Milo:

  The moon hung high over the palace walls as I approached the southeast service entrance, where Won-ki had told me I’d find Tae-shik. I stayed back in the shadows, watching as the night shift changed over. The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional palace worker or merchant scurrying home. This entrance wasn’t as busy, which made it the best option.

  Suddenly, a guard stepped out from the gates—a figure too familiar. His full soldier’s armor gleamed under the moonlight, and my stomach twisted. It was Sang-hoon, my manager. Or at least, it looked just like him.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Everyone I ran into in this messed-up world looked familiar, like pieces of my real life distorted and placed here just to mess with me. It made no sense.

  Seriously, what the hell was happening?

  I gripped Raven’s reins tighter. The leather was solid under my fingers, the cool night air real against my skin. Everything here felt too vivid to be fake, but the more I thought about it, the less any of it added up.

  Was I losing it? No. I couldn’t let my mind go down that path, not now. Orla was the only thing that mattered. She was real. That was what I had to focus on.

  I nudged Raven forward and dismounted as I neared the gate. The guard—Sang-hoon’s double—stood alone. One guard at a palace entrance? Something wasn’t right. And as I got closer, I realized just how much bigger he seemed in full armor. Broader. More intimidating.

  He stopped me in my tracks, eyes scanning me up and down. “What’s your business here?” His voice was firm, no hint of warmth.

  I scrambled for an answer. “I’m—uh, I need to—“ My words tangled. This was already going sideways. But then, it clicked. This must be Tae-shik.

  “The Trickster sent me,” I blurted.

  A slow, knowing smile spread across Tae-shik’s face. It made my skin crawl. “Another one, huh? What sort of mess has he thrown you into? You’re not the first poor soul the Trickster’s sent knocking.”

  At least I had the right guy. I crossed my arms, trying to seem confident. His grin didn’t falter.

  “You do realize,” Tae-shik continued, leaning in slightly, “that every peasant who gets hired inside this palace either ends up dead or tossed out like garbage.”

  I swallowed hard, the weight of this sinking in. But I couldn’t let it stop me. Orla’s life depended on this. “I’m here for a trade with the chef. A kitchen job.”

  Tae-shik chuckled, shaking his head. “Kitchen work? That’s what they all say. If it’s not that, it’s shoveling after the king’s horses or scrubbing his chamber pots.” His gaze flicked to Raven. I didn’t like the way he was looking at my horse.

  “So what makes you think I’ll let you inside?”

  “Isn’t there always a need for workers?”

  “Sure. But you have to be loyal to the king.” His eyes narrowed. “And you don’t look like you belong here.” He gestured at my clothes.

  “I’ve been told I could be useful.”

  He scoffed. “So were the others. They ended up in mass graves.” He paused, then shrugged. “But who am I to deny fate? I’ll let you in—for a price.”

  “Money?” That wasn’t part of the deal. Sang-min hadn’t given me enough to barter with.

  “Not money. I want your horse.”

  My gut twisted. “No,” I said immediately. “He’s not for sale.”

  Tae-shik shrugged, like he didn’t care. “Then I guess I can’t help you.” He turned away, ready to walk off.

  I stared at Raven, my only constant in this entire world. My mind raced. If this was all some twisted dream, then what did it matter? But real or not, Raven felt like the last piece of home I had. Losing him felt like cutting the last thread holding me together.

  But if I lost Orla, too? Then what? What would I have left?

  I exhaled sharply. “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “You can have him.”

  Tae-shik raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “So we have a deal? I let you inside, and this beautiful Andalusian is mine?” He patted Raven’s side, his grin smug.

  I clenched my jaw, hands tightening on the reins. Slowly, I nodded. “We have a deal.”

  Raven reared slightly, sensing my hesitation. I placed a hand on his neck, whispering, “I’ll come back for you. I promise.” It felt like a betrayal, but there was no other way.

  Tae-shik extended his hand. “Shake on it, then.”

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  I hesitated, then grabbed his hand and shook it—crossing my fingers behind my back. A silent act of defiance, even if just for myself.

  Tae-shik nodded, satisfied. “Alright, follow me. I’ll get you inside. But just remember—the Trickster’s always playing a bigger game than you think.”

  Like I didn’t already know that. I wasn’t just here to sneak into the kitchens—I was here to take something far bigger, something that could change everything.

  Tae-shik gave a sharp whistle, and a stable boy bolted over. Without a word, he handed over Raven’s reins, and the kid led my horse away. My jaw clenched as I watched them disappear toward a stable just beyond the palace walls. I wasn’t leaving Raven here permanently. One way or another, I’d come back for him.

  “Let’s move,” Tae-shik said, nodding toward the palace.

  He strode ahead like he owned the place, cutting through the dark courtyard with the ease of someone who’d done this a thousand times. I followed, my thoughts tangled. My gaze kept flicking back toward the stable, my gut tightening. I had made a promise—to Raven, to myself—but with every step, that promise felt more like a lie. I just had to trust that I’d figure it out. I had to.

  We turned a corner, and the scent of roasting meat and fresh rice cakes hit me hard. It didn’t make me hungry—it just reminded me of how tense I was. We were getting close.

  Tae-shik suddenly stopped, flashing that smirk of his. “Through here,” he said, shoving open a heavy wooden door like it was nothing. Heat blasted into my face, thick with the scent of sizzling meat and steamed cakes.

  Inside, chaos. Pans clanged, large onggi’s were shuffled around, fires roared, and cooks darted between stations, barking orders and shoving trays around. The whole kitchen was a beast in motion.

  “Oi, Chef!” Tae-shik called over the noise.

  From behind a stack of rice cakes, a figure emerged. My breath caught.

  No way.

  Dak-ho. Or someone who looked exactly like him, anyway. Same sharp features, same intense gaze, same posture. He was even dressed like a chef, his ancient uniform stained with whatever hell had been going on in here.

  My head spun. This wasn’t the first time. First Kwan and Yoo, then Jae-sung, even Daiki. Now Sang-hoon was right next to me, and here was Dak-ho—my band’s leader. If this was a joke, it was a damn good one. But I knew better. No one could fake this. The details, the depth—it was too real. And Yoo? He’d fold under pressure in seconds. No way he could pull off something like this.

  So what the hell was happening?

  None of them knew me. They wore the faces of ADRIIFT, had the voices, the mannerisms, but they didn’t recognize me. That was the part that messed with my head the most. The more I saw them, the more it felt like some kind of fever dream. But the heat from the ovens, the weight of the grime under my boots—it was all too damn real.

  I felt like I was losing my mind. Reality itself felt like it was slipping through my fingers, yet there was something about this world—some kind of pattern. Each person I met was a reflection of someone I knew in real life, almost like a distorted mirror. My brain kept trying to connect the dots, to make sense of it, but the moment I thought I had a grip on it, the logic unraveled, dissolving like mist. Like it was never meant to make sense in the first place.

  Dak-ho—or whatever version of him existed here—walked forward, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes locked onto me, sharp and assessing. “Who’s this?” His voice was gruff, clipped, like I was wasting his time.

  I stared. It was him. And it wasn’t. My fingers twitched with the urge to demand answers, to shake him until something clicked. But I didn’t. What the hell was I supposed to say?

  I was in too deep now. Whether this was a nightmare, a trick, or some twisted version of reality, I had no choice but to play along. No matter how much my mind screamed that none of this should be possible—especially a palace kitchen without a single maid. All men. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t history. But here, in this version of reality? It was.

  Tae-shik grinned and clapped me on the back, harder than necessary. “Got a fresh recruit for you. Straight from the Trickster himself.”

  Dak-ho’s double barely spared me a glance before giving a bored sneer. “Bit scrawny, isn’t he?”

  I started to object, but Tae-shik cut me off. “He’ll manage. You need the help, right?”

  The chef—or whatever he was—grunted, giving me a once-over like I was just another piece of equipment in his kitchen. “We’re always short. But can we trust you?”

  I pulled out the leather pouch with the butcher knife Won-Ki had given me. “Maybe this will help earn your trust.”

  His eyes widened as he snatched the pouch from my hands. “Where the hell did you get this?”

  “Does it matter? Do I get the job or not?”

  He studied me for a moment before exhaling sharply. “Normally, I’d make you prove yourself first, see if you’ve got the skills. But if you’re bringing me this... I’ll put you on probation. Start with the dishes.”

  That was it? Won-Ki’s plan had actually worked. It almost felt too easy.

  “Dishes?”

  “That’s right.” Dak-ho’s twin tossed a filthy rag at me. “The washing station’s that way. Get to it.”

  The rag smacked against my chest. I caught it on instinct, my throat dry as I looked at the mountain of pots stacked like some kind of punishment.

  Tae-shik smirked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, clearly entertained. “Well, you’re in. No turning back now. You made a deal, and that horse? He’s mine. Hope you didn’t get too attached.”

  I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body screaming to take a swing. But I just stood there, swallowing the frustration. I’d just traded my only real ally in this nightmare for the honor of scrubbing pots in some grimy palace kitchen.

  Hell of a deal.

  The chef clapped his hands, snapping me out of it. “Hey! Dreaming won’t get those dishes clean. Move it before I toss you in the fire instead.”

  I swallowed hard, the heat from the kitchen pressing down on me. My head spun, but I couldn’t afford to lose focus. Orla was still somewhere in this twisted palace, and if I didn’t find a way to reach her, nothing else mattered. I had to stick it out, learn the ins and outs, and figure out my next move. Time was running out—a fortnight would come faster than I wanted, and the Trickster wouldn’t hesitate to track me down if I didn’t act first.

  “Fine,” I muttered, gripping the rag like it was a lifeline. What else could I do? Make a run for it? Not likely. Dak-ho’s look-alike was already watching me like I might bolt, and Tae-shik was still here, waiting for me to screw up. One wrong move and he’d have me face-down on the floor in seconds.

  No, running wasn’t an option. Not now. Not yet.

  Tae-shik smirked, clearly satisfied. “Good luck, dishwasher.” With a lazy salute, he turned and strolled out, leaving me behind in the heat and stink of grease.

  The chef gestured to the overflowing sink. “There. Get to work. And don’t even think about slacking.”

  I stared at the mess. The fires in the kitchen burned hot, making it hard to breathe. My grip tightened on the rag, the weight of this whole mess pressing down on me.

  Taking a deep breath, I walked over. Steam rose in thick clouds, the water already gray with grease and food scraps. I shoved my hands in, wincing as the heat burned my skin.

  This was going to be hell. But I had no other option.

  ?Sky Mincharo