From Chapter 8, link below, When Tinbunny met Milly.

Thank you again @HenchwomanTinbunny for asking for a story.

(Tinbunny) was just finishing her beer when the door opened again. It wasn't Maximillian. A woman stood there, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, her auburn hair a tousled, effortless mess. She had a kind, open face and striking hazel eyes that held a deep, knowing curiosity.

"Hi," the woman said, her voice friendly and unassuming. She walked over and sat down at the vast oak table, gesturing to the chair opposite her. "That was quite an ordeal you went through. I just had to ask... how did it feel? Being a doll for that long?"

The question was so direct, so personal, that it caught Tinbunny completely off guard. Her defenses, battered as they were, snapped back into place. A flicker of her old sass returned.

"Who are you?" Tinbunny asked, her voice sharp. "And why do you care?"

The woman gave a small, wry smile. "Oh, I care because I've been there. Maximillian's transformations are... an experience." She shivered theatrically. "He turned me into a doll during the competition. Then, just for fun, he took me to pieces. Arms, legs, the works. It's a very strange sensation."

Tinbunny froze, her beer halfway to her lips. The competition. The fawning, detailed reports she had written for "The Green Room." The legendary assistant who had endured every impossible illusion. The auburn hair, the hazel eyes...

"You're Milly," she breathed, the name a soft, astonished whisper.

Milly's smile widened. "The one and only." She looked Tinbunny up and down, a flicker of genuine empathy in her eyes. "You wrote some very flattering things about me. I have to say, your analysis of Victor's pendulum act was spot on."

Tinbunny felt a flush of humiliation. This woman, this... legend, was sitting here in a t-shirt and jeans, looking like she'd just rolled off the sofa, and she had seen through Tinbunny's entire, carefully constructed facade.

"Why are you here?" Tinbunny asked again, her voice quieter this time.

"Honestly?" Milly leaned forward, her expression open and sincere. "Because the rest of them," she gestured vaguely, indicating the other magicians, "can be a bit... intimidating. Stephanie thought you might be more willing to talk to someone who's been on the other side of the saw, so to speak. And," she added with a shrug, "I was curious. It's not every day we get a real-life nymph in the building."

Milly’s friendly, disarming demeanor was a more effective interrogation technique than any threat. Her approach was a velvet glove, but Tinbunny could now sense the iron fist of the Blockhouse beneath it. She leaned forward, her hazel eyes kind but missing nothing, her posture shifting from casual to focused...

...She looked at Milly—this woman who had endured the same impossible magic and come out the other side, smiling and grounded—and saw not an enemy, but the only potential lifeline in a very deep, very dark ocean.

Still, the habit of secrecy, the ingrained discipline of her profession, was a hard one to break. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the polished surface of the oak table, her own reflection a pale, wavering ghost.

Milly saw the conflict in her eyes, the flicker of fear and defiance, the frantic calculations of a cornered operative.

She sighed, a soft, understanding sound that was somehow more compelling than any command. "Come on," she said gently, but with an edge of steel that Tinbunny hadn't heard before, a reminder that this friendly face was still one of them. "No more games. We know who you work for. We know what he's like. We've been watching you since before you even sent the email. Why are you really here?"

That was it. The final wall crumbled, not with a bang, but with a quiet, weary sigh of surrender. Tinbunny let out a long, shuddering breath, the sound a ragged admission of defeat.

"He has something," she began, her voice low and hoarse, the words tasting like poison. "An artifact. From a place... sacred to my goddess. To Hecate." She looked up, her eyes pleading with Milly to understand the depth of the violation. "He calls it Hecate's Key. It was taken from the Nekromanteion of Acheron. He showed it to me. I felt its power. It's real."

She leaned forward, the story tumbling out of her now, a torrent of fear and desperation that she had held back for weeks.