A low, languid meow left a cat's mouth as a dainty, pale, well-manicured hand gently scratched under its chin. The feline—a lithe tabby with a bit of an attitude—purred contentedly in the lap of its benefactor.

  "I would suppose I am old to you humans," a voice spoke in fluent English, though tinged with a strange accent that almost sounded French. "But I am certainly not male."

  Yzael sat gracefully in an overstuffed armchair, one leg crossed over the other. Her pale hand seemed to glow compared to the monolithic, opaque tights that tightly hugged her legs. The woman’s features were nearly too perfect to be human, and her very long, distinctive, pointed ears identified her as a High Elf.

  She had traded her business suits from earlier meetings for a stylish dress that ended halfway up her thighs, made of deep burgundy fabric that complemented her otherworldly complexion. As she absentmindedly twisted her foot on the heel of her 2-inch pumps, another cat—a sleek Siamese—playfully batted at the moving shoe as if trying to catch it with its paw.

  In response to the High Elf’s gentle correction, a soft, feminine chuckle echoed from across the table. Toivonen sat in a matching chair, looking every bit the refined government handler in her pencil skirt and stylish Chanel-style cardigan that fit perfectly over a white, form-fitting frilly dress shirt.

  Toivonen twisted her neck, causing her raven hair, pulled back in a neat chignon, to lightly bounce. "Oh, we're very well aware," she said, taking a delicate sip of tea before setting the cup down beside her cheesecake, causing the fine china to lightly clink against the saucer. “We’re doing this entirely on purpose.”

  She then picked up a small fork and carved off a piece of the dessert, gesturing with it as she explained. "The best way to keep you safe is to muddy the waters so thoroughly, throw out so many false leads, that it becomes nearly impossible to identify who or even what we're actually talking about."

  “For instance, we have many other... arcane capable individuals who enjoy different levels of protection and custody," the newly appointed Assistant Director explained as her hand reached down to stroke the black cat that rubbed against her leg. “By throwing in thousands of lies and mixing them with thousands of truths, no one will truly be able to identify who the real high-value targets are.”

  Yzael stopped petting the cat on her lap, causing it to meow in protest, and reached for her own treat—a perfectly torched crème br?lée. She pressed down on the caramelized layer with a spoon, piercing the hardened sugar top with a satisfying snap like thin ice.

  "That makes sense," the elf mused, spooning up a bite of the custard. "If there are so many pieces of conflicting information flying around at once, it makes it difficult to detect which piece of information is false, irrelevant, or even worth focusing on."

  Her silver eyes—an impossible shade with a flicker of violet—lifted to the television mounted on the wall. President Pierson continued to answer questions at the briefing, maintaining a composed expression despite the chaos in the press room.

  Though I am curious," Yzael continued, her tone deceptively casual, "why am I not being offered the same level of protection he's describing? I only get a couple of cars and a few dozen guards at best,” she said with growing interest in her voice. She more or less pieced together the reason why mid-sentence. “No fighting contraptions or attack things for me."

  Toivonen took another bite of cheesecake, savoring her perfectly crafted treat for a few moments before responding. "The best way to keep someone safe is to not be a target in the first place. Or at least, to minimize your signature as a target as much as possible."

  She put down her fork and leaned back, crossing her legs just like Yzael's stance. "To anyone paying attention, you're just another foreign dignitary here for diplomatic reasons. We have thousands, if not tens of thousands, of such individuals in the country at any given time—ambassadors, trade representatives, cultural attachés, and even others from beyond the rift. You blend into that background."

  On the television, a reporter was asking about the age of the defector, clearly trying to understand what "very, very old" meant in context.

  "Besides..." Toivonen added with a slight smile, "Those couple of dozen guards aren't exactly mall security. Each one is hand-picked from our best across agencies and even our military. And those 'couple of cars' have some very interesting modifications in them."

  The tabby in Yzael's lap had given up on getting more scritches and instead chose to knead its claws into the expensive fabric of her dress. The elf didn't seem to mind, her fingers absently stroking its fur as she watched the President deflect another question about the defector's appearance.

  Yzael just hummed thoughtfully as her other hand brought more of the torched custard to her mouth, savoring the rich sweetness while she contemplated this elaborate deception. The spoon clinked softly against the ramekin as she set it down.

  "So it's the equivalent of finding a single blade of grass on a lush hill," she mused, "without even the faintest idea of what the features of the blade of grass you’re looking for are in the first place."

  Her foot began to tap idly on the carpeted floor, keeping time with the beat of the soft, groovy pop music playing quietly from hidden speakers. The rhythm was subtle but infectious—something modern with a vintage twist that seemed to suit the surreal domesticity of the moment. It was something she would have to warn these people about if they ever encountered the Unseelie court of the Fae, or more aptly, the Undead. Music had a way of… attracting and charming those of the Unseelie.

  Toivonen shrugged in a way that was both casual and elegant. "The idiom here would be finding a needle in a haystack. But actually, it's more like finding a specific needle in a massive pile of needles." She corrected before the black cat that had been weaving around her legs suddenly jumped onto the arm of the tall chair and then crawled into Toivonen's lap with feline entitlement. She began stroking it affectionately, her fingers running through the glossy fur as it started to purr.

  "A lot of what they said wasn't a lie, per se," she continued, scratching behind the cat's ears. "It's just that finding out what's meaningful or not is going to be the problem. As a matter of fact, we have quite a few more leaks coming down the pipeline to make things even more confusing."

  Yzael paused mid-bite and shot Toivonen a look that seemed to suggest she wanted to go up and paint the moon purple. Her silver eyes narrowed slightly as one graceful eyebrow arched in a way that transcended cultural boundaries, conveying universal skepticism.

  Offering only a smug shrug, Toivonen went back to sipping her tea, clearly enjoying both the Earl Grey and the Elf’s expression. The black cat had curled into a perfect circle and wrapped its fuzzy tail around itself as Toivonen gently stroked the feline.

  "We have a wider plan in motion," she added after a moment, setting her teacup down with a self-satisfied smile, enjoying her ‘time off’ with Yzael and finally being able to relax for a day. "In order to gain some form of acceptance for you and your kind, we need to make things a little more... overt."

  She paused to give the cat a particularly satisfying scratch under its chin, eliciting a rumbling purr that seemed to vibrate through the entire chair.

  "It would make moving you a lot easier," Toivonen explained, her tone shifting to something more strategic. "But more importantly, it would help normalize our new, magical reality for the American people."

  The television continued its coverage in the background with reporters still firing questions at the President about the mysterious ancient defector. Neither woman paid it much attention now—they found themselves playing a much bigger game, influencing the course of entire civilizations.

  "Acceptance through exposure," Toivonen explained, her voice carrying a note of pride that suggested she'd played a significant role in shaping this operation. "We're gradually revealing you and your kind to the American public, but under the guise of the oppressed that the United States has a duty to protect."

  She paused, clearly savoring both her cheesecake and her own cleverness. "It's a delicate psychological operation, really. We're reframing the entire narrative around your kind’s existence."

  Yzael hummed thoughtfully, her fingers still absentmindedly stroking the purring tabby. "Isn't that controversial, though? I've read your country's history over these months… and the approach of ‘Invading to liberate’ hasn't exactly panned out well before."

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  Toivonen chuckled, a knowing sound that indicated she had anticipated this remark. She took another bite of her cheesecake, watching the ancient elf who appeared no older than a college girl—an irony that never failed to amuse her.

  "That's true," she conceded, setting down her fork. "However, instead of marching off to invade and overthrow in the name of liberation—which can always be spun as colonization—we're taking a different approach. We're leaving the door open for those who are oppressed to join hands with America, to accept freedom and independence, to break free from their shackles and turn against their masters."

  The Assistant Director’s eyes gleamed with strategic satisfaction. "This opens many doors for us. Intelligence-wise, immigration-wise... It's a psychological campaign aimed at the American people themselves. We're shifting the narrative from 'invaders from another dimension' to ‘defectors and refugees seeking to turn and fight against a tyrant.' The key word here is ‘fight.’"

  She then resumed petting the cat's head like an evil villain. “You see, the American people was founded on the notion of independent, freedom-seeking pilgrims founding their own nation and fighting tooth and nail to keep it a democracy,” Toivonen explained as Yzael furrowed her brows. “If the American people see that your people are ‘fighting’ and helping us, their opinion will dramatically shift. And once that shift happens, it becomes America's moral mandate to help."

  Yzael's silver eyes narrowed slightly, seeing through the layers of the plan. "But what you really want isn’t freelancers or those who actually fight, but rather those skilled in the arcane arts. Those who possess abilities enhanced by magical energy can be a valuable resource for learning or instruction. This gives you the perfect way to acquire as many as you can with minimal societal friction, all while obfuscating my presence."

  Toivonen's lips twisted into a nearly predatory smirk. "While that is absolutely correct, you should know—you and Lysandra aren't quite the only ones we're working with now."

  She leaned forward slightly, causing the black cat to shift its position with an annoyed mewl. "You may be the most important, given your niche knowledge, but quite a few of your colleagues who participated in the incursion and a few... peers are already working with us. Some came through the rift after the chaos of it opening. Others have been... recruited through various channels."

  The television droned on in the background, the President still fielding questions about the single, ancient, male defector. The irony wasn't lost on either woman—while the world focused on a phantom, an entire network of magical beings was already being woven into the fabric of American Industry, academia and intelligence operations.

  “They’ve all been carefully vetted, of course. Not that we had to try particularly hard when they’ve been cornered and lost in a strange world." Toivonen continued. "Each one has their own handlers, their own safe houses, their own cover stories. You're the flagship of this program, Yzael, but you're far from alone. We're building something unprecedented here—a fusion of your world's capabilities with our world's technology."

  The groovy pop music shifted to something with a mellow and LOFI influence, making the rhythm more relaxing and layered. Like the plan Toivonen was describing, Yzael thought. Multiple elements working in harmony to create something that seemed simple on the surface but was intricate underneath.

  "And your people who have been slighted by our invasion?" Yzael asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

  "Will welcome you with open arms," Toivonen said confidently. "Once we've properly prepared them. Nothing tugs at American heartstrings quite like the story of people yearning to breathe free. We've built our entire national ethos on it.”

  Toivonen continued while her nails idly ran through the black cat's head. "This will be especially easy considering how eerily similar you and all the others from beyond the rift are to the mythologies of Earth. Elves are already deeply ingrained in not just America's cultural zeitgeist, but the world's."

  She paused to take another sip of tea as her eyes gleamed with strategic calculation. "There will be an extremely substantial attraction and curiosity the American people will have toward you and your kind. Frankly, this won't exactly be a difficult sell in the first place. We just have to frame things properly."

  Her expression darkened slightly. "While aggressively stamping out those who refused our offer of amnesty and instead chose to go deep underground."

  Yzael hummed thoughtfully at that. The Elf’s gaze drifted off to some middle distance as she processed the bit of freelancer going rogue. She wasn't particularly surprised that there were holdouts who had dropped off the radar, so to speak. "I suppose that's to be expected," she mused, her accent making the words sound almost musical.

  "Not everyone adapts well to... changing circumstances." She added while her mind wandered to her own journey.

  She had deliberately chosen exile, setting out on adventures to broaden her horizons and leave the great city behind. She wanted to discover what was beyond their borders, to experience grand adventures like the stories of High Elves from before the Great Sundering. Before the tragedy that the High Elf Archmage Fyra had caused through her grief, which led them to isolate themselves in the first place.

  Not that she'd really needed much convincing to leave, considering the blasphemy she'd been committing by secretly studying her... new goddess's magic. The thought made her fingers unconsciously trace a small pattern on the armrest—a habit she'd developed when thinking of things better left unspoken.

  "Freelancers have always been a rather mixed bag," Yzael continued, returning her attention to Toivonen. "A lot of rather sinister ne'er-do-wells and criminals are common among those who take up mercenary work. There were quite a few unsavory types in the ranks of the expeditionary forces that accompanied us when we marched with the Imperials."

  She delicately placed her empty ramekin on the side table, causing the spoon to softly clink against the ceramic. "I imagine some of them saw the chaos of defeat as an opportunity to vanish into your world. Start fresh, maybe, or just continue their... proclivities in a place where the local authorities are unfamiliar with them."

  The Siamese cat had given up on catching Yzael’s shoe and was now grooming itself with one leg stretched out impossibly high in typical feline dignity. The domestic scene sharply contrasted with the discussion of interdimensional espionage and magical fugitives hiding somewhere in America's vast landscape.

  "They'll be problems," Yzael stated matter-of-factly. "Some were merely opportunists, but I recognized a few others... They have skills and temperaments that make them genuinely dangerous. Especially if they feel cornered.

  Toivonen let out a soft, pleasant chuckle. "We’re very well aware. My counterparts in the FBI and other law enforcement agencies have already learned that the hard way."

  "Oh, I can very well believe that," Yzael responded, adjusting the tabby in her lap as it protested the movement. "A lot of the cretins who signed up for this expedition were only in it to loot this world of all its valuables. I'm more than certain the Imperials were counting on just that, even though the stated purpose of the Freelancer Corp was explicitly for security and peacekeeping."

  A hum of curiosity escaped Toivonen's mouth as she took the small teapot and poured herself another cup of the delicious amber liquid before glancing at Yzael with an expression of mock innocence. "Was that your purpose as well?" she asked playfully, fully aware it wasn't the case.

  Yzael rolled her eyes and scoffed—a habit she'd picked up from being around these humans for too long. "Of course not." She shifted in her seat as a small smile played across her ethereal features. "My primary purpose was knowledge. To be one of the few to cross into another world and learn firsthand what awaits there. To explore the unexplored and learn about new cultures, magics, and... well, technologies another realm had—that was more than enough to convince me to sign up for an expedition full of undesirables.

  This time, a surprisingly girlish giggle escaped from the usually composed Assistant Director as she dropped a few sugar cubes into her tea. After stirring her tea with a silver spoon and taking a sip, Toivonen finally asked, "And did you find what you were looking for here?"

  Leaning back, Yzael sighed contentedly as her whole posture relaxed. "Oh, I have found far more than I could ever hope for. This is like a wondrous dream." She said, tapping her fingers in excitement on the armrests as she thought about the methods these humans used to manipulate their environment and solve problems without magic.

  It was the very peak of avant-garde. There were solutions to problems Yzael couldn’t even dream of, which led to questions she couldn’t even fathom. The scientific method these humans had developed was similar to the principles she was familiar with in the worlds of scholars and mages, but much more aggressive. It opened doors to possibilities that would push both worlds’ understanding of reality and what lies beyond into a new age.

  But as the High Elf’s thoughts drifted, her face began to cloud over like a passing shadow dimming the brightness as it crosses the sun. "Although the price for this was quite high..."

  Her silver eyes wandered to the side in an unfocused manner as she thought about one face in particular. The silence stretched for a few moments before Yzael’s voice took on a softer, more introspective tone.

  Though perhaps there was some truth to the elders' harping on about Archmage Fyra. She paused, her fingers returning to absentmindedly stroke the tabby's fur. "Involving yourself with a Human is a fool's errand."

  She seemed to be speaking more to herself now, completely lost in thought. "My involvement with Gideon was only a fraction of that of the Archmage's with her human. Archmage Fyra’s relationship extended to romance, and my dealings with Gideon were those of a wonderful friend. Yet..." She trailed off, then continued with a note of bitter understanding. "I think I now have some comprehension of why High Elves are forbidden to leave the city, and why those who do are exiled, never to return."

  The weight of those few years felt like centuries to Yzael, pressing heavily on her shoulders. The cats, perhaps sensing her changing mood, had grown quiet — even the playful Siamese had stopped grooming itself to watch the elf with those inscrutable feline eyes.

  Sensing the High Elf’s melancholy, Toivonen allowed her to process her trauma as the television droned on in the background. The President was still fielding questions about a defector who didn't exist as they imagined, while the real defector sat in a cozy cat cafe in Boston, pondering the cost of knowledge.