The morning began like all mornings in Threshold Town — deceptively peaceful, with birds singing the wrong tune and streetlamps flickering as if debating early retirement.

  I was at the kitchen counter, stirring tea that had somehow decided to taste faintly of ash, when a shadow slid across the window.

  Bastion was perched on the sill, tail curling and flicking in precise irritation.

  “Morning,” I said flatly. “Did you do that.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I adjusted the light spectrum to highlight your expressions. Delightful.”

  I groaned. “You’re impossible.”

  He purred. “Consistently.”

  The ledger lay open, humming quietly, pages quivering.

  “I have a feeling today is going to be worse,” I muttered.

  “Correct,” Bastion said, stretching like a minor deity who had been reduced to cat form for entertainment purposes. “But amusing, if one enjoys calamity in bite-sized servings.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You enjoy other people panicking. Including me.”

  “Especially you,” he said. “It’s instructive. Also, you make tea.”

  A knock rattled the door. Sharp. Precise.

  Bastion’s ears flattened. “Ah. Protocol. Intrusion. Mildly irritating formalities. My favourite.”

  I opened the door to reveal… a woman in robes darker than a raven’s wing, embroidered with symbols that screamed jurisdiction and exasperation.

  “Rowntree,” she said, voice slicing through the quiet like a well-honed knife. “Threshold disturbances are escalating. The custodian is… negligent.”

  Bastion yawned, sprawling across the doorstep, one paw nudging the ledger off balance.

  “Careful,” I muttered. “Don’t—”

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  “It’s just gravity,” Bastion said innocently.

  The woman’s gaze flicked to him. “You,” she said, voice dripping accusation. “Do you have clearance?”

  Bastion leapt onto the table with perfect disdain, sending my teacup spinning into the sink.

  “Affirmative,” he said, looking at me. “I have clearance from boredom and overconfidence. Also, I am very cute.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You are not helping.”

  “I am teaching,” he said. “Observation. Patience. The fine art of chaos. And apparently, how to ruin breakfast.”

  The woman—auditor, inspector, doom-bringer, I couldn’t tell—sighed.

  “Where is the custodian?” she demanded. “This anomaly is not contained.”

  Bastion’s tail flicked sharply, knocking a muffin into her lap.

  “Oops,” he said cheerfully. “That’s your breakfast. Consider it… motivation.”

  She glared at him. “You. Cat. That is—”

  “Arrogant?” Bastion suggested. “Capaciously so. Enjoyable in small doses. Also delicious crumbs. Not mine.”

  I groaned audibly. “This is serious.”

  “Yes,” Bastion said. “Which is why I am entirely unhelpful until the stakes become dramatic.”

  I shot him a look. “I will curse you if—”

  He yawned. “Go ahead. I’m immunised by superiority and historical precedent. And ancient magic. Also naps.”

  A low hum thrummed through the room. The ledger’s pages flickered violently.

  I froze.

  “So,” I said slowly. “It’s happening.”

  “Yes,” Bastion said, voice darkening ever so slightly, eyes narrowing to golden slits. “And it will be very educational for you. If you survive. Which you will… probably.”

  I raised my wand.

  The anomaly erupted outside, shadows twisting, pavement buckling, something large and wrong trying very hard to figure out whether it should exist here or not.

  Bastion jumped lightly onto my shoulder, purring like an overgrown alarm clock.

  “You see?” he said smugly. “They respect me. Fear me. They do not, however, like me. Which makes me very effective.”

  “I can’t believe you find this entertaining,” I muttered, swinging my wand at the nearest wobbling shadow.

  “I do,” he said. “Also, check your left. That mailbox just sprouted legs. You’re welcome.”

  I turned. The mailbox was indeed lurching toward me like it had a vendetta.

  Bastion flicked his tail. “Misdirection. Fundamental rule of chaos. You can thank me later.”

  I whirled around. The auditor woman had disappeared, leaving only the faintest trace of runes behind.

  “You’re lucky she didn’t notice you,” I hissed.

  Bastion purred, brushing against my cheek. “I am always noticed. The trick is remaining… enigmatic. And occasionally terrifying. Also, muffins.”

  A crackling in the distance drew my attention.

  The ledger trembled.

  “Bastion,” I said quietly. “We might need more than muffins for this one.”

  He leaned in, teeth glinting, tail flicking like a whip.

  “Oh, I intend to participate,” he said, “but only when it gets… fun. You might survive, but only if you follow my lead. And, Rowntree… don’t blink. You’ll miss everything.”

  The shadows pulsed.

  Something large, intelligent, and vaguely displeased stirred.

  I gripped my wand.

  Bastion purred.

  And the town exhaled as if it knew the storm had only just begun.