The magical inspector arrived on a Tuesday.

  Which was rude.

  I knew she was coming because Bastion stopped stealing things.

  Entirely.

  No knocked cups.

  No mysteriously vanished cutlery.

  No deliberate eye contact followed by destruction.

  He sat on the windowsill, posture immaculate, tail wrapped neatly around his paws.

  Watching the road.

  “She’s not important,” he said.

  “You’ve been staring at the street for an hour,” I said.

  “I enjoy anticipation.”

  “You knocked over three books earlier.”

  “They were smug.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve gone suspiciously well-behaved.”

  He blinked slowly. “I am always well-behaved.”

  “You stole a ladle yesterday.”

  “It was poorly supervised.”

  Behind me, something slid off the counter.

  I turned just in time to see the butter dish wobble.

  Bastion did not look at it.

  It fell anyway.

  Smash.

  I stared at him.

  “That was you.”

  “I was thinking about it,” he said. “Intent counts.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Bastion vanished.

  Not ran.

  Not hid.

  Vanished.

  One moment – cat.

  Next moment – absence shaped like cat.

  The butter dish stopped leaking.

  The air felt… tidier.

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  I stared at the empty windowsill. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

  The knock came again, sharper.

  I opened the door.

  She was tall, severe, and wrapped in layered robes stitched with runes that screamed bureaucracy. Her hair was pulled so tight I suspected it hurt her personality.

  “Elspeth Rowntree,” she said. “Magical Oversight.”

  I smiled politely. “Tea?”

  She hesitated, as if considering whether tea could be a trap. “Very well.”

  She stepped inside, eyes scanning everything.

  Her gaze lingered on the windowsill.

  Too long.

  She frowned. “Do you have a familiar?”

  “No,” I said.

  From nowhere, Bastion’s voice drifted faintly.

  “Correct.”

  I coughed. Loudly.

  She stiffened. “What was that?”

  “House settling,” I said. “Old beams.”

  “Sounded articulate.”

  “Very old beams.”

  She sat and produced a ledger the size of a grudge.

  “We’ve detected anomalous activity,” she said. “Reality slippage. Temporal overlap. Dairy corruption.”

  I winced. “The milk apologised.”

  She ignored that. “Our records show no registered threshold entities within twenty miles.”

  From beneath the table, something brushed my ankle.

  Bastion’s voice murmured, “Ah.”

  I kicked reflexively.

  “Ow,” he added.

  She frowned harder. “You’re certain you have no familiar?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly.

  The ledger clicked open by itself.

  Pages flipped.

  Fast.

  Her breath caught. “That’s odd.”

  “What is?” I asked.

  “There’s a gap,” she said. “Entire classifications missing. Redacted by… nothing.”

  The table leg creaked.

  Bastion materialised on the chair beside me.

  Suddenly.

  Casually.

  The inspector froze.

  “That,” she said slowly, “is a cat.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He yawned, displaying an unreasonable number of teeth. “Unfortunately.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “That cat is wrong.”

  Bastion flicked his tail and knocked her quill onto the floor.

  “Rude,” he said. “You didn’t introduce yourself properly.”

  She swallowed. “You’re not recorded.”

  “Correct.”

  “You’re not bound.”

  “Also correct.”

  She reached for a detection charm.

  Bastion sighed.

  “Oh, please don’t.”

  The charm fizzled.

  The air folded in on itself – not violently, just decisively.

  The ledger snapped shut.

  Her face drained of colour.

  “I recognise this absence,” she whispered. “This isn’t concealment.”

  Bastion leaned closer, eyes no longer entirely feline.

  “No,” he said softly. “It’s a margin.”

  The room felt suddenly vast – like standing on the edge of something endless.

  “You’re a—” She stopped. Shook her head. “Those were unmade.”

  “Most were,” Bastion agreed. “Some of us declined.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then he deliberately pushed the ledger off the table.

  It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

  “Oops,” he said.

  She stood abruptly. “This inspection is complete.”

  “Already?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said tightly. “Everything is… acceptable.”

  She did not look at him again.

  The door slammed.

  The house exhaled.

  I stared at Bastion. “You terrified a government official.”

  “She noticed me,” he said. “That was her error.”

  I rubbed my temples. “She knew what you were.”

  “She knew what I am adjacent to,” he corrected.

  “That’s worse.”

  “Yes.”

  I crossed my arms. “Why aren’t beings like you in the records?”

  He hopped down, tail flicking.

  “Because,” he said, “we are what stands where things pass through.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one that survives translation.”

  I frowned. “You erased yourselves.”

  “Redirected attention,” he said. “Ledgers are doors. Close enough of them and people forget to ask what’s outside.”

  There was a soft scrape behind me.

  The ledger was now halfway under the couch.

  I turned slowly. “You stole it.”

  “Borrowed.”

  “Give it back.”

  “No.”

  I stared at him.

  He stared back.

  Then, with exquisite care, he nudged my teacup off the table.

  It shattered.

  “Still rude,” I said weakly.

  He purred. “Consistent.”

  I sank into the chair. “That inspector is going to report this.”

  “No,” Bastion said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s remembered something she was trained not to,” he replied. “And people like that tend to choose silence.”

  I swallowed. “More anomalies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Worse?”

  “Much.”

  “And you’re staying?”

  He looked at me then – properly.

  “I was never passing through, Elspeth,” he said. “Neither are you.”

  The house creaked.

  The air shifted.

  Somewhere, very far away, something noticed us.

  Bastion smiled.