavier. When he shifted, the floor trembled, just a little. Dwarf, or something close. Earth-touched.

Three danced at the center, laughter too loud, movements too graceful. To most, just friends, maybe a little too in sync. But Jared caught the shimmer of scales pressing against skin, slit pupils flickering in the strobe. Dragonkin, slumming for the night.

Humans danced with them. Brushed past, spilled drinks, apologized, never knowing how close they came to myth.

That was the Veil. Tucking away what shouldn’t be real, even when it was. Not a wall. People always thought it was a wall. But you couldn’t point to it, couldn’t say here, magic ends, mundanity begins. It was law. System. A web of agreements and enforced forgetting, keeping the supernatural from tearing through the world. 

It smoothed edges. Rewrote sight, memory, chance. A tusk became a shadow, wings became a costume, and claws just nails painted black. The supernatural walked in daylight. The Veil made sure no one saw.

The Veil’s oldest rule: people see what they expect. Some say it’s self-imposed illusion. A system of compulsions, edits so small they slip beneath thought. A human dancing with a tiefling didn’t see another world. Just horns. A club kid, nothing more. In an age of gene mods and body art, nothing surprises for long.

Unless the Veil failed.

Tonight, as the bass throbbed and lights danced across the crowd, a faint, haunting echo of sirens wove through the background noise. Almost imperceptible, it stirred an instinctual unease, a whisper of discord beneath the revelry. If something broke through... Hitting hard enough, loud enough, violent enough to shatter the patchwork, there would be consequences. And Jared knew those consequences all too well.

His jaw tightened. He’d seen the aftermath. He’d helped contain the chaos and got to hold the memories.

But mostly, the Veil draped itself over everything humans refused to see. Let them keep believing. Only a few could see past it. Only a few, like him.

He dragged a hand through his hair. Sighed. This wasn’t helping. Not at all.

A waiter drifted over, movements liquid, unhurried. Black uniform, eyes blank and careful. The kind who saw everything and nothing.

“What can I get you?” the waiter asked, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music.

Jared didn’t look at the menu. He met the waiter’s eyes briefly and said, “I’m here for the special menu.”

There. The phrase slid into place, a key turning in a lock.

The waiter nodded once, barely perceptible. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll let them know.”

The waiter vanished, swallowed by the crowd.

Jared exhaled slowly. Let his gaze drift back to the dance floor.

A woman laughed, her partner dipping her low, grip sure. The Veil hid the ridges on his arms, the way his spine bent too far. She trusted him, never knowing why she shouldn’t. Or why she could.

That was the other half. The part no one wrote down. Not in laws. Not in briefings.

The Veil didn’t just shield humans. It shielded the supernatural, too.

Panic spread. Fear moved faster than truth. If humans ever saw what lived beside them (in warehouses, tunnels, back rooms), it wouldn’t end in peace. It would end in fire.

So the Veil curated ignorance. That ignorance was safety. Most deserved it. Those that didn’t? He handled them.

A group of college kids stumbled onto the floor, drunk, loud. One bumped into a hulking shape at the edge, skin too gray, eyes too bright. The kid laughed, slurred an apology, and kept moving.

If something broke tonight (a spell, blood, a scream that cut through the music), Shadow Investigations would come. They’d handle it. The Cleaners would follow, erasing every trace. Memories would blur, soften, dissolve. The night would become nothing but music, lights, a hangover. The Veil would settle back into place.

Most humans lived like that. Brushed by magic, never knowing. Protected from the truth of how thin their world was.

Jared wondered, again, what it would be like to live cut off. Untouched. To wake without secrets pressing in. To never second-guess a reflection, a shadow. To trust the world was what it seemed.

It sounded peaceful.

But empty, too. Like living in a house with half the rooms locked, told they were never there.

The Drow weren’t the only ones who dealt in forgetting. Humans had practiced that magic forever. Make things easy, familiar, simple. It makes truth slip in more easily. Jared wondered if it really was easier. It sounded like it. Ignorance is bliss, they say.

Maybe the problem was knowing too much.

He sipped water, slowly. Let his gaze drift. Somewhere, a succubus laughed, her charm slipping through the Veil. Somewhere else, a human danced close to a vampire, hunger leashed by law and will.

All of them here, together. Separated by nothing but perception. And paperwork.

A presence drew near, brushing the edge of his awareness.

“Mind if I join you?” someone asked.

Jared looked. There was a goblin standing next to his table, staring up at him expectantly. He was a sharp-featured goblin with olive-green skin, oversized pointed ears, and keen amber eyes set beneath a furrowed, calculating brow. Dressed in a tailored black suit and tie, he carried a briefcase with the confidence of a seasoned professional, his expression equal parts cunning and self-assured. The contrast between his refined attire and mischievous, world-weary face gave him an air of dangerous sophistication.

Jared snorted softly. “You were going to anyway.”

“My name’s Jolk.”

Jolk grinned and slid into the chair across from him. He belonged here. Bright-eyed, layered in textures, subtle enchantments masquerading as fashion. Trinkets glimmered at his wrists and collar. Wards, hidden in plain sight.

“Special menu?” Jolk asked, glancing pointedly at the empty tabletop.

“Apparently,” Jared said. “Though I’m starting to think that was just code for wait indefinitely.”

Jolk chuckled. “Nah. It just means they’re deciding if you’re worth the effort.”

“Comforting.”

Jolk leaned back, surveying Jared with an expression that was too carefully composed to seem truly casual. His eyes flicked briefly to the exits before settling back on Jared. "I actually came over because I've got something better than whatever they're about to offer."

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Instead of answering directly, Jolk reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Plain. Cream-colored. Sealed. He set it on the table and slid it across.

“Invitation,” Jolk said. “From Qhall.”

“You’re kidding,” Jared said.

Qhall. The name pressed against his chest. Stories from the other agents, always whispered, always careful. Not just power. Shaping it. Qhall was a mind flayer. The memory came unbidden: cold touch, probing, a mind forced open in a dark room. Metallic fear, sharp on his tongue, heartbeat frantic. Dread, bristling, refusing to let go.

“I’m serious,” Jolk said. “Qhall finds you interesting and wants to meet you.”

Jared stared at the envelope. “He’s a mind flayer.”

“An unfortunate racial name that you humans have decided to label them with. Makes them all sound like monsters. But they are rather like humans. Some are complete assholes, and some can bake cookies.” Jolk flashed a smile.

Jared’s hands curled into fists. The goblin had a point. He hated that. He’d only met one mind flayer. It wasn’t fair to judge them all. But didn’t they all need to eat brains?

“He eats brains, doesn’t he?” Jared asked.

“Yes,” Jolk said, nodding. “Before you bolt, though, he’s not like the one you ran into.”

Jared’s fingers tightened. Pulse spiked. Familiar, unwelcome. “You don’t know that.”

“I know him,” Jolk countered. “Which is more than can be said for most people. He’s not perfect, and he’s not a saint. Most people aren’t. But he’s not a monster either.”

The music thudded, uncaring.

“Qhall runs Kookie Creatures,” Jolk said. “Bakery. Cookies to die for. Ethics that scare even me.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Jolk leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Listen to me. Qhall knows about your history. About the attack. He knows telepathy is a hard no for you unless you say otherwise. He’s going to extend you every respect.”

Jared swallowed. “And you’re just okay with setting this up?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought you weren’t safe,” Jolk said, the humor draining out of his expression. “He’s one of the most disciplined minds I’ve ever met. He goes out of his way not to hurt people.”

Jared's voice was flat as he stated, "Mind flayers eat brains." The words hung between them, weighty with the moral implications of such hunger. To humans, consuming another's thoughts and memories was a violation beyond comprehension, a distaste buried under the polite veneer of civilization. For Jared, the notion carried a visceral charge, dredging up the past, a telepathic assault that had left indelible scars.

“Yes,” Jolk agreed. “They do. So do lions. And you eat the flesh of living creatures. But lions are wild creatures, and I dunno, you cook your meat. Context matters.”

Jared barked a humorless laugh. “That’s your pitch?”

“My pitch,” Jolk said patiently, “is that Qhall is offering you information and options you don’t currently have. And he’s doing it in person, in a public place, with me as a buffer, and is doing his best to help you feel safe during this meeting.”

Jared stared at the envelope. “Why me?”

Jolk hesitated. Too long. Jared’s nerves prickled. What did Qhall know? How?

“Because,” he said finally, “you’re standing at the edge of some very bad outcomes. And Qhall is pragmatic about those things.”

“What kind of bad outcomes?” Jared asked.

Jolk sighed. “No one wants you to become a Dark Anchor, Jared. Not even Qhall.”

“And how does he know about that?” Jared asked.

“Every Shadow Kind knows what you are, Jared. You haven’t exactly done anything to hide what you can do when you go out there and fight the bad guys,” Jolk said.

Jared closed his eyes. Opened them again.

The bass rolled through the floor. Humans and Shadow Kind laughed together, not knowing how thin the line was.

Jared reached for the envelope.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll hear him out.”

Jolk smiled, relief flickering across his face. “Good. I’ll take you to the bakery.”

Jared nodded, eyes drifting back to the crowd. The dance of ignorance, protection, and lies.

The Veil held. He wished it could hold him, too. Jared stood. The bass faded, muffled, swallowed by the night. Cold air against his skin. Each echo of the last beat lingered, a heartbeat that was not his own. He wanted to be hidden, wrapped, kept safe. But the comfort stayed just out of reach.