When lied to, a sour taste floods her mother's mouth. Her father came into the world with an assured career due to his alchemical abilities. Lucky as ever, her brother takes after their father and now apprentices to him.

But her? Nia Reid can see destiny, which certainly sounds like an intriguing power. In reality, she sees red strings of fate, the ones tied around pinkies that extend and extend until the connection fades from view. The singular fun fact she can offer is that not everyone has a fated one, not that she can really tell who pairs with who unless a couple stands beside one another. So, it's just a string. Nia knows it exists and that's about it.

Great ability. Big thanks to whichever ancestor passed it down. She's a huge fan.

Nonetheless, she can't deny the comfort she's gotten from seeing that string tied around her own pinkie. However dark a moment, however dire a strait, however despairing a reality, it means someone out there has to love her. Will love her. If she ever meets them.

A stray snip puts that security in jeopardy.

"Watcha lookin' at?" asks Atticus. He sets aside the switchblade he'd been enchanting. "You've been staring at those scissors for like...fucking minutes now."

One hand holds said scissors, a pair she'd been testing for Atticus, and the other lays flat on the table.

"Nia? You good?"

Her string lays limp, not elevated per usual by its connection to her mysterious soulmate.

"Hello?" He gently extracts the sharp implement from her grasp before waving a hand in her face. "Nia?"

She blinks. "...They're...definitely effective."

"Whaddya mean?"

Nia holds up her hand like he will somehow understand, somehow be able to see. "My string. Cut right through."

"Oh. Fuck." Atticus stares at her hand like he somehow understands, somehow is able to see. "Didn't know it was that effective. Double fuck."

Nia continues to have a grand total of zero real reaction as she stares at her hand. Atticus paces behind her, mumbling possible solutions, until he skids to a stop and pivots quick back toward her.

"All right, listen. I know a guy. 'Ey, 'ey, don't give me that look. Would I mislead you? Huh? Right, so listen."

There's a guy Atticus knows. Like it matters, he leads on describing this guy as also trans. (Nia won't admit it, but there is always that small comfort in being around another trans person.) More importantly, his power--it could help reverse the damage. Nia sees strings of fate. Atticus enchants metal, strengthens it to the point of, apparently, being able to cut through spiritual substances. You imbue stitches with magic. You could very well be able to repair the damage to Nia's string.

It weighs on her to see her cut string, but--ugh. In all honesty, it is a deeply personal thing to request help with. That string, it's an extension of her. To have someone else possibly handle it, she recoils at the mere thought. Even then, that assumes you could see her string, find its other end, and stitch them back together.

By the end of the second week (and at Atticus' prodding), Nia relents. Atticus supplies the address and suggests she reach out before popping by. Nia fails utterly at doing the latter. It's only by convincing herself she's not going there that she ends up there, car parked on the side of a quiet neighborhood. You have a decent place, a two-story home with a modest sedan in the driveway alongside a well-kept garden lining the side of the house.

Decidedly domestic.

For a moment, she considers turning around to leave, but a simple glance at her cut string marches her up to the front door. A knock, a ring, and she waits.

"Uh...hi. You're the one Atticus told me about, right?" She raises a hand in greeting when the door cracks open. Only now does she regret not reaching beforehand, feeling awkward showing up at someone's home for their side gig unannounced. "I heard from a friend you might be able to help me out."