I always dreamed of being internet famous.
Not like wanted-for-75K-credits-on-a-magic-bounty-board famous.That part wasn't in the five-year plan.
But here I was: Ezra Vale, sophomore college student, illegal hex-user, and freshly minted fugitive with a face on every spellcaster's hit list. The only silver lining?
The barista I liked finally knew my name.
Unfortunately, she saw it on a bounty poster glowing over the coffee machine.
"Hey, Ezra," she said as I ducked behind a pillar.
She raised an eyebrow and leaned on the counter. "Nice bounty. You want that to go?"
I nodded. "Yes. And, uh, if I survive the next week… dinner?"
"Hmm." She handed me a black coffee.
"Survive, and I'll consider it."
I was in love.
Nyra and I sat on a bench across the street, hiding behind a broken vending machine while I sipped my drink like a man awaiting execution.
"You have admirers," Nyra said flatly.
"I have assassins."
"Potato, potahto."
My phone buzzed.
The cursed bounty app updated: "LIVE TRACKING ENABLED. Nearest hunter: 170 meters."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "Why does this app have real-time tracking?!"
"Because the magic world runs on terrible ethics and worse UI design."
"Can I opt out?!"
"Sure. Just die."
We ran. Again.
Down alleyways, past enchanted food trucks, over a fence that turned into a goose mid-jump (don't ask), and finally into the back of an old internet café that doubled as a spell printer hub.
The owner was a troll. Literally. His name was Donk. He ran the place and made decent espresso.
"You break anything, I eat your legs," he grunted.
"Noted," I panted, collapsing onto a beanbag chair.
Nyra hopped onto the table and flicked her tail. "Donk, we need a rune scrambler. Cheap. Fast. Something that'll throw off the bounty signal."
Donk looked at me, then the app icon glowing on my arm like a neon 'kick me' sign.
"You lit up the whole city, boy. You need full bleed-dampening."
"How much?"
"Ten grand."
I laughed. "I have seven bucks, a burrito coupon, and a half-charged phone."
He paused. "...Is it a real burrito coupon?"
We ended up making a trade: I'd fix his broken spell printer—some hybrid runic scanner—and he'd give me a scrambled identity glyph.
I wasn't great at magical engineering. But I was good at cheating magical engineering.
Thirty minutes, two broken fans, and one cursed soda can later, the printer buzzed to life and started spewing out enchanted flyers that glitched mid-air.
Donk grunted in approval and handed me the glyph: a cheap little disc that stuck to my hoodie.
"You wear this, it'll spoof your aura for a few hours. CEE agents'll think you're some rando named Chad Moonwhistle."
"Good. That guy sounds invincible."
"Also allergic to shellfish. Careful."
With my magical identity scrambled and my magical death sentence temporarily postponed, I stepped out into the street with renewed confidence.
Then a crossbow bolt slammed into the wall next to my head.
"Ezra Vale!" someone yelled from above.
"You've been claimed for bounty collection!"
I sighed.
"I just bought this hoodie."