Performance reviews aren't scheduled. They just… happen. Usually when you're tired enough to say something honest.
I was elbow-deep in a gravity trap that had started pulling left like it was favoring a leg when Marla cleared her throat behind me.
"Eli."
I smacked my head on the stone. The bell rang. The Mimic flinched and made an apologetic noise.
"Sorry," Marla said, which meant it wasn't an apology. "You got a minute."
I wiped my hands on my pants. Chalk, rust, a smear of blood that wasn't new. "If this is about the Mimic"
"It's about everything," she said.
We moved to the break nook. The Please Keep Moving sign had a new crack. Someone had written EXCEPT REVIEWS underneath.
Marla leaned against the wall. "Auditors filed notes. Mixed."
"That sounds bad."
"It sounds survivable," she said. "They say you follow spec. Mostly. They say you improvise."
"That sounds worse."
"They say the Mimic hasn't eaten anything it shouldn't."
I glanced at the Mimic. It was gnawing on a pebble. It spat it out when it saw me looking.
"Define shouldn't," I said.
Marla ignored that. "You're tired."
"Yes."
"You're observant."
Also yes.
"And you don't panic when the dungeon acts like itself," she said. "That's rare."
The dungeon hummed like it was listening. I shifted my weight. The belt tugged. My shoulders ached in a way that felt permanent.
"So," I said. "Am I fired."
Marla snorted. "No. If you were fired, you'd already be gone."
"That's comforting."
She looked at the Mimic. "But the Mimic is still a problem."
"It's been good," I said. "Mostly."
"It ate chalk."
"It learned," I said. "I think."
Marla sighed. "We don't train equipment."
"I know," I said. "But it's not equipment."
She stared at me. Long. "Careful."
"I'm being careful," I said. "I ring the bell. I follow spec. I don't feed it."
The Mimic wagged its lid. Thump.
Marla rubbed her face. "Here's the informal part. Off the record."
I leaned in.
"If auditors decide it's bonded, they'll pull it," she said. "If it interferes with work, they'll pull it. If it helps in a way they can't explain, they'll pull it faster."
"So it can't help," I said.
"It can exist," she said. "That's it."
I nodded. My throat felt tight again. I hated that feeling. It felt like paperwork.
"What about me," I asked.
"You're on thin ice," she said. "But thin ice still holds if you don't jump."
She straightened. "Finish the trap. Then take Shaft C. Something's off down there."
"You said that last time."
"It's more off now," she said.
I went back to the trap. The chalk resisted. I pressed. The wrench clinked. The gravity tugged, then settled. The bell rang once.
I walked toward Shaft C. The air changed. Cooler. Quieter. The Mimic followed, careful, like it knew.
Halfway down, the floor hummed wrong. Not loud. Just… sideways. My stomach noticed before my brain did.
I stopped. The Mimic bumped my leg and froze.
"Stay," I whispered.
It stayed.
I pulled the chalk and traced a test line. The stone pushed back harder than it should have. The line jittered.
This wasn't a flicker. This was a drift.
"Okay," I said. "Okay."
Behind me, the Mimic watched. Didn't move. Didn't eat.
For the first time since clock-in, I felt like the dungeon wasn't just a job.
It was watching me back.