Chapter 1
“And this is how we log new inventory,” I explained, demonstrating the point-of-sale system for what felt like the fifteenth time that morning. “You scan the barcode, confirm the title matches, then enter the quantity received.”
Milo nodded enthusiastically, his entire body practically vibrating with attention. “Scan. Match. Count. Got it.”
When I handed him the scanner, he held it upside down and pressed his eye directly against the laser window.
“Jesus!” I yanked it away. “Don’t do that! You’ll damage your eye!”
“Oh.” He blinked rapidly. “Is that not how humans see the tiny lines?”
Humans? What a weird way to phrase that.
“No, the scanner reads the barcode, not your eyeball.” I repositioned it in his hand. “Like this. Point and click.”
He tried again, this time aiming it correctly at the comic book but pressing the button with such force that I feared for the scanner’s structural integrity.
“Gentler,” I suggested. “It’s not going to run away.”
Five days into Milo’s employment, and I was beginning to question my sanity.
He approached every task with boundless enthusiasm and catastrophic execution.
The coffee machine was now permanently stained after he’d somehow reversed the water flow.
Three customers had received incorrect change.
And the less said about his attempt to use the paper cutter, the better.
Yet there was something endearing about his determination. Every mistake was met not with frustration but with renewed vigor to get it right the next time. Plus, true to his word, he could lift inventory boxes that I struggled with, carrying them like they contained nothing heavier than air.
“Finn?” Milo’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Why does your heart beat faster sometimes when you look at me?”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “Excuse me?”
“Your heart,” he repeated, pointing directly at my chest. “It speeds up. And your smell changes. Is that normal for humans when they’re teaching?”
My smell? What the hell?
“I think you’re imagining things,” I said, feeling inexplicably defensive. “And it’s kind of weird to comment on someone’s… bodily functions.”
His face fell immediately, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. That’s inappropriate human interaction, isn’t it? I’m still learning boundaries.”
He looked so genuinely mortified that I felt a twinge of guilt. “It’s fine. Just… maybe focus on the inventory rather than my cardiovascular system.”
“Right.” He nodded solemnly. “Comics, not coronaries.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “Exactly.”
The morning continued with me walking Milo through basic store operations.
He struggled with almost everything technological but showed surprising aptitude for remembering our inventory.
He could tell me exactly how many copies we had of obscure titles without checking the system—when I verified, he was always correct.
“Lunch break,” I announced at noon, flipping our door sign to “Back in 30 Minutes.” “There’s a deli down the street if you want to grab something.”
Milo looked suddenly panicked. “Can I… eat here instead? I brought food.”
“Sure,” I shrugged. “The break room’s through that door.”
“Could I maybe eat with you?” he asked hesitantly. “I have questions about human—about store operations.”
That odd phrasing again. I was beginning to think English might not be his first language, which would explain some of his quirks.
“Fine by me.”
In the cramped break room, I unwrapped my turkey sandwich while Milo pulled out a container filled with what appeared to be raw steak cut into cubes.
“That’s… an interesting lunch,” I commented, watching as he popped a piece of completely uncooked meat into his mouth.
“Protein,” he explained between bites. “Good for muscles.”
“And food poisoning.”
“Oh, I don’t get sick from meat,” he said with absolute certainty. “My system is designed for it.”
Before I could question that bizarre statement, he continued: “What’s your favorite comic?”
The sudden topic change threw me. “That’s like asking a parent to name their favorite child.”
“You have children?” His eyes widened in alarm.
“No, it’s just an expression.” I took a bite of my sandwich, considering the question. “If I had to choose… probably Sandman. Neil Gaiman’s work in general.”
“The dream stories!” He nodded vigorously. “I read those yesterday after closing. The pictures are beautiful, but the Corinthian is disturbing. Eye-mouths.” He shuddered.
“Wait, you read the entire Sandman collection overnight?”
“I’m a fast reader,” he said, suddenly interested in his meat cubes. “And I don’t sleep much.”
I was impressed despite myself. “What did you think of it?”
His face lit up at the question, and for the next twenty minutes, I found myself engaged in one of the most insightful conversations about Gaiman’s mythology I’d ever had. Behind Milo’s awkward exterior was a surprisingly sharp mind, making connections I’d never considered.
“…and that’s why I think Dream’s imprisonment reflects humanity’s attempt to control the uncontrollable aspects of existence,” he concluded, gesturing with a piece of raw steak speared on his fork.
I stared at him, momentarily speechless. “That’s… actually brilliant.”
A blush spread across his cheeks, and he ducked his head. “Just thoughts.”
“Really good thoughts.” I found myself smiling. “You know, for someone who claims to need practice with ‘human things,’ you have an excellent grasp of literary themes.”
“I understand stories,” he said softly. “It’s the other stuff that’s hard. The rules. The clothes. The technology.” He glanced down at his oversized hoodie, which I now noticed had a coffee stain shaped remarkably like Australia. “Being the right kind of person in the right kind of way.”
Something about his vulnerability in that moment reached inside me and squeezed. I recognized that feeling—the outsider looking in, never quite fitting. I’d felt it throughout my childhood as the quiet kid who preferred fantasy worlds to real ones.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I think you’re doing okay. The coffee machine might disagree, but I don’t.”
His smile could have powered a small city.
After lunch, I set Milo to organizing a display of new releases while I helped customers.
I kept glancing over, expecting disaster, but he was meticulously arranging comics with surprising care.
His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, and there was something oddly captivating about watching his small, deft hands handling the books with such reverence.
The afternoon rush hit, and I was busy with a line of customers when I heard a crash followed by Milo’s distinctive yelp. I finished ringing up the current sale before investigating, only to find him surrounded by scattered action figures, looking mortified.
“I just wanted to dust under them,” he explained miserably. “But they were like dominoes.”
“It’s okay,” I said, crouching to help collect the figures. “No harm done.”
“I’m making more work for you.” His voice had a slight tremor. “I’m trying to be careful, but my body doesn’t always listen. In wolf—” He stopped abruptly, eyes widening as if he’d said something forbidden.
“In what?”
“In… wolfing… down lunch,” he stammered. “I was too rushed. Made me clumsy. Sorry.”
That made absolutely no sense, but before I could question him further, the bell jangled as more customers entered.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, standing. “Just finish picking these up and then you can help me at the register.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of customers, questions, and minor Milo-generated catastrophes. By closing time, I was exhausted but oddly satisfied. Despite the chaos, we’d had a good sales day.
“Did I do okay?” Milo asked as I locked the register. “For a first week?”
He looked so earnestly concerned that I couldn’t help but soften. “You broke three things, spilled two drinks, and somehow managed to get a comic stuck in the ceiling fan—which I’m still trying to figure out physically how—but yes, I think you did okay.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I’ll be better next week. I promise.”
“I believe you.” And strangely enough, I did.
As he gathered his things to leave, I noticed him sniffing the air and frowning.
“Everything alright?”
“Storm coming,” he said confidently. “Big one. You should check your roof before bed.”
I glanced out the window at the perfectly clear evening sky. “There’s no storm forecast.”
He just shrugged, pulling on his hoodie. “It’s coming. I can smell it.”
I was about to dismiss his comment as another of his oddities when he suddenly stepped very close to me. Before I could react, he rose on his tiptoes and—did he just sniff my neck?
“Uh, Milo? Personal space?”
He jumped back as if burned. “Sorry! Pack greeting. Family habit. Won’t happen again.” His face was flaming red.
“Right. Well… see you Monday?”
He nodded vigorously and practically bolted out the door.
I shook my head, climbing the stairs to my apartment above the shop. Milo was without question the strangest person I’d ever met, but there was something about him that lingered in my thoughts as I made dinner, showered, and settled in with a book.
At exactly 11:42 PM, as I was drifting off to sleep, the first crack of thunder shook my windows. Within minutes, rain was pounding against the roof in sheets.
I sat up in bed, staring out at the storm that definitely hadn’t been in the forecast.
He smelled it coming? How the hell…
That night, I dreamed of amber eyes and small, warm hands carefully organizing comic books. And somewhere in that dream, a wolf howled at a full moon, its voice somehow familiar.