CHAPTER 1 WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE （OF CUBICLES）
SEAN
The sign above the front doors chirps Welcome to Labyrinth Solutions! in bubble letters, with cartoon monsters and humans waving like we’re all at a summer camp orientation. I’m already exhausted and I haven’t even walked inside.
I pause before heading in. The air smells faintly like ozone and citrus cleaner—corporate optimism mixed with despair.
Perfect.
I straighten my tie. It’s the only one I own, and it’s sporting a small stain—ketchup? Coffee? Hard to tell. At a company built on teamwork, a hint of chaos feels like the right vibe.
I’ve got this. I have to. Because rent doesn’t pay itself, family comes first, and apparently, copious amounts of caffeine and blind confidence aren’t valid income streams.
I tug at my collar, take a deep breath, and push the door open.
“Hi there!”
The woman behind the front desk flutters to her feet. Not a figure of speech. Her wings catch the overhead light like black glass. She’s gorgeous in a winged perfection, feathers never out of place way.
“Sean Rivers?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Welcome to Labyrinth Solutions! I’m Amara, your Being Resources onboarding specialist and harpy extraordinaire.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say with a gentle bow of my head, trying my best to not look like my underwear has taken up permanent residence in my ass crack.
Amara steps around the desk, long feathers swishing, and gestures for me to follow. Her heels click like tiny metronomes as she leads me down a hall lined with glossy posters about collaboration, growth, and “building bridges across every difference.” They’re really selling it.
“So, Sean,” she chirps. “First big corporate job?”
“Yes, ma’am. I waited tables before this, so I’m basically a people expert.”
Amara laughs. “Well, your resume was impeccable, and those business classes will help you fit right in. You’ll be up to speed in no time.” She taps the leather portfolio in her hands. “Franklin—your new boss—can be a little cool at first, but that’s to be expected. He’s a yeti.”
“Cool. Sure.” My shirt’s already damp, and I can feel a headache forming behind my eyes.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
I glance at her wings, then at the exit. “Just wondering if there’s a survival guide or if we’re winging it.”
She ruffles her feathers and laughs. “Oh, you’re going to fit right in.”
At the elevator, Amara presses the button with a talon, and I catch a glimpse of her ID badge. It’s decorated with a sparkly sticker that reads Birds Do It Better.
“First stop: the breakroom,” she says. “It’s important you know where to hide when everything falls apart.”
“Terrific. Catastrophizing is my love language.”
“Oh, I like you.” She smiles at me over her shoulder.
The elevator opens to a wave of smells—coffee, fur, desperation. So basically, Monday.
Amara waves a wing toward the counter that runs along the length of the room. It’s overflowing with mismatched mugs, some of which seem to have… teeth.
“Communal coffee,” she says. “Drink at your own risk.”
A hulking troll sits in the corner with a mug that reads World’s Best Middle Manager.
“Morning, Phil!” Amara calls.
He grunts, lifting the mug in what I assume is a greeting.
“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “He’s only crabby during quarterly reviews.”
I huff a quiet laugh, even as my shoulders stay just a little tense.
Around the room, employees bustle: a tiny imp flipping through a magazine so small it’s a wonder anyone can read it, a centaur delicately stirring his coffee with his hooves, and a gorgon carefully adjusting her glasses without turning anyone to stone by mistake.
A gelatinous blob jiggles across the floor, leaving a faint trail of glitter.
A few humans check their phones, scroll, and sip their coffees.
There are too many employees to name, too many to notice, and all of them somehow more at ease than me.
I swear I can feel a dozen sets of eyes on me at once. Maybe they’re judging my tie. Maybe they’re deciding if I’m going to last longer than my first day. Definitely not helping my confidence.
I take a deep breath, hoping I’ve made the right decision to be here. But truly, there’s no alternative.
“Hey, you must be the new guy!”
Across the room, a handsome white man grins at me from his perch on the counter. Next to him, a striking Mothman leans against the wall, eyes glowing faintly.
“Sean Rivers,” I say, walking towards them. “New assistant to Mr. Frost.”
“Jamie Torres,” he says, shaking my hand. “Strategist. Welcome to the jungle.”
“Thanks. It’s already humid.”
Jamie grins. “You’ll adjust. Or mutate.”
My eyes widen, and Jamie laughs.
The Mothman gives a slow nod. “Jack Stein. Compliance.”
“Compliance?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says, wings twitching. “Harassment policies. Safety trainings. Making sure no one cries in the supply closet.”
“Good policy.”
“We’re very serious about it,” Jack adds, cocking his head so the overhead lights catch a faint shimmer in his eyes. They glow softly, like burning coals. “Fun is allowed. Trauma is not.”
He gives his wings a neat, professional flutter.
I nod. “Reassuring.”
“But seriously,” he adds, lowering his voice, “watch your computer. They tend to attract… attention.”
“Of course they do,” I say dryly. “Because nothing says ‘welcome to your new job’ like the threat of a haunted workstation.”
Jamie leans closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Listen, if you ever want to know about corporate chemistry, I’m your guy.”
He winks and my head spins trying to keep up.
“Chemistry?”
He smirks. “Employees at Labyrinth Solutions don’t just mix in meetings. Some of us are… experimental.” He winks again, the corner of his mouth lifting with mischievous promise.
I swallow hard. “Experimental?”
“Let’s just say,” Jamie continues with an easy grin, “sometimes the right combination of chemistry can surprise you.” He shrugs. “Or blow up in your face. Either way, it’s a surprise.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Jack says. “Now that he’s cohabitating with our CEO, he’s attempting to cosplay as the office cupid.”
The possibility of a workplace romance with a side of spontaneous combustion. Lucky me.
Amara clears her throat. “All right, gentlemen. As much as I love an office romance, let’s not create more paperwork for me.”
She points around the room, which is lined with motivational posters—one shows two employees sharing coffee under the slogan Teamwork Never Dies, another of a centaur at a standing desk that reads Gallop Toward Greatness.
“There’s a kitchen, lockers, and…” She gestures to a glass door toward the back of the room.
“The gym. Feel free to use anything you like.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, eyeing the workout equipment behind the door. I have zero interest in setting foot in a gym.
Jamie nods toward the gym. “There’s a punching bag. If you need a sparring partner… well, I know someone.” He gestures at Jack.
“Completely harmless,” he says, flexing his wings.
I glance between the two of them, wondering if surviving my first day here will require more than the basics of being an admin learned from the night classes I took—and maybe, just maybe, navigating the mix of employees here might be a little more… interesting than I expected.
Amara’s smile attempts to buoy me, but she has no idea what she’s up against.
“Alright, enough of the basement. Let’s meet your new boss.”
The executive floor feels like stepping into a different dimension. Everything gleams and the air smells faintly like money and dominance—like someone bottled confidence and sold it to people who already have too much.
Amara hands me a stack of forms thick enough to be used as a weapon and I flip through the first few pages. Cross-Species Break Protocols. Standard Metamorphosis Log. Hazard Reporting for Magical Mishaps.
“Just the usual,” she says.
“Sure,” I mutter. Corporate life: come for the paycheck, stay for the paperwork documenting every possible situation under the sun.
I offer a tight smile and remind myself just how badly I need this job.
She knocks on a glass door that’s somehow frosted over from the inside, like it’s perpetually mid-blizzard. “Franklin? Your new assistant is here!”
The temperature drops ten degrees as the door swings open, releasing a gust of crisp, pine-scented air and sending a shiver up my spine.
A mountain of white fur and bespoke tailoring fills the doorway.
Franklin Frost, Head of Being Resources, looks like he stepped straight out of a luxury cologne ad—something sleek and vaguely intimidating, all ice and authority.
His fur is immaculately brushed, every strand shining silver-white under the office lights, and his ice-blue eyes radiate calm authority—the kind that could freeze a quarterly review mid-sentence.
His suit jacket strains over massive shoulders, the fabric an expensive charcoal that contrasts sharply against his snow-pale fur.
“Rivers,” he booms, voice like an avalanche but somehow warm and polite. “Welcome aboard.”
I hesitate, wondering if I should shake his hand or check for an incoming cold front. The chill he radiates is steady but his smile is all warmth.
“Th-thank you, sir.”
He gestures to the desk outside his office.
“That’s your station. I’m really glad you’re here—truly.
I do have to run to a meeting with Legal about the vampire pension issue”—he checks his watch, his massive hand dwarfing the silver timepiece—“but settle in, explore, and holler if you need anything. Amara here will take care of you. She’s the sharpest wing in the flock. ”
And, with a swirl of icy mist, he’s gone.
Amara pats my arm. “You’ve got this. Just don’t mention snow cones.”
“Why not?”
She leans close. “Bad memories.”
I nod, pretending I know what I’m doing here and she pats my arm.
“Well, I’m off. My office is just around the corner. There’s a directory on your desk. Buzz if you need anything.”
I keep nodding, determined to make it through my first day without incident.