The town woke up grumpy.

  Not loudly grumpy. Quietly, ominously so.

  The sort of grumpy that rearranged road signs overnight so every direction pointed to HERE, and caused the postman to knock twice, apologise, and then leave without delivering anything.

  I stood at the window, tea going cold in my hands.

  “This feels personal,” I said.

  Lord Bastion Thistlewick sat on the counter, collar bell conspicuously jingling every time he twitched.

  “It is,” he replied. “They have acknowledged you.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It never is.”

  The ledger lay open between us, pages no longer frantic but… watchful.

  Probationary.

  I hated that word.

  “Define probation,” I said.

  Bastion licked a paw. “Observation without intervention. Mostly.”

  “Mostly.”

  “They reserve the right to interfere if you fail.”

  “And what does failure look like.”

  He smiled thinly. “You’ll know.”

  The kettle screamed.

  I poured the water, hands shaking only slightly.

  Outside, the street was empty.

  Too empty.

  No neighbours. No baked goods. No cats. Not even the unsettling one from yesterday.

  “I don’t like this,” I muttered.

  “Neither do I,” Bastion said. “Which should alarm you greatly.”

  The ledger’s pages rippled.

  A new heading burned itself into existence.

  CUSTODIAL REVIEW – THRESHOLD TOWN

  My stomach dropped.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “Oh,” I said faintly. “They’re not just watching.”

  “No,” Bastion said. “They’re auditing.”

  The front door knocked.

  Once.

  Firm.

  Not polite this time.

  Bastion slid off the counter, hackles rising. “Do not answer it.”

  “I have to.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “They’re already here.”

  The knock came again.

  Harder.

  The bell on Bastion’s collar chimed.

  Something in the air tugged at him.

  He snarled, low and vicious.

  I grabbed the collar instinctively. “Hey. Stay with me.”

  His eyes flicked to mine.

  For a heartbeat, something old and furious and very not-cat looked back.

  Then the tug stopped.

  The door opened itself.

  The threshold rippled.

  Three figures stood there, barely defined, like ideas struggling to become bodies.

  One spoke.

  “Elspeth Rowntree,” it said. “You are exercising influence beyond your designation.”

  I folded my arms. “You moved a kitchen.”

  “That was exploratory.”

  “You threatened my familiar.”

  “I am not—” Bastion began.

  I held up a hand.

  He blinked.

  Then shut his mouth.

  I met the figures’ gaze. “You’re not allowed to pull him. Not without consent.”

  They tilted, synchronising in a way that made my teeth itch.

  “You assert authority.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  Bastion’s head snapped towards me.

  “What,” he hissed.

  “I’m the one you’re auditing,” I continued. “So talk to me.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then one of them said, almost curious, “You are not afraid.”

  “I am,” I said honestly. “I’m just more annoyed.”

  Something shifted.

  Approval, maybe.

  Or interest.

  “Your bond is irregular,” they said.

  “Yes.”

  “Unbalanced.”

  “Also yes.”

  They looked at Bastion.

  “He is constrained.”

  I stepped forward.

  “He is choosing.”

  That did it.

  The air snapped taut.

  The figures sharpened.

  “Choice is unstable.”

  “So are you,” I shot back.

  Bastion sucked in a breath.

  “Elspeth Rowntree,” he warned. “Careful.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m done being careful.”

  I placed my palm on the ledger.

  It pulsed.

  Warm.

  Responsive.

  “You don’t own this town,” I said. “You watch it because you don’t know how to belong anywhere.”

  Dead silence.

  Then Bastion laughed.

  A short, surprised bark of it.

  “Oh,” he said softly. “Well said.”

  The figures recoiled slightly.

  “You will fail,” they said.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “But not quietly.”

  One leaned closer. “And him.”

  Bastion stepped forward, collar bell ringing sharply.

  “I am not yours,” he said, voice cold and terrible. “I never was.”

  The figures hesitated.

  That was the mistake.

  I spoke fast. “This town is under my care. Any further interference requires my consent.”

  The ledger flared.

  The threshold slammed shut.

  The figures vanished.

  The silence afterward was enormous.

  I sagged against the wall, knees weak.

  Bastion stared at me.

  “You,” he said slowly, “just challenged beings who predate written magic.”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “You did it without a wand.”

  “I had the ledger.”

  “You claimed authority.”

  “I was improvising.”

  He began to laugh.

  Deep. Rich. Delighted.

  “I taught you nothing,” he said. “You learned anyway.”

  I smiled shakily. “Does that mean I passed probation.”

  “Oh no,” he said. “It means they’ll be back.”

  I groaned. “Wonderful.”

  He jumped onto my shoulder, heavier than usual, grounding.

  “But,” he added quietly, “they will be cautious now.”

  I glanced at him. “Why.”

  “Because you scared them.”

  I snorted. “I scared you first.”

  He flicked his tail. “Temporary lapse.”

  Outside, the town exhaled.

  Signs shifted back. The postman reappeared, pale but determined.

  The ledger closed itself.

  I leaned into Bastion’s warmth.

  “So,” I said. “What happens next.”

  He smiled.

  “Next,” he said, “they stop testing the town.”

  “And.”

  “And start testing you.”

  The bell on his collar chimed.

  Somewhere far beyond the threshold, something took notice.

  And this time, it was paying attention.