CHAPTER 2

Lyra stood in front of the very prominent VRB building. A chilly wind caused her to pull her jacket closer to her body. She had opted to look semi-professional in a white long-sleeve flowery blouse and brown long pants. If she actually got to meet important people, she didn't want to look a mess. Her hair was meticulously pinned up in a bun, though it had been behaving strangely all morning, as if resisting her control.

She arrived at the VRB building around 10 a.m., intentionally avoiding being too early—though, in truth, all she had thought about since stepping into her apartment last night was this meeting. As she approached the imposing structure, the front door opened, and out stepped Bartholomew, looking even more dashing than yesterday in a navy-blue pinstripe suit. He smiled widely, as if he had already known she would come.

"You made it!" he said, ushering her inside.

The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. Lyra had expected one of those drab, generic office spaces drowning in gray, but she was pleasantly surprised. The lobby radiated a sense of modern elegance mixed with natural charm—the polished wooden flooring added warmth, while strategically placed potted plants breathed life into the space. The seating area was both inviting and sophisticated, with plush armchairs upholstered in neutral tones encircling central coffee tables adorned with small lamps. A dark rug anchored the area, creating a cozy yet stylish nook for guests to gather. The reception desk was sleek and minimalist, its glass partition showcasing more greenery, adding depth and continuity to the natural theme.

"Well, you do know how to intrigue a girl," Lyra said, masking the awe in her voice as she took in her surroundings.

Bartholomew chuckled. "We're glad you made it. There's a lot to debrief you on." He walked swiftly, forcing Lyra to shift her focus from the grandeur of the building to keeping up with him.

"Debrief me?" she echoed as they entered an elevator. Bartholomew pressed his finger into a scanner, which blinked green before the elevator hummed and began descending. "Am I going on a secret mission?" she joked, trying to settle the nervous energy in her stomach.

"How perceptive of you!" Bartholomew replied with a grin just as the elevator chimed and the doors slid open.

Lyra stepped out into a dark-gray tiled hallway bathed in the warm glow of intricate ceiling lamps resembling vines, their blossoms illuminating the corridor. The effect was breathtaking. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. The vines appeared almost alive, curling toward the ceiling with delicate luminescent petals casting a soft, golden light.

"We're here," Bartholomew announced as they stopped in front of a massive dark-gray door.

Lyra glanced at him expectantly. "Well, go on then." He gestured toward the door. "I'm not allowed in the consultancy room."

Her frown deepened, but she said nothing. Pushing open the heavy door, she stepped into the room.

A large wooden table dominated the space, with eight chairs surrounding it. At the head of the table sat a man with an air of authority. His sharp, intelligent eyes studied her as she entered. He wore a dark suit and a tall top hat—an unusual choice, yet oddly fitting. The small, round eyeglass dangling from his nose should have looked ridiculous, but on him, it exuded an eccentric charm.

"Please, Lyra, take a seat," he said, motioning to the chair nearest him.

She sat quietly, recognizing him instantly.

"My name is Abel Johnson," he introduced himself, but Lyra already knew this. His face had graced newspapers more than once. He was the CEO of VRB.

"I think everyone knows you, Mr. Johnson," Lyra replied, still unsure why the CEO himself wanted to speak with her.

Mr. Abel chuckled. Up close, he looked far younger than she expected. The papers had quoted his age, but now, staring at him, she could hardly believe it. His skin was flawless—his skincare routine must cost a fortune.

"I appreciate you meeting with me," he said. "I'm sure you have many questions."

Lyra nodded. "No offense, but I'm still not entirely sure what I'm doing here."

"Do you know what VRB stands for?" he asked, clasping his hands together.

Very Rough Blowjob came the intrusive thought in Lyra's mind. She almost snickered. "Varsity Richmond Books?" It was supposedly named after the man who had originally opened the publishing house.

"That's the official name yes." Mr Abel replied. "Varsity had to change name that wasn't so....suspicious you see."

Lyra wanted to know where this conversation was going.

"This company" he continued, "is originally called the Villain Rehabilitation Bureau."

"Hmmmm..." Lyra wanted to say how that is not really a good name for a publishing company but opted not to. "That's very...unique."

Mr. Abel nodded. "As is our work. Now, I understand you're in possession of an unfinished book. Did you bring it with you?"

Lyra retrieved the book from her bag. "Yes… are you the author?"

"Oh, heavens no!" Abel chuckled. "I would never leave a story unfinished. You see, what you possess in your hands, Lyra, is not just a book—it's a key."

She raised an eyebrow. "A key?"

"Precisely. And we have the door that the key fits into."

Lyra's brow furrowed. "Could you explain that a little more?" She didn't want to outright call him crazy—not yet, at least. She still hoped this meeting might lead to a job opportunity.

"All of the books published by the Villain Rehabilitation Bureau are true stories. They document real events happening in a reality adjacent to our own." Abel's expression was serious. "The book you now hold recounts events from a lifetime ago. Only now has it surfaced in this realm. The book chose you, Lyra. That means you are meant to enter its story."

"I'm sorry—what?" Lyra blinked.

In all the ways she imagined this conversation would go, this was definitely not what she was thinking.

"Walk with me," Abel instructed, rising from his chair. Though he was shorter than she had expected, his presence filled the room. She followed him through a side door into a long corridor. Framed book covers lined the walls, each one with intricate designs and evocative titles.

"This company maintains balance between realms," Abel explained. "Our Earth is not the only reality. There are wondrous worlds out there, filled with magnificent creatures and even more magnificent people. But sometimes, villains disrupt that peace. It is our responsibility to restore equilibrium."

"So you… rehabilitate villains?" Lyra asked, surprised by how quickly she was accepting this absurd conversation.

Abel stopped at the end of the hallway. A massive door stood before them, emanating a faint hum of energy. "You understand quickly," he said. "Most of these stories unfold naturally, without our intervention. But occasionally, as in your case, a book selects a person—choosing them as the one that its world needs."

He pushed open the door, revealing a massive chamber filled with rows of desks. Atop each desk sat stacks of manuscripts, ink pots, and quills—yet no hands guided them. The quills moved on their own, dipping into ink before scratching out words on parchment. The air buzzed with an almost tangible energy.

Lyra's mouth fell open. "This is magic," she whispered.

Abel smiled. "This is where our stories come to life. They are written as they unfold in those other worlds."

Lyra approached a desk, watching in fascination as a quill danced across the paper, describing a breathtaking landscape.

"What am I doing here?" she asked, though deep down, she sensed she already knew the answer.

Abel turned to face her, his expression solemn. "You are going to Thalassara."