The phone buzzed against her palm, and she gripped tight not to drop it. A call from the Board, on her day off. She supposed she shouldn’t answer on principle, but she didn’t want to ignore them until Monday either.

“Agent Hall,” one member said, whichever he was. “Asset loss needs asset recovery.”

“Every day?” she asked. “She’s just one chimera.” It felt strange to dismiss Magenta as mundane.

Especially when the Board didn’t buy it. “Unique asset. Sizable growth potential. Genuine results.”

Doc gripped her phone tighter and clenched her teeth. “Yes, I’ll pursue a line of inquiry.”

They sounded satisfied, the smoke from their dragon nostrils puffing against the phone in a calm cloud. The call ended. What the hell did they want so badly? They couldn’t know about Magenta by evidence alone. Genuine results might have referred to mutations in Yaya’s cells or a reaction to her last Sibs station injection in October. Doc doubted the Board would tell her. How? and Why? —irrelevant words.

But they had given her a better idea. Her thumb scrolled from her personal

friends’ numbers to a separate contact list. Different, distant names. To find one of these and take them away—it wouldn’t be much different from work.

~

A few phone calls later, Doc waited in her car outside Avery Park. Space metal band Cosmic Centaurs thrummed from the radio, singing of ravaged cities and a love found at the center of destruction, a summer song the stations wouldn’t let die until Christmas music overtook the airwaves. The park’s population looked sparse, dotted by dogwalkers, couples, and a few elderly who sat on benches to read newspapers and feed pigeons. Dusk was closing in.

And here came Connie Winfried, auburn hair and blue scarf lashing in the wind. She wore a dark coat and jeans. Most importantly, she lived on the other side of the park. Were her cellphone location route to be traced, passing by Doc’s apartment building would not seem suspicious.

Doc waved Connie over and let her into the car.

“I need to ask a few questions before I take you anywhere,” Doc said, eyes fixed on her phone. She noticed Connie nod from the corner of her eye and went on. “Have you used any sedatives in the past twenty-four hours? Anything from NyQuil to morphine.” A head shake. “Any strange growths?” Another shake.

“Can you tell me the last dream you remember?”

Connie furrowed her brow. She was young, probably in college. One eye was a bright blue, almost as pale as Doc’s, the other sea-green.

“It was a couple nights ago,” Connie said. “I was studying historical Welsh folklore and didn’t know I fell asleep until I was walking in the Pines. Somehow, I was back home, my parents arguing about whether I’d brushed my teeth, even though I was still a sophomore in the dream. I tried to shout back, but everything was train noises. When I woke up, the train was going by.”