November 25, 2025
Tuesday morning arrived with the particular anticipation of a week winding down toward holiday, quiet and cool. I woke early at Elara's place, her still asleep beside me, and carefully extracted myself to make coffee.
I was halfway through brewing when Ash manifested, settling onto the counter to provide running commentary.
"Witness this moment," he announced in a documentary narrator voice. "The male, having successfully introduced his mate to his mother, now consolidates the relationship through strategic replacement of sub-standard coffee equipment."
"It's just coffee," I muttered.
"Just coffee, he says. Just matching coffee machines. As if that's not the most committed thing you've done in a decade."
I poured a cup of the tragic imitation of good coffee.
"Do you think Elara's going to notice if you sneak her keys tomorrow?" Ash asked.
"I could just ask," I said. "I mean, she's going to notice at some point."
"True. But where's the fun in that?"
"The fun is in not getting caught trying to sneak keys out of her purse like a teenager." I sipped my coffee. "Besides, I need them to get the KafoMaster installation guy in here Wednesday while she's at work. Surprise and all that."
"You romantic fool," Ash said approvingly. "I can't believe you got matching coffee machines. I mean... I was there for the whole process, but you really showed me your commitment to fine caffeinated beverages."
"It's practical," I defended. "She drinks coffee. I drink coffee. Her machine was terrible. This solves the problem."
"Keep telling yourself that."
Elara emerged from the bedroom, hair tousled, drawn by the smell of coffee.
The coffee machine had ceased to be an icon of morning levity. Now it was a ritualized mourning of taste buds not living up to their potential.
“You could just ask her for her keys.”
“I could, but that would absolutely ruin the surprise.”
I arrived at the Center around nine to find the staff room unusually energetic for a Tuesday morning. The KafoMaster had apparently been programmed with seasonal hot chocolate varieties, and people were sampling them with the enthusiasm of wine tasting.
“Ohhh yes!! I hope this is a feature on the home version.” Ash did his best rendition of an Irish Step Dancer as I made my way to the control panel.
I took a sip of the Mexican Chili variety. The gentle warmth and subtle kick were surprisingly grounding. He was supposed to be working, but he was currently lost in the logistics of their early-morning departure on Thursday.
"The cinnamon is too aggressive," Maria was saying.
“I like the cinnamon.” Ash was in full food critic mode “Good mouth feel, and the red chile is stimulating.”
"The peppermint is perfect though," someone else argued.
“Just drink it with a little less commentary. If that’s at all possible” I paused “Did you just say ‘mouth feel?’”
I entered my usual coffee.and headed to my office. Quiet morning, no clients until afternoon, just admin work and preparation for the holiday break.
Ash settled on the window ledge, watching November clouds roll past. "Peaceful morning. Bet it won't last."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because peace never lasts when we're involved."
He wasn't wrong, but I chose optimism anyway. Tuesday before Thanksgiving, most people focused on travel plans and grocery lists. What could possibly—
Brenda appeared in my doorway. "Willie. You have a visitor."
"I don't have anyone scheduled."
"I know. Lieutenant Rex. She says it's a courtesy call." Brenda's expression suggested she thought it was anything but.
Ash's plumage flashed dark. "Do you smell something burning? That's the ashes of our easy morning."
I activated the office privacy mode and told Brenda to send her in.
Lieutenant Rex entered with the same confident efficiency as her previous visit, her Dragon coiled around her shoulders in red and platinum armor. She settled into the client chair without invitation, professional smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice"
"Lieutenant," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "What brings you by?"
"I wanted to discuss a potential opportunity." She crossed her legs, perfectly composed. "I've been reviewing your work here at the Center—very impressive outcomes, innovative approaches. The kind of thinking we could use in expanding veteran care."
"Is this about the FTI program?"
"In a way." She leaned forward slightly. "Major Storm's presentation next week—it's ambitious. Perhaps too ambitious for initial implementation without proper consultation. We'd like to bring in experts with proven track records. People like you."
Ash made a strangled sound. I shot him a look.
"You're offering me a consulting position?"
"More than that. Full read-in on the program, input on ethical frameworks, opportunity to shape implementation from the inside." She paused. "We know there are concerns about forced intervention. Valid concerns. Having someone with your credibility involved would help address those concerns legitimately."
I sat back in the yellow chair, processing. She was offering me exactly what would neutralize my opposition—bring me inside the tent, give me illusion of influence, use my reputation to legitimize their program.
"That's quite an offer," I said carefully.
"It is. And it comes with full access to research data, implementation protocols, everything. Complete transparency."
"In exchange for what?"
"Your expertise. Your support." She smiled. "We don't have to be adversaries, Ded. Falahee. There's room for collaboration here."
Ash was vibrating with fury on my shoulder, calling her names I was glad she couldn't hear. "Manipulative harpy," "Dragon-faced deceiver," "Bureaucratic serpent"—his creativity was impressive even in rage.
"I appreciate the offer," I said, maintaining composure. "I'll keep an open mind without being committed to anything."
"That's all we ask." She stood, extending her hand. "Think it over. The opportunity remains open."
I stood, shook her hand, then did something that surprised both of us. "Can I offer you coffee? To go? We have excellent coffee here."
She blinked, thrown slightly off script. "I... yes. Thank you."
I walked her down to the employee lounge where the KafoMaster’s control screen awaiting input.
Lieutenant Rex’s eyebrows arched up in surprise, as did her dragon who was quite impressed with the number of options available.
"Can I ask you something, Lieutenant?"
"Of course."
"With your skills, your intelligence, your obvious competence—why not private sector? You could make significantly more money with less bureaucratic hassle."
She looked at me for a long moment, and something in her expression shifted. Not softer, exactly, but more genuine.
"Serving my country is the best way I know how to make a difference," she said quietly. "Money's not everything."
"A difference for good or evil?" Ash muttered.
"Enjoy your coffee," I said. "And have a Happy Thanksgiving."
She nodded once and left. I watched her walk down the corridor, sipping the coffee, her Dragon less aggressive in posture than usual.
Claire appeared in my doorway moments after Rex disappeared around the corner. "Reconnaissance mission?"
"Reconnaissance mission," I confirmed.
"Are we worried?"
"Less so now, actually." I gestured for her to come in. "She made me an offer. Consulting position on the FTI program, full access, input on ethical frameworks."
Claire's sphinx stopped pacing. "She tried to neutralize you."
"Yep. Bring me inside, use my reputation to legitimize their program, eliminate opposition by making me part of the team."
"Are you considering it?"
"Not seriously. But I told her I'd keep an open mind." I paused. "Claire, I don't think she's evil. Misguided maybe, convinced she's doing the right thing, but not evil. That's almost more dangerous."
"True believers usually are," Claire observed. "What did you learn?"
"That she actually believes this will help veterans. That she sees herself as serving her country honorably. That she's smart enough to try co-opting opposition instead of just crushing it." I sat in the yellow chair.
Around two, Brenda appeared with a clipboard and an expression that suggested important business.
"Cookie vote results," she announced.
"There was a cookie vote?"
"Staff voted on what you're bringing Thursday. Democracy in action." She consulted her clipboard. "It was pretty close, but you know which ones came out on top."
I laughed. "Again?"
Brenda laughed. "Thought you said they were your favorite from childhood."
"They were..." I admitted.
"They are," Ash corrected loyally.
"Well, I would hate to disappoint the staff." I paused. "What came in second, out of curiosity?"
"The peanut butter fudge swirl.”
“Really?”
“Really?”
“Jinx, you owe me a hot chocolate.”
"Yes."
Brenda smiled, turned with a flourish and disappeared with her clipboard.
“She certainly knows how to exit a room.”
That evening, I met Elara at the gym. She was already warming up when I arrived, Shoneah manifesting in playful silver-green swirls.
"Rough day?" she asked, watching me load more weight onto the bar than usual.
"Moderately." I adjusted the weights. "Lieutenant Rex stopped by. Made me an interesting offer."
"Do tell."
I explained while we worked through our sets—the consulting position, the attempt at co-option, the surprising moment of genuine belief in her mission.
"You're lifting heavier," Elara observed. "You always lift heavier when dealing with PRISM stress. It's your tell."
"I am not."
"You added twenty pounds to your usual deadlift. You're definitely stressed."
Ash perked up. "I'm not doing cardio though. Draw the line at running."
"Nobody asked you to run," I told him.
We finished the workout with stretching, then picked up pizza on the way back to my place. Elara had volunteered to help with the cookie baking frenzy, which turned my kitchen into cheerful chaos—flour everywhere, Ash providing running commentary, Shoneah trying to help and mostly getting in the way.
“So are these just for the office or should we bring some to mom’s?”
“Did you hear how she said ‘Moms?””
“I didn’t think about that.”
“We’re gonna be up late, aren’t we?”
The amount of evening productivity was pretty impressive. The entire kitchen bar was covered in cookies.
"Two days until Thanksgiving," Elara said, boxing up cookies.
"You nervous?"
"Little bit. Meeting family is one thing. Holiday family is different. Higher stakes."
"You're already in," I assured her. "Mom decided that last weekend. Thursday's just confirmation."
"Still nervous," she admitted.
"Me too," I said. "But good nervous. The kind that means something matters."
She kissed me, tasting like cookie dough and possibility. "Yeah. Good nervous."
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Civil War Fact of the Day: Civilians often baked cookies for soldiers in the Civil War, and they were a popular and appreciated item sent from home in care packages. While hardtack was the army's staple ration, families would send homemade treats like molasses cookies and gingerbread to supplement their loved ones' diets, especially since sugar was often scarce.