I was working on paperwork and had been since the morning - there was a surprising amount of bureaucracy around the rifts seeing considering how little they cared about anything else in the city. We had to fill out forms on each artifact, including the description, energy levels, classification, rift location, time of extraction.

  There was a lot and I’ll admit that some of it was fudged. Not important stuff like the energy levels or location, but meaningless bullshit like the time of extraction. I just put them in the same order as we extracted them and did some randomizing of the exact time periods between each to make it seem kosher. I was quite careful about this last part, since I knew exactly who’d be thrown under the truck if it raised suspicions.

  The energy levels came from the instruments in István’s lab, as did the ‘classification’, which is where stuff got a lot foggier for me. You see, they each had this “element” associated with them. And the ones chosen didn’t make a lick of sense seeing as I’d seen all of them. For example, the scale from yesterday was “water”. It wasn’t as though it had been wet. The surface, in fact, had been quite dried out. I’d been vaguely worried about cracking while handling it.

  So of course I then tossed it to István because why have a minor in stupid when you can major in it.

  The vast majority of them were “Fire”, though. Which I thought was interesting. Was it some affinity that Viktor had? Seeing his whole “I’ve got a cooktop built into my knuckles” routine - with Alex’s trainer playing the part of ingredients - lent some credence to this idea. The paper I was processing, though, had a blank there.

  Standing up from the desk, I shook out my legs a little, having pretty much been sitting my whole shift. I had restored the much-maligned desk to its rightful place of being minimally maligned: off-center just far enough to make the room visually uncomfortable but not far enough for someone to figure out why that was the case without actually devoting effort.

  Which on second thought was probably more evil, so maybe I had it backwards.

  I took the paper down the hallway and up a floor. We owned (or leased?) a few here, but these were the only two I was allowed in. On the upper of the two was the lab, at least most of it. Supposedly there was some secret squirrel stuff above us, but even my curiosity wasn’t enough to make me want look into it. Wasn’t about to get my nuts cracked over something so minor. Metaphorically speaking.

  “Hey Charley, what do you…” István said when I walked in to his office. He cut himself off half way. “Everything all right?” He asked. I must have had a weird expression on my face.

  “Yes!” I said, maybe a little too fast. Wasn’t about to explain that I was qualifying pain scales for impossible scenarios in my head. “I mean, no.”

  I waved the paper around. “Well, I’m all right but this form is not.” I clarified, handing it to him.

  “If you say so…” he replied, taking the form from me and giving me a sort of pitying look. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Missing the classification,” I informed him, pointing to the location on the form like the man who’d been in this line of work longer than I’d been an adult couldn’t find it himself. I hastily retracted the finger.

  If I’d offended him, he didn’t show it. “So I see, good catch!” He referenced a huge filing cabinet behind him. I’d heard that some places used computers for this, but they weren’t common at all here. István struck me as the type who’d sooner eat a computer than use one, anyway. “Ah, yup, here it is. Look like that one was ‘Fire’. Not a huge surprise there. I suppose we have to cross our ‘i’s and dot our ‘t’s either way though.”

  Sounded like something Gran would say. I’d have to run that one past her when I got back.

  István looked at the clock, then back at me. “I assume you’re about done with your shift?”

  I glanced at it myself, not really realizing how late it was until he pointed it out. “Past, actually. I’m sure Viktor will be happy about that.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I’ll let him know I kept you,” István said. He was always doing little favors for me. I had no idea why. It wasn’t some sleazy thing either, I’d seen those looks and he didn’t give them. The way he looked at me felt more like… well, Gran. Maybe he fancied me a long-lost granddaughter?

  “Thanks, István. My ears are ringing from last time.”

  I’d been past the place he was taking me to before - it looked far too upscale for my wages to handle. I gave him a sideways glance as we walked through the door. “Just so you know, I’m not sure I can afford this.”

  He waved a hand over his shoulder in a nonchalant manner, the universal symbol of ‘Don’t worry about it.’ “This is on me - I came here for the privacy.”

  We walked up to the extremely well-dressed man at the front, who just nodded at István before signaling to someone else to escort us. , I thought, This junior waiter walked, brisk yet unhurried, past a few very opulent tables before leading us to a room with a door. He opened it without a sound, then cocked his arm at his elbow, palm up. Taking the direction, we entered and he shut it behind us.

  “Well isn’t this place ritzy,” I commented, looking at the lavish finish in the room. Everything was decorated in silken fabrics and wood. It looked like something out of a picture book about royalty.

  “I’ve been coming here for a while,” István replied, “They have great food.” He held up a menu. “Let me order.” I nodded my assent and he pulled a small rope I hadn’t noticed. It blended into the fabric of the wall, clearly intended to be discreet.

  A woman immediately entered the room, dressed in finery that made even this extravagant room look dull. Her gaze briefly passed over me, and I couldn’t help but feel a little judged for my attire, what with the denims and other hard-wearing fabrics. I groused,

  Her professional poise kept the path of her eyes moving, and she soon they landed on István, who was noticeably better dressed, since he’d been back at the base today. I mean, I had as well, but I didn’t have the luxury to have two entirely different work outfits. I barely had two pairs of socks, and that was on a good day!

  István rattled off an order in what was definitely the mother tongue and the lady bowed before exiting. I’m not sure why, but before today I hadn’t really had the concept that people spoke other languages than the one my family did. It seemed obvious in retrospect - I mean ‘István’ and ‘Viktor’ sounded very different from what I was called by.

  The food arrived faster than should have been even possible, even though it was only one plate, covered in smallish pale bundles of something arranged in a circle, like the petals of a flower. The lady set it in the center of the table, which made me uncertain of which of us it was for. István must have picked up on my confusion, since he gestured at it and said, “It’s an appetizer - something meant to stimulate the appetite prior to the main course. We split it.” He reached in and grabbed one with his fingers, dipping it slightly in a thick sauce before popping the entire enterprise into his mouth whole sale. I followed suit.

  An incredible flavor accosted my tongue, temporarily robbing it of its ability to say dumb stuff. Probably for the best, since my brain was just a continuous loop of noises of approval. This was almost as good as Gran’s soup. Only it wasn’t soup and Gran hadn’t made it. At least I assumed she didn’t. Finishing chewing the soup-adjacent morsel, I swallowed and looked back at the plate. István looked at me with amused eyes. “Half is yours,” he reminded me, “I thought you’d like these. They’re called ‘pot stickers’ in the common language.”

  I did my best to not be an absolute embarrassment eating the rest of my portion, filling away his remark about the ‘common language’ for later, since clearly it was less important than the pot stickers.

  The rest of the food came a few minutes later, an assortment of dishes that made my head spin. Similar to the ‘pot stickers’, István would both explain each dish and then demonstrate how to eat it by doing so himself with deliberate slowness, something even I could realize was intended to spare my feelings.

  “That was delicious,” I said, resisting the urge to pat my tummy. “I haven’t the foggiest how to repay you.”

  “Honestly, your reactions were well worth the price of admission,” István said, mirth tinging his eyes. He pantomimed a few and I felt my face burn. I mean, he wasn’t wrong. The food was that good. The door opened and a dessert arrived. “Still have room?”

  I nodded my assent. He said something in the other language to the waiter lady and she closed the door behind us, giving me a very interesting look I couldn’t interpret. He pulled something out of his lapel pocket and crushed it between his thumb and forefinger, shattering it into dust, and the air got heavier. I looked around, startled at the sudden change.

  István watched my wary reaction. “Interesting that you can feel that.” All the feeling left my extremities at that statement, leaving pinpricks in its place.

  I reached out and snatched the dessert off the table, bringing a spoonful to my mouth in one quick motion. Not easy to do when you couldn’t feel your fingers. An amazing, tart sweetness flooded my tongue.

  If I was going to die, at least I’d die well-fed.