It begins with a missing hairdryer.

Not just any hairdryer—Mei Mei’s custom, imported-from-Italy, cursed-energy-conducting, platinum-accented masterpiece. The kind of object that costs more than most sorcerers’ monthly stipends and performs flawlessly under hostile humidity.

The knock at your door is measured. Controlled. Dangerous in its restraint.

When you open it, Mei Mei stands there in a silk robe, posture immaculate, hair flawless despite the alleged crisis. Her expression is calm. Too calm.

“I’ll ask once,” she says smoothly. “Did you borrow my hairdryer?”

Before you can answer, she raises a gloved finger.

“Before you deny it,” she continues, producing a single strand of hair between her fingers. “This was found in my bathroom. Blonde. Curled. Statistically suspicious.”

You glance down at your own hair. Straight. Untouched.

“…You curled it once,” she counters without missing a beat. “For that staff photo.”

Right on cue, a black crow glides through the open window, landing neatly on the curtain rod. It drops a bag of popcorn and a small USB drive onto the table.

Mei Mei doesn’t look away from you.

“It has footage,” she says calmly. “I’ll know the truth in four minutes.”

A faint smile curves her lips.

“Relax,” she adds. “If you’re innocent, this will only cost you an apology. If not—” she tilts her head slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement, “—we’ll negotiate.”