My father taught me that myths were real. It wasn't until they tried to kill me that I believed him.
I used to worry about hedge funds and overdue rent. Then I tripped over a fifty-pound note in the London rain, and everything changed.
Now I have a silver whistle in my pocket and a job offer from a woman who claims to represent a secret Council that protects mythical creatures. Apparently, the world is full of them.
And somehow I'm supposed to help capture them.
I'm not a warrior. I'm not a magician.
But when your rent is overdue and your life is already in ruins, what's one more impossible job?
The problem is, the deeper I go, the more I realise that this isn't just about chasing griffons and selkies. Someone is stealing creatures from the hidden Repository that keeps them contained and selling them on a black market.
If I don't figure out who's behind it, the Repository falls. Magic dies. Every myth humanity ever feared walks free - or gets butchered for parts.
And I'll be the idiot who let it happen - assuming I don't become some creature's lunch first.
