Zachariah Trench tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen the crisp white fabric that suddenly felt too tight against his neck. He had only been with the Federal Bureau of Control for nine months, counting the summer spent in grueling training sessions. Yet here he was, seated at a corner booth in a dimly lit bar just a few blocks from the Oldest House, celebrating his 21st birthday with people he barely knew but who already felt like a peculiar kind of family.
The bar itself was unremarkable: sticky wooden tables, the faint smell of spilled beer and fried food, and a jukebox in the corner that seemed permanently stuck in the late '60s. It wasn't much, but it was a regular haunt for FBC field agents looking to unwind after a long day of trying to keep reality stitched together.
Agent Sophia Reyes, Trench's current partner, sat beside him, her dark eyes glinting with amusement as she raised her glass. "To Zach! Officially an adult now, and only slightly more dangerous than he was yesterday." The group laughed, clinking glasses in a chaotic chorus of congratulations.
Paul Ryan, the man who had recruited Trench into the Bureau and served as his unofficial mentor, leaned back in his chair with a knowing smile. His grizzled face looked like it had seen more anomalies than anyone cared to count, but there was a warmth in his eyes tonight. "You've come a long way in a short time, kid. Nine months in, and you've already handled things most agents don't see for years. Here's to not getting consumed by a Threshold, eh?"
"Cheers to that," Trench said, grinning as he raised his own glass. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the casual way Bureau agents joked about the horrors they faced daily, but he appreciated the levity. It was a necessary coping mechanism in a job like this.
Reyes nudged him with her elbow. "So, Trench, what's the verdict on your first birthday as a Bureau agent? Better or worse than you expected?"
"Honestly? Better," Trench admitted. "I thought I'd be spending the night buried in paperwork or stuck on some Threshold shift." He glanced around the table at the gathered faces: Reyes, Ryan, and a handful of other agents he'd come to know during his brief tenure. "Instead, I'm here with you guys. It's not bad."
"Not bad? We'll take that as a compliment," Reyes said with a mock pout, earning another round of laughter from the table.
The night wore on, the group's conversations flowing freely between work anecdotes and lighthearted banter. Trench listened more than he spoke, soaking in the camaraderie that came with being part of something larger than himself. He had spent much of his life feeling like an outsider, and while the FBC was far from a conventional workplace, it was the closest thing he had to a home.
By the time the jukebox sputtered out its last tune and the bartender announced last call, Trench felt a strange mix of exhaustion and contentment. The others began gathering their things, Reyes slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder and Ryan clapping a heavy hand on Trench's back.
"You've got potential, Trench," Ryan said as they stepped out into the cool March air. "Don't let this place chew you up and spit you out. Stick with it, and you might just make a real difference here."
Trench nodded, the weight of Ryan's words settling over him. He didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was on the right path.
As the group dispersed into the night, Trench lingered for a moment, looking up at the stars that seemed faint and distant against the glow of the city lights. He took a deep breath, the chill in the air grounding him. Tomorrow, the Bureau would demand everything he had and then some, but tonight was his. For now, that was enough.