The letter arrived on a thin morning, rain still hanging on to the glass of Starling Borough. Juliana held the envelope with fingers that trembled, the paper still warm from the courier's hand. The seal bore a sigil she had only seen once, in a ledger at the university, a mark with old lines and sharper meaning. Her name printed in careful script inside, an invitation to an interview, a request for a meeting, an address in Glimmer Heights.
She called Andy before she left, the streetlamps still wet, her voice quick with a bright edge, "Andy, guess what", "what is it", Andy asked, "I got an offer," she said, "They want to meet," "Who?" Andy's voice sounded tired, but alive, the way friends sound when they make room. "C'mon Julie spill it," "Glimmer Tower," Juliana said, the words small, "Ethan Cole's office," a pause, then a soft noise, "you mean Ethan Cole, the firm in the glass?" "Yes," Juliana said, "He hires rarely, the note says assistant, temporary, one week trial." "Don't laugh," Andy said, "Wear something that hides your nerves, and call me when you leave."
Juliana tucked the letter into her coat, took a deep breath, and walked toward the tram. Her path threaded through streets still damp from the night, students with damp books, a painter folding a canvas under an awning. She rode up to Glimmer Heights, the tram moving slow between towers, neon bleeding into the clouds.
Glimmer Tower rose like a blade, security scanned her badge at the lobby, a soft beep and a nod. Elevators moved in silver lines, a wash of glass and light. The assistant intake took place in a small suite, a receptionist with an expression practiced in small kindness handed her a clipboard and a cup of tea. She read forms, answered questions about availability, about previous work, about skills. They asked if she had experience with archives, with sensitive materials, with delicate objects. She put her hands on her lap and listed her work at the university, her care of old pages, her patience with students, and the neatness of her notes. She avoided the word soul-reading, she kept the pendant hidden under her scarf, she kept the word healing folded away. The firm listed preferences, they wanted someone who handled moods, who kept the inbox tidy, and the executive honest with his schedule.
A man came to the door, a messenger with a card. The receptionist took a glance, before rising. "Mr. Cole will see you," she said. She followed the corridor, the guard at the inner door checked her name, then led her through a set of halls where light moved like an instruction. The office opened on a view that swallowed the square below, glass and wards ringing the room in quiet power. Ethan sat behind a long desk, the room ordered with geometry, artifacts in glass cases along the far wall. He rose, polite and measured, "Miss Monroe," he said, his voice even, "You traveled from Starling," "Yes," Juliana said, voice steady by force, "thank you for the invitation," she said, almost letting out a stutter. He studied her for a minute that felt longer, eyes flicking from her hands to the pendant at her throat, the silver chain peeking from her scarf. He didn't ask about it, rather offered a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "We need someone who observes," he said, "Who notes the small changes, our work requires patience." She nodded, his gaze landed on the leather journal on his desk, a ledger, then slid over a glass case with a trinket no label named. He tapped the ledger with a fingernail, "This role may require cataloging items, entering records, meeting clients, it may demand late hours."
She kept her face calm, "I understand." He stood up and walked to the cases and opened one without a question. Inside lay a small object, old and wrapped in cloth, he unrolled the cloth and held the object toward her. It was a brooch, a simple brass star with an inlaid stone, dull with age. He offered it with a flat hand. "Handle it," he said, Juliana reached for it, fingers brushing the metal. The pendant at her throat warmed against skin, a soft light tracing the silver. The brooch hummed with a small tone in her palm, like a note held between finger, she felt a pulse along her wrist, a whisper without words. She looked up and Ethan's face shifted, a slight tightening at the edge of his mouth as he watched the pendant as if he had not expected its reaction. "You felt that," he said, she nodded in response, "a trace, the stone has an old tone."
He moved closer, the air narrowing between them. Up close, she saw the faint scars along his hands, the small line across his throat. He stared for a while, not speaking for a long beat. "We do not hire assistants," he said, voice low, "I have had managers, secretaries, project leads, but not a personal assistant." Her pulse rose, "the role said assistant," she said. "My work is careful, I keep records, learn fast, and respect privacy." He folded the brooch back into the cloth and replaced it in the case, his hand hovering above the glass, not closing it. "I will give you a trial week," he said, "Full access to the ledger, responsibility for a portion of the collection, control of the schedule for select meetings." A light gulp and a nod, "Thank you."
He slid a small form across the desk, his pen waiting. She took it and placed her signature on it with a steady hand, he watched each stroke before placing a card before her. The card had an internal number, it read: "Start, tomorrow, nine." She left the room with a weight in her chest that felt like hope and fear braided. Her phone rang before she reached the lobby, Andy's voice bursting into her ear, loud and quick, "How did it go?" She slowed on the steps near the tram, "They hired me," she said, "they gave a trial week." A laugh from Andy, "You did it, Julie," "how 'bout a celebration," Juliana said, "Tonight, tea at the square," "bring a photo," Andy said, "I want proof you survived the elite." She smiled, warmth loosening her shoulders, her hands trembling as she held the card, the pendant lay still on her neck, it's glow idle. She pressed her thumb to the rune on the card without thinking, and a small heat answered.
The next morning she arrived before nine, the tower empty and patient. She rode to the penthouse, the elevator moving slow so her breath steadied. Ethan met her by the outer door, coat in hand, hair loose from sleep. He gave no welcome party and handed a list of tasks and a key to a private storage room under the floor. "Inventory first," he said, "Start with ledger seven, trace entries and cross-reference with sample records, lock anything marked red." She read the list, fingers steady, "understood," Marlo arrived in the doorway, with a slate in hand, efficient with habit. He nodded to her, small approval in the lift of his chin. He set out a station for her, a small desk under a lamp, a laptop humming to life, folders neat in stacks. The space smelled of lemon and old paper, a smell she would remember.
She worked with quiet focus, pages sliding beneath her palms, ink faded in neat loops. Names whispered from lines, she copied with care, preserving margins, noting smudges. People came through the office, a hush of clients leaving, a few words exchanged with Ethan from the other room. Around noon, he approached with a tray and two cups. He set it down with a gentle care that suggested he had planned the gesture. "Tea?" he said, "It helps with concentration." She took a cup, hands warming around porcelain. His presence stood near but not intrusive, he asked her a few small questions about the entries, about elven sigils and old calendars, which she answered with quiet facts, a sentence, another sentence, his attention steady. At some point their hands brushed across a page as she pushed a paper toward him. The touch lasted a breath and charged the air more than the office lights, he held her gaze a fraction longer than necessary. A color rose to her cheeks, a warmth spreading at the base of her throat. She realized she watched how his mouth held a line when he thought, how his eyes softened when a memory surfaced.
He mentioned the ledger entry with a dry note, "This name appears in a ledger from Hollowshade." She looked down, a page with a child's name, a place listed beneath. "Hollowshade has old contracts," she said, "Some records were sealed." He folded his hands, "we will open a few, slowly, keep the ledger where I can reach it." The trial hours had encroached into afternoon hours, the office moved in low motion. A client called from the lower level and left a message about a shipment and Ethan stepped away to handle it, his shoulders broad against the glass. She returned to her notes and a corner of her mind kept replaying the brush of skin and the way he had watched the pendant earlier, an interest that did not feel only professional.
A small thing broke the calm, a maintenance drone passing the window, its path bent by wind, hitting a loose panel on the adjacent building. The tremor shook the tower, a sound like a cough, with glass chiming. Alarms started to go wild, flashing in the hallway. Security posted at the door moved quickly, Ethan rose, sharp, his own motion cutting the room clean. "Lock the ledger drawer," he said, voice low, "Close the cases." She slid the ledger back in its slot, fingers sealing it with care, the pendant brushed against her throat and warmed with a soft pulse. The sound in the corridor grew closer, footsteps had a weight. A voice announced something over the intercom, brief and clipped, an instruction to clear a floor.
Ethan moved toward the inner door and then stopped, his head turned toward her as if he had heard something beyond the alarms. His eyes found the pendant on her neck, it flared faintly, a blue. His ring warmed on his finger, a small, quick heat, their gazes met, staring at each other quite a while. The charge in the air tightened like a string pulled taut, neither of them spoke a word. Just then, a knock sounded at the outer door, three deliberate taps, a code like a handshake. Ethan walked to the door and opened it without hesitation, a courier stood there, cape wet from the rain, a small wooden box tucked under his arm. He offered it to Ethan with a silent hand, the lock on the box old and sealed, but Ethan did not take it at once, rather he took a glance at Juliana, the courier's eyes flicking between them. The pendant at Juliana's throat brightened, a shock of light small and sharp.