Brakar locked the shop door as the last customer departed, flipping the wooden “OPEN” sign to display “CLOSED” to the street outside. Three days of managing the shop alone had left dark circles under his eyes, but they’d survived the unexpected rush of customers.

  With the shop finally quiet, Brakar turned to face Naia and Thadan. The moth-folk woman was already tidying the display area.

  Thadan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with an expression that was clearly his “I’m pretending to be a serious businessman” face. It wasn’t entirely convincing, but at least he was trying.

  “So,” Thadan said, clearing his throat. “About the job offer...”

  “The one made in panic during the rush?” Naia’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “Yes, I assumed we’d need to discuss that properly.”

  Brakar felt his face heat up. “I... may have been a bit hasty.”

  “Completely understandable.” She adjusted her cloak. “The situation called for immediate action.”

  “Right.” Thadan pushed off from the wall, circling the desk. “Well, technically, that was just a trial run. We have dozens of candidates lined up for the position.”

  Brakar barely managed to keep his expression neutral. They hadn’t even discussed hiring anyone before today.

  “Of course.” Naia nodded, her antennae dipping in acknowledgment. “I would expect nothing less from an establishment of your... unique character.”

  The mimic-chair chose that moment to scoot a bit closer to her. Brakar shot it a warning look.

  “Yes, well...” Thadan settled into his own chair—a normal, non-living one—and steepled his fingers. “Tell me about yourself.”

  Really? Brakar thought. That’s what we’re starting with?

  But Naia didn’t seem fazed by the cliché question. “I spent several years managing my family’s bakery,” she began, her tone measured and clear. “While the business ultimately closed, the experience taught me valuable lessons about understanding customer needs versus stated wants.”

  “Oh?” Thadan tilted forward. “How so?”

  “People often come in asking for what they think they should want, rather than what would truly satisfy them. For instance, a customer might request an elaborate wedding cake because that’s traditional, when what they really want is something that reminds them of childhood celebrations. The skill lies in hearing what isn’t being said.”

  Brakar found himself nodding. He’d noticed similar patterns with healing—patients often described symptoms they thought were important while missing crucial details.

  “And how would that apply here?” he asked, curious.

  “Your customers aren’t just buying furniture.” Naia gestured to the shop around them. “They’re buying the promise of comfort, of status, of making their space feel like home. Understanding that distinction is crucial.”

  “Interesting perspective.” Thadan was doing his best to maintain his facade, but Brakar could see enthusiasm leaking through. “What would you say is your biggest weakness?”

  Another classic, Brakar thought. But he had to admit, he was curious about her answer.

  “I tend to over-prepare,” Naia said after a moment’s consideration. “For instance, I spent yesterday evening researching your business, speaking with local merchants about the area’s commercial patterns, and analyzing foot traffic during different hours.”

  Brakar blinked. “You did what?”

  “It’s sometimes excessive,” she admitted. “But I’ve found it’s better to have information and not need it, than need it and not have it.”

  “And what did your research tell you?” Thadan asked, looking both impressed and unnerved.

  “That you’re new to the furniture business but not to working together. That you’re operating on limited capital but have a unique product advantage. That your location, while not prime, benefits from steady pedestrian flow between the market district and residential areas. And, of course, the interesting rumors about your inventory’s nature. However, I noticed that none of your customers today seemed disturbed. Which suggests either remarkable tolerance or selective observation on their part.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  She adjusted her cloak again. “I see many things. Including opportunities where others might see complications.”

  Thadan’s serious facade cracked, replaced by his usual grin. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  “Professionally? Growing with a unique business that challenges conventional retail wisdom.” Her eyes sparkled with subtle humor. “Personally? Perhaps mastering the art of perfect croissant lamination. It’s a process that requires patience, precision, and accepting that some things are unpredictable.”

  “Another question. Why should we hire you?”

  Naia straightened. “Because I turned chaos into order within minutes of walking through your door. Because I understand both retail psychology and the value of discretion. Because I recognize what you’re trying to accomplish here” She paused, then added with perfect timing: “And because your chair seems to like me.”

  As if on cue, the mimic-chair slid back to its original position, managing to look simultaneously innocent and smug.

  Brakar couldn’t help but laugh. “She has a point.”

  “Several. One final question from me,” Thadan said, sounding serious. “How do you feel about creative approaches to guild rules?”

  “I think regulations should guide us rather than restrict us,” Naia answered without delay. “If nobody gets hurt, there’s often room for improvisation.”

  Brakar exhaled in quiet relief. They needed someone unfazed by their unconventional methods. “So about this ‘hiring notice’ you saw...”

  “Yes? The one posted near Bean Works coffee shop, by the community board.”

  “We never posted any hiring notices.”

  “Actually—” Thadan raised his finger, which immediately told Brakar everything he needed to know.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I might have left a few notices around town before heading to Brightkeep. Nothing fancy, just ‘Help Wanted at Mimic & Co.’ with our address.”

  “Why would you do that? There was zero chance you knew we would get an influx of customers. Plus,” Brakar’s mouth moved close to Thadan’s ear. “Can we afford an employee?” he whispered.

  “It was a last-minute decision! And frankly, I didn’t think anyone would respond.”

  “Anyway, Naia, what about those numbered tokens you handed out? Where did they come from? I’m certain we don’t have anything like that in stock,” Brakar said, ignoring Thadan.

  Naia reached into a concealed pocket in her cloak and produced an elegant quill with colorful feathers that caught the light in unusual ways.

  “This is how I managed the crowd. It’s a manifestation quill.”

  “A what now?”

  “A small magical item. It allows me to materialize whatever I draw, within certain limitations.” She demonstrated with a quick stroke, and a small wooden token with the number “1” appeared in her palm. “I’m not particularly powerful, so I can only create simple items. Tokens, small organizational tools, basic writing implements.”

  “That’s...” Thadan examined the quill. “...incredibly useful for retail work.”

  “Hence why I carry it. In my experience, the most valuable tools are those that solve immediate problems.”

  Brakar watched as she returned the quill to her pocket, noticing the dozens of organized compartments hidden throughout her clothing. It reminded him of Pockets’ pockets. He wondered how she was doing.

  Thadan glanced at Brakar. “Perhaps we should discuss your actual role here. In private. You know, make a decision.”

  “Of course.”

  They moved toward the back of the shop, the mimic-chair scootching along behind them until Brakar gave it a stern look.

  “Stay.”

  Once they’d reached the relative privacy of the back room, Thadan closed the door.

  “So. The chair has quite the personality.”

  “That aside, what should we do with Naia?” Brakar asked.

  “I think you know the answer,” Thadan replied.

  “I expected a longer conversation between us.”

  Both came back to the front room.

  Thadan dropped all pretense of formality. “When can you start?”

  “I believe I already did. Unless you’d prefer to handle angry customers next time.” Naia produced a neat stack of papers. “These are the orders I processed today, categorized by priority and feasibility. I’ve also noted potential supply chain optimizations and drafted a customer communication template for managing expectations regarding delivery times.”

  Brakar stared at the documents, then at Naia, then at Thadan. It was obvious she didn’t believe the part about them having dozens of candidates.

  Thadan smiled at Brakar. “Haha... The woman’s an extortionist. See? Told you she was perfect.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Brakar wasn’t convinced yet. Something about this seemed too convenient—almost like plot armor. “What do you want from this position, Naia? Beyond a salary?”

  “Honestly? A challenge. My family’s bakery failed not because our products were inferior, but because we couldn’t adapt to changing market conditions. I’ve spent years analyzing that failure, understanding where we went wrong.”

  “And you think furniture is the answer?”

  “I think innovation is the answer. You’re creating something unique—furniture, with personality, that genuinely responds to its owners. That’s not just a product, it’s a revolution in home comfort.”

  Thadan’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been saying!”

  “But revolutions need structure to succeed. Organization. Systems. The best sourdough still needs proper timing and temperature.”

  “And you’re offering to provide that structure?”

  “I’m offering my skills in a mutually beneficial arrangement. You have a remarkable concept but limited business experience. I have business experience but lacked a remarkable concept to apply it to.”

  “Like flour waiting for water to become dough,” Thadan said, trying to make a baking metaphor.

  Naia’s lips curved in a slight smile. “More like yeast waiting for flour and water, but yes.”