Maya had expected "holding cell" to mean chains, rats, and maybe a dripping ceiling. What she got instead was a spare stone chamber with a rune-etched slab that passed for a bed.
"Comfort glyphs," Rue explained eagerly, as though that excused the fact it was a rock. "It should ease fatigue."
Maya pressed a hand to the slab. The rune pulsed faintly, like a tired nightlight. Her spine preemptively filed a complaint.
"Do you have," she asked, "I don't know… mattresses? Futons? Literally anything softer than 'granite with ambition'?"
Rue blinked. "A futon is…?"
"Never mind." She flopped down. The runes buzzed against her wetsuit like polite bees. Better than nothing.
Rue stood nearby, scroll tucked under one arm, as if she might vanish if he looked away. His eyes still had that awful eager sparkle, like he'd found a shiny new research problem.
Maya stared at the ceiling. "So. Where do you keep the elves?"
Rue frowned. "The what?"
"You know. Elves. Pointy ears, smug, archery hobby, big on tree real estate. Probably write sad poetry about rivers."
His expression didn't change. "Those do not exist."
Maya closed her eyes. So much for meeting Legolas. Would not recommend this isekai.
"Instead," Rue continued obliviously, "we have the Deep Layer. It is more important than elves."
"Debatable."
He ignored her. "It is where broken spellwork falls. Every failed patch leaks into the Deep Layer. Over centuries, it has grown unstable."
Maya sighed. "You people basically invented a cosmic recycle bin and forgot to empty it. Great design choice."
Rue brightened. "Yes! Exactly."
The door groaned open before she could make her next sarcastic jab.
The air shifted. Even without turning her head, Maya felt the way every acolyte outside the chamber stiffened. Whispered prayers hissed under their breath.
The Inquisitor had arrived.
Maya sat up. Slowly.
And blinked.
Because walking into the room was… a magical girl.
Not literally Sailor Moon, but close enough to trigger copyright lawsuits. Hair too glossy, boots too shiny, uniform too pastel. She had ribbons. Actual ribbons.
"Oh my god," Maya muttered. "They summoned Sailor Moon's terrifying aunt."
Rue shot her a panicked look and hissed, "Do not speak."
The Inquisitor stepped into the light. Her ribbons shimmered faintly with enchantment, but her face was all sharp edges and surgical focus.
"Which one is it?" she asked, voice as clean and cold as a blade.
Rue half-bowed toward Maya. "Master Inquisitor. This is the… entity."
"Entity," Maya repeated. "Wow, rude. I have a name. It's—"
The Inquisitor's gaze snapped to her. Maya felt her lungs stutter, her throat tighten. Every instinct screamed do not joke at this woman.
"…Maya," she croaked.
The Inquisitor studied her for a long, suffocating moment. Then: "You rewrote a summoning circle."
"Debugged," Maya said automatically. "Not the same thing."
A flicker crossed the Inquisitor's mouth—half-smile, half-sneer. Impossible to tell which.
"You will demonstrate," she said. "Now."
They cleared the table, chalk dust puffing into the air. The Inquisitor drew a circle herself—sleek, elegant, humming with control. Nothing like the acolytes' patchwork attempts.
Maya had to admit, it looked… professional.
"Find the fault," the Inquisitor ordered.
Maya squinted. Symbols curled in flawless loops. Anchors locked in place. At first glance, it looked perfect.
Too perfect.
And there it was: one connection dangling just shy of its mark. Not a break, but a hesitation. Like someone had second-guessed themselves mid-stroke.
She raised a finger. Stopped.
If she touched it and guessed wrong, she was toast.
If she didn't touch it, they'd call her a fraud.
Maya swallowed. Her hand hovered over the glowing rune. Heat prickled against her skin, humming with promise and threat.
The cultists outside held their breath. Rue watched with wide, frantic eyes.
The Inquisitor's ribbons swayed, catching the light. Her gaze never wavered.
"Fix it," she said.
Maya's fingertip hovered an inch above the line. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
This is either going to prove I belong here… or get me obliterated by Magical Girl Judge Judy.
And then she pressed.
The rune lit beneath her finger.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The room hung frozen. Even the Sentiment Seal above the door paused its pulsing, like the universe wanted to see whether Maya was about to explode.
Then the lines snapped into place.
The whole circle flared with a blinding clarity, humming like it had just been rebooted.
Maya staggered back, spots peppering her vision. Her fingertip burned faintly, as though she'd touched a hot stove and gotten away with it.
The chair inside the circle lifted off the ground.
Smooth. Effortless. Like the spell had sighed in relief.
No flickering. No sputter. Just perfect, elegant levitation.
Maya exhaled. "Okay. See? Fixed."
A breathless gasp went up from the onlookers. Rue made a strangled noise halfway between we're saved and we're doomed.
But the Inquisitor didn't react.
Her gaze stayed locked on Maya—cool, clinical. Ribbons drifting like warning flags in a windless room.
"You connected what was left intentionally broken," she said.
Maya blinked. "I—what?"
"That hesitation was deliberate. A safeguard. By binding it, you created a feedback loop."
The chair gave a faint tick—then another.
It wobbled. Just a little.
Then a shiver rippled through its frame, like a tuning fork just struck.
The circle's glow brightened—just a touch too sharp, too eager.
"Oh no," Maya whispered. "It's overcompensating."
The hum deepened into a whine. Lines of energy twitched, then twitched again—like they were excited.
The chair jittered in place. Then spun half a turn. Then another.
"Okay, that's on me," Maya muttered. "Classic overcorrection. You fix one thing, the login page catches fire—"
The chair launched upward like it had been fired from a railgun, smacked into the ceiling with a heavy thud, sticking there like a forgotten balloon.
Acolytes screamed. One fainted. Rue clutched his scroll like a talisman.
Maya covered her face with both hands. "Great. I turned your furniture into ceiling decor."
The Inquisitor lifted her staff. With one precise flick, the glow guttered out. The chair crashed back to the floor with an unceremonious thunk.
Silence.
Then the Inquisitor turned back to Maya.
"You see connections others do not," she said. "Even if you lack the discipline to weigh their consequences."
Maya bristled. "Wow. Thanks for the LinkedIn endorsement."
Rue whispered, horrified, "Please stop talking."
The Inquisitor's gaze softened a fraction, though the ribbons still shimmered like blades. "The prophecy speaks of one who binds what is broken. That does not mean every break should be bound. Sometimes the fault is a safeguard. Do you understand?"
Maya hesitated. Against her will, she thought of her dead plant, drowned in too much "fixing." Of overwatering until she killed the thing she was trying to save.
"…Yeah," she said quietly. "I get it."
The Inquisitor inclined her head. "Then we will see if you can learn restraint."
The door slammed open. Another robed figure stumbled in, gasping for air.
"High Adept! Inquisitor! There is movement in the Deep Layer! A breach!"
The chamber went electric. Acolytes whispered furiously. Rue went pale. The Sentiment Seal over the door pulsed a jagged red.
Maya looked around. "So, quick question: what exactly comes out of the Deep Layer?"
The Inquisitor's gaze cut back to her, sharp as glass. "Pray you do not have to find out so soon."
Which, naturally, meant she would.