I hear the sizzle POP of the Watch arriving as I slip the card in my pocket and turn to look at our hooded friend, only to realize he, too, is gone. And it is quickly clear I am not alone in my surprise; those more competent casters are all looking too one another for explanation and only hearing that everyone had gotten distracted simultaneously. And of course, I can see the residual illusion magic hanging heavily around the room.

There is a bit of questioning, mostly just killing time while they have a paleoptic review what had happened. Interestingly, Mr. Hood was not actually visible to them save for the window of my Bind spell. Now considered innocent, though still tagged just in case, I head home and try to forget the card for now.

If they are a criminal organization, none of us want me walking in with a tag, a scrying bubble popping up as I walk past drugs or worse. I'm not interested in a life of crime, but I'm sure the Watch and the Motes wouldn't consider it a coincidence.

And if they're on the legal side, they still had a lot of oddness in getting me the card. Indiscreet as they were, I get the feeling they'd disapprove of me taking the same approach.

So, I wait. I go to work. I go to the coffee shop a little further from my home, rather than revisit my usual place yet. I eat and sleep and live close to my normal day. For two weeks before they hit the limit and the tag fades out.

Now, finally, I am standing in front of 133a Yew Branch Blvd. I am looking at a plain white door on a plain white building, with no other door for a 133b, and no label on it. But to the left is 129, and to the right is 136. The buildings all crowd together in this part of town, and some likely share basements. Whole blocks may suffer this strange affliction as one. I wonder for a moment if there is a way into the basement here, if I should come in from below. A stray thought, odd and quickly dismissed. Only, it isn't. I still think it, so I shift my thought and start looking closer at the door. Yes, there we are, a seam at the edge of a bubble. The spell is clever and subtle, by its nature convincing you not to look to closely. It wards the door, not with locks or dangerous traps, but by simple tell people to go elsewhere, enter a different door. And it's strong enough, even though I know it is there, I struggle to get through.

Once inside, I immediately take the offered wastebin and lose my breakfast, along with absorbed arcane energy from the ward. The kobold has finished his molt and is now growing a coat of maroon fur over his body, not an illusion. I can see his nostrils hav moved up and forward as his muzzle has rounded off from the pointed reptilian form. He's still transitioning, give it another week or so. He takes the bin back from me once I finish retching, and slips it under a reception desk, before handing me a flask.

"Just water," he says.

"Good call," I mumble between drinks.

"Welcome to TDI, the Thaumaturgical Defence Initiative," the last bit being said behind his hand, now really a paw, in a mock sharing of a secret. "And thank you for waiting. We didn't mean for you to get tagged. Most folks take a bit longer to catch Warren, so it's clear who the hero is."

"Warren. So it really was some sort of test?"

"Yes, and I'd say you passed. Not just passed, I believe you set a record and have us reconsidering a few things."

"Well that's good," I replied, only now taking a look around the room. It was littered with magical gadgetry. Not decorated with it, though that may have been the intent, but not cluttered either.

"Happy to hear. Now, let's get to business. I'd like to offer you a job."