The elevator to Sub-Level 13 wasn’t an elevator at all. It was a dumbwaiter for cursed baguettes.

Jo climbed in first, muttering, “If I die in a bread chute, I’m haunting everyone here.”

Mira squeezed in beside her, clutching a thermos of just in case chamomile. Clorvex jumped in after and somehow managed to bring three croissants as travel rations. Matteo followed with a resigned sigh. The Queen of the Hollow Moon dramatically descended last, as if stepping into a gilded carriage instead of a squeaky crate that smelled like sourdough failure.

Jeff held the rope. “Um, I’ll just file the paperwork up here?”

“Get in Jeff,” Jo snapped.

The dumbwaiter lurched and rattled downward. Signs zipped past the tiny slot of a window:

Sub-Level 8: Lost Socks.

Sub-Level 10: Customer Service for Screaming Mirrors.

Sub-Level 12: Existential Paperwork Overflow.

Finally: Sub-Level 13: Department of Screaming Voids.

The doors groaned open, revealing a waiting room lit entirely by lava lamps. A receptionist with twelve eyes and a Bluetooth headset waved them forward without looking up. “Take a number. The Void will be with you shortly.”

Jo grabbed a ticket. It read, Now Serving 3. You are 666.

“Perfect,” Jo muttered. “Lucky Hell number.”

The waiting area was filled with people and things that looked equally miserable. A banshee softly hummed elevator music. A businessman was stuck in an infinite loop of trying to staple his tie to a complaint form. A void cat curled in the corner, licking starlight off its paw.

A low, rumbling voice that sounded like someone dragging a bassoon across the edge of reality, shouted, “NEXT!”

The banshee shuffled in. The door closed behind her. Everyone shivered.

Matteo leaned toward Jo. “So, what do we tell the Void? That we just want to cancel our subscription to torment?”

Before Jo could answer, the number display flickered. 665. 666.

The intercom boomed, “HARMONY CAFÉ. STEP INTO THE VOID.”

The Queen fluffed her cloak. “Finally, a proper invitation.”

Jo sighed, gripped her chipped mug, and muttered, “I hate customer service.”